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 OF CALIFORNU 
 
 LI8RAIiy OF THE UltlVERSITY OF CUIFOflNIt 
 
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 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 'LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFO 
 
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 UNIVERSirr OF CtLIFORNIi 
 
 LIBRARY OF THE UIUVERSITY OF CUIFOI 
 
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.USEE* 
 
 MEN AND WOMEN 
 
 AND 
 
 SORDELLO 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 TIVO VOLUMES IN ONE 
 
 BOSTON 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 New York: 11 East Seventeenth Street 
 
 €be Oibcrjjitie ^rcsi^, CamBri&ge 
 1883 
 
 ^ 
 

 Cambridge: 
 printed at the riverside press. 
 
 X 
 

 MEN AND WOMEN 
 
 ^ 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 r-, 
 
 Pagt 
 
 LOVE AMONGF THE RUINS 1 '^ 
 
 A LOVERS* QUARREL ...... 6 
 
 EVELYN HOPE 13 V^- 
 
 UP AT A VILLA — DOWN IN THE CITY. (AS DISTIN- 
 GUISHED BY AN ITALIAN PERSON OF QUALITY.) 16 
 
 A woman's last word 22 
 
 FRA LIPPO LIPPI 25 '^ 
 
 A TOCCATA OF GALUPPl'S 39 ^ 
 
 BY THE FIRESIDE 44 
 
 ANY WIFE TO ANY HUSBA>T» .... fiS 
 AN EPISTLE CONTAINING THJ^. STRANGE MEDICAL EX- 
 PERIENCE OF KARSHISH, TB». ARAB PHYSICIAN 65 
 
 MESMERISM 76 
 
 A SERENADE AT THE VILLA ... 83 
 
 MY STAR ... 87 
 
 INSTANS TYRANNU3 . . ... 83 
 
 A PRETTY WOMAN ... ... 92 
 
 "CHILDE ROLAND TO THE DARJl ''S^'K'R, CAME** 96 ' 
 
 RESPECTABILITY ... . . 106 •''' 
 
 A LIGHT WOMAN .... . . 108 
 
 THE STATUE AND THE BUST . . Ill ^ 
 
 LOVE IN A LIFE .... • . 124 
 
 M101123 
 
IV 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 LIFE IN A LOVE 125 
 
 HOW IT STKIKES A CONTEMPORARY • . 126 
 
 V^ THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER 131 
 
 V^THE PATRIOT. — AN OLD STORY .... 136 
 
 MASTER HUGUE8 OP SAXE-GOTHA . • . 138 
 
 BISHOP BLOUGRAM'S APOLOGY . . . . 146^ 
 
 MEMORABILIA 183 * 
 
 V^" ANDREA DEL SARTO. (CALLED "THE FAULTLESS 
 
 painter" 184 
 
 BEFORE 194 
 
 AFTER 197 
 
 IN THREE DAYS 198 
 
 IN A YEAR 200/ 
 
 OLD PICTURES IN FLORENCE .... 204 
 
 IN A BALCONY. — FIRST PART . • . . 217 
 
 " SECOND PART ... 231 
 
 " THIRD PART .... 244 
 
 SAUL 260 ^ 
 
 n/" *'DE gustibus — " . . 284' 
 
 WOMEN AND ROSES ; 286," 
 
 PROTUS , 289 
 
 HOLY-CROSS DAY. (ON WHICH THE JEWS WERE 
 FORCED TO ATTEND AN ANNUAL CHRISTIAN 
 
 SERMON IN ROME) * . . . . 292 
 
 THE guardian-angel: a PICTURE AT FANO . 299 
 
 CLEON 302 
 
 THE TWINS 31 
 
 POPULARITY 317 
 
 THE heretic's TRAGEDY. A MIDDLE-AGE INTER- 
 LUDE , S2j) 
 
 \J TWO IN THE CAMPAGNA S2fl 
 
 ^ 
 
V 
 
 CONTENTS. V 
 
 Page 
 
 ^ grammarian's funeral 330 ^ 
 
 one way of love c^^^ 
 
 another way of love 1337 
 
 « TRANSCENDENTALISM : " A POEM IN TWELVE BOOKS 339 
 MISCONCEPTIONS ... • • ^?^2' 
 
 ONE WORD MORE. TO E. B. B. • . $48 "^ 
 
,^ 
 
MEN AND WOMEN. 
 
 LOVE AMONG THE RUINS. 
 
 1. 
 
 Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles 
 jVIiles and miles y 
 
 On the solitary pastures where our sheep 
 
 Half-a;sleep y 
 
 Tinkle homeward thro'^the twilight, stray or stop 
 As they csrop — 
 
 Was the site once of a city great and gay, 
 
 (So they say) 
 Of our country's very capital, its prince 
 
 Ages since 
 Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far 
 
 Peace or war. 
 1 
 
2 LOVE AMONG THE RUINS. 
 
 s. 
 
 Now — the country does not even boast a trte, 
 
 As yoii see, 
 To distiEgiiish slopei* iof; verdure, certain rills 
 
 Fropi.tlie hills 
 liiter^ect arid give a nama to, (else they run 
 
 Into one) 
 
 Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires 
 
 Up like fires 
 O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall 
 
 Bounding all, 
 Made of marble, men might Tiarch on nor be prest, 
 
 Twelve abreasL 
 
 5. 
 
 And such plenty and perfection, see, of grass 
 
 Never was ! 
 Such a carpet as, this summer-time, overspreads 
 
 And embeds 
 Every vestige of the city, guessed alone, 
 
 Stock or stone — 
 
 Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe 
 
 Long ago ; 
 Lusi of glory pricked their hearts up, dread of shame 
 
 Struck them tame ; 
 
LOVE AMONG THE RUINa. 
 
 Ajid that glory and that shame alike, the gold 
 Bought and sold. 
 
 7. % 
 
 Now, — the single little turret that remains 
 
 On the plains. 
 By the caper overrooted, by the gourd 
 
 Overscored, 
 While the patching houseleek's head of blossom winka 
 
 Through the chinks — 
 
 8. 
 
 Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient timo 
 
 Sprang sublime. 
 And a burning ring all round, the chariots traced 
 
 As they raced. 
 And the monai'ch and his minions and his dames 
 
 Viewed the games. 
 
 9. 
 
 And I know, while thus the quiet-coloured eve 
 
 Smiles to leave 
 To their folding, all our many-tinkling fleece 
 
 In such peace, 
 And the slopes and rills in undistinguished gray 
 
 Melt away — 
 
 10. 
 Vhat a girl with eager eyes and yellow hair 
 Waits me there 
 
4 LOVE AMONG THE RUINS. 
 
 In the turret, whence the charioteers caught soul 
 
 For the goal, [dumb 
 
 When the king looked, where she looks now, breathless, 
 Til I come. 
 
 11. 
 
 But he looked upon the city, every side, 
 
 Far and wide, 
 All the mountains topped with temples, all the glades' 
 
 Colonnades, 
 All the causeys, bridges, aqueducts, — and then. 
 
 All the men 1 
 
 12. 
 
 When I do come, she will speak not, she will stand. 
 
 Either hand 
 On my shoulder, give her eyes the first embrace 
 
 Of my face, 
 Ere we rush, ere we extinguish sight and speech 
 
 Each on each. 
 
 13. 
 
 In one year they sent a million fighters forth 
 
 South and north, 
 And they built their gods a brazen pillar higli 
 
 As the sky. 
 Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full force — « 
 
 Gold, of course. 
 
I.OVE AMONG THE RUINS. '- '^^ 
 
 14. 
 Oh heart ! oh, blood that freezes, blood that bums ! 
 
 Earth's returns 
 For whole centuries of folly, noise and sin! 
 
 Shut them in. 
 With their triumphs and their glories and the rest. 
 Love is best I ' - -' 
 
A LOVERS' QUAKUEU 
 
 ^ 
 
 1. 
 
 Oh, \^ hat a dawn of day ! 
 
 How the March sun feels like May I 
 
 All is blue again 
 
 After last night's rain, 
 And the South dries the hawthorn-spray. 
 
 Only, my Love's away ! 
 I 'd as lief that the blue were gray. 
 
 2. 
 
 Runnels, which rillets swell, 
 Must be dancing down the dell 
 
 With a foamy head 
 
 On the beryl bed 
 Paven smooth as a hei-mit's cell ; 
 
 Each with a tale to tell, 
 Could my Love but attend as well. 
 
 3. 
 
 Dearest, three months ago ! 
 
 When we lived blocked-up with snow,—- 
 
A lovers' quarrel. 
 
 When the wind would edge 
 
 In and in his wedge, 
 In, as far as the point could go — 
 
 Not to our mgle, though, 
 Where we loved each the other so! 
 
 4. 
 
 Laughs with so little cause ! 
 We devised games out of straws. 
 
 We would try and trace 
 
 One another's face 
 In the ash, as an artist draws ; 
 
 Free on each other's flaws. 
 How we chattered like two church daws I 
 
 5. 
 
 What's in the " Times? " — a s^old 
 At the emperor deep and cold ; 
 
 He has taken a bride 
 
 To his gruesome side. 
 That's as fair as himself is bold : 
 
 There they sit ermine-stoled, 
 And she powders her hair with gold. 
 
 Fancy the Pampas sheen ! 
 Miles and miles of gold and green 
 
 Where the sun-flowers blow 
 
 In a solid glow. 
 
 4 
 
*.^ A LOVERS* QUARREL. 
 
 id to break now and then the screen 
 Black neck and eyeballs keen, 
 Tp a wild horse leaps between ! 
 
 Try, will our table turn ? 
 
 Lay your hands there light, and yearn 
 
 Till the yearning slips 
 
 Thro* the finger tips 
 In a fire which a few discern, 
 
 And a very few feel burn. 
 And the rest, they may live and leam. 
 
 8. 
 Then we would up and pace. 
 For a change, about the place, 
 Each with arm o'er neck 
 'Tis our quarter-deck, 
 We are seamen in woeful case. 
 
 Help in the ocean-space I 
 Or, if no help, we '11 embrace. 
 
 9. 
 See, how she looks now, drest 
 In a sledging-cap and vest. 
 
 'Tis a huge fur cloak — 
 
 Like a remdeer's yoke 
 Falls the lappet along the breast 
 
 Sleeves for her arms to rest, 
 Or to hang, as my Love likes best. 
 
A LOVERS QUARREL. 
 10. 
 
 Teach me to flirt a fan 
 
 As the Spanish ladies can, 
 Or I tint your lip 
 With a burnt stick's tip 
 
 And you turn into such a man ! 
 
 Just the two spots that span 
 
 Half the bill of the young male swan. 
 
 Dearest, three idonths ago 
 When the mgsmeriger^Snow ' 
 
 With his hand's first sweep 
 , Put the eatth to s^ep, ^^.^^ 
 Twfes ^ time when the heart could fho\ 
 
 All— vhc/w.was earth to jpiow, 
 'Neath tlie mute hand's to-and-fro ! 
 
 12. 
 
 Dearest, three months ago 
 
 When we loved each other so, 
 
 Lived and loved the same 
 Till an evening came 
 
 When a shaft from the Devil's bow 
 I*ifirced to our ingle-glow, 
 
 And the friends were friend and foe I 
 
 13. 
 
 Not from the heart beneath — 
 'Twas a bubble bom of breath. 
 
10 A LOVERS* QUARREL. 
 
 Neither sneer nor vaunt, 
 Nor reproach nor taunt. 
 
 See a word, how it severeth ! 
 
 Oh, power of life and death 
 
 In the tongue, as the Preacher saith I 
 
 14. 
 
 Woman, and will you cast 
 
 For a word, quite off at last, 
 
 Me, your own, your you, — 
 Since, as Truth is true, 
 
 I was you all the happy past — 
 Me do you leave aghast 
 
 With the memories we amassed ? 
 
 15. 
 
 Love, if you knew the light 
 
 That your soul casts in my sight, 
 How I look to you 
 For the pure and true, 
 
 And the beauteous and the right, — 
 Bear with a moment's spite 
 
 When a mere mote threats the white ! 
 
 16. 
 
 What of a hasty word ? 
 
 Is the fleshly heart not stirred 
 By a worm's pin-prick 
 Where its roots are quick ? 
 
A lovers' quarrel. 11 
 
 See the eye, by a fly's-foot blurred — 
 
 Ear, when a straw is heard 
 Scratch the brain's coat of curd I 
 
 17. 
 
 Foul be the world or fair, 
 More or less, how can I care ? 
 
 'Tis the world the same 
 
 For my praise or blame, 
 And endurance is easy there. 
 
 Wrong in the one thing rare — 
 Oh, it is hard to bear I 
 
 18. 
 
 Here 's the spring back or close. 
 When the almond-blossom blows ; 
 
 We shall have the word 
 
 In that minor third 
 There is none but the cuckoo knows — 
 
 Heaps of the guelder-rose ! 
 I must bear with it, I suppose. 
 
 19. 
 
 Could but November come. 
 Were the noisy birds struck dumb 
 
 At the warning slash 
 
 Of his driver's-lash — 
 I would laugh like the valiant Thumb 
 
 Facing the castle glum 
 And the giant's fee-faw-fum ! 
 
12 A LOVERS' QUARREL. 
 
 20. 
 
 Then, were the world well stript 
 
 Of the gear wherein equipped 
 We can stand apart, 
 Heart dispense with heart 
 
 In the sun, with the flowers unnipped, — 
 Oh, the world's hangings ripped, 
 
 We were both in a bare-walled crypt ! 
 
 21. 
 
 Each in the crypt would cry 
 ** But one freezes here ! and why ? 
 When a heart as chill 
 At my own would thrill 
 
 Back to life, and its fires out-fly ? 
 Heart, shall we live or die ? 
 
 The rest, . . . settle it by and by ! '* 
 
 22. 
 
 So, she 'd efface the score. 
 And forgive me as before. 
 
 Just at twelve o'clock 
 
 I shall hear her knock 
 ^ the worst of a storm's uproar — 
 
 1 shall pull her through the door — 
 I shall have her for evermore I 
 
EVELYN HOPE 
 
 i- 
 
 I 1. 
 
 } Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead ! 
 
 Sit and watch hj her side an hour. 
 That is her book-shelf, this her bed ; 
 
 She plucked that piece of geranium-tiower» 
 Beginning to die too, in the glass. 
 
 Little has yet been changed, I think — 
 The shutters are shut, no light may pass 
 
 Save two long rays thro' the hinge's chink. 
 
 Sixteen years old when she died I 
 
 Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name — 
 It ^was not her tim ejo bve^t beside. 
 
 Her life had many a hope and aim, 
 Duties enough and little cares, 
 
 And now was quiet, now astir — r 
 l ill God's hand beckoned unawares. 
 
 And I ho sweet white brow is all of her. 
 
14 EVELYN HOPE. 
 
 £s 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 — 
 Ajid just because I was thrice as old. 
 
 And our paths in the world diverged so wide, 
 Each was nought to each, must I be told ? 
 
 We were fellow mortals, nought beside ? 
 
 4. 
 
 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 and much to forget 
 
 Ere the time be come for taking you. 
 
 5. 
 
 But the time will come, — at last it will. 
 
 When, Evelyn Hope, what meant, I shall say, 
 [n the lower earth, in the years long still, 
 
 That body and soul so pure and gay ? 
 WTiy your hair was amber, I shall divine. 
 
 And your mouth of your own geranium 's red — 
 Ajid what you would do with me, in fine, 
 
 In the new life come in the old one's stead. 
 
bvelt:? hope. 15 
 
 6. 
 
 I have lived, I shall say, so much since then, 
 
 Given up myself so many times, 
 Gained me the gains of various men, 
 
 Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes ; 
 Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope, 
 
 Either I missed or itself missed me — 
 ^d I want and find you, Evelyn Hope ! 
 
 What is the issue ? let us see ! 
 
 I loved you, Evelyn, all tne while ; 
 
 My heart seemed full as it could hold — / 
 
 Th3re was place and to spaS'e for the fraiik young smile 
 
 And the red young mouth and the hair's young gold. 
 So, ]iush, — 1 will give you thi^ leaf . to keep — 
 
 Si^, 1 shut it inside the STyeet cold hand. 
 There;, tnat is our secret ! gp to sleep ; ( 
 
 $ou wfli waKe, aSid remember, and imderstand.i 
 
UP AT A \ ILL A— DOWN IN THE CITY. 
 
 (AS DtSTUTOUISHED BT AN KAIAAS PERSON OF QUAMTT.) 
 1. 
 
 FTad I but plenty of money, inoney enough and to 
 spare, 
 
 The house for me, no doubt, were a house m the city- 
 square. 
 
 Ah, such a life, such a life,. as one leads at the window 
 there I 
 
 2. 
 
 omething to see, by Bacchus, something to hear, at 
 
 least ! 
 There, the whole day long, one's life is a perfect feast ; 
 While up at a villa one lives, I maintain it, no more than 
 
 a beast. 
 
 3. 
 
 »Vell now, look at our villa ! stuck like the horn of a 
 bull 
 
UP AT A VILLA DOWN IN THE CITT. 17 
 
 Just on a mountain's edge^^,aa^ bare~,aa„ JJie, .creature's 
 
 skuU^ 
 Save a mere shag of a bush with hardly a leaf to 
 
 puU! 
 — I scratch my own, sometimes, to see if the hair's 
 
 turned wool. 
 
 4. 
 
 But the city, oh the city — the square with the houses 
 
 Why? 
 They are stone-faced, white as a curd, there *s something 
 
 to take tte eye ! 
 Houses in four straight lines, not a single front awry I 
 You watch who crosses and gossips, who saunters, who 
 
 hurries by : 
 Green blinds, as a matter of course, to draw when the 
 
 sun gets high ; 
 And the shops with fanciful signs which are painted 
 
 properly. 
 
 5. 
 
 WTiat of a villa f Though winter be over in March by 
 
 rights, 
 Tis May perhaps ere the snow shall have withered well 
 
 off the heights : 
 You 've the brown ploughed land before, where the oxen 
 
 steam and wheeze. 
 And the hills over-smoked behind by the faint gray olive 
 
 trees. 
 
 2 
 
18 UP AT A VILLA DOYTN IN THP: CITY. 
 
 6. 
 
 /Is it better in May, I ask you? youVe summer all at 
 / once ; 
 
 ( In a day he leaps complete with a few strong April 
 
 suns 
 
 'Mid the sharp short emerald wheat, scarce risen three 
 
 fingers well, 
 ^.'^I'he wild tulip, at end of its tube, blows out'its great red^ 
 
 beU, 
 Like a thin clear bubble of blood, for the children to pick 
 
 and sell. 
 
 7. 
 
 Is it ever hot in the square ? There 's a fountain to 
 
 spout and splash 1 
 In the shade it sings and springs ; in the shine such foam* 
 
 bows flash 
 On the horses with curling fish-tails, that prance and 
 
 paddle and pash 
 Bound the lady atop in the conch — fifty gazers do not 
 
 abash, 
 Though all that she wears is some weeds round her waist 
 
 in a sort of sash ! 
 
 All the year long at the villa, nothing *s to see though 
 
 you linger, 
 Except yon cypress that points like Death's lean lifted 
 
 forefinger. 
 
UP AT A VILLA DOWN IN THE CITY. 19 
 
 Sofkie think fireflies pretty, when they mix in the corn 
 
 and mingle, 
 Or thrid the stinking hemp till the stalks of it seem 
 
 a-tingle. 
 Late August or early September, the stunning cicala is 
 
 shrill. 
 And the bees keep their tiresome whine round the 
 
 resinbus firs on the hill. 
 Enough of the seasons, — I spare you the months of the 
 
 fever and chill. 
 
 9. 
 
 Ere opening your eyes in the city, the blessed church- 
 bells begin : 
 
 No sooner the bells leave off, than the diligence rattles 
 in: 
 
 You get the pick of the news, and it costs you never a 
 pin. 
 
 By and by there 's the travelling doctor gives pills, lets 
 blood, draws teeth ; 
 
 Or the Pulcinello-trumpet breaks up the market beneath. 
 
 At the post-office such a scene-picture — the new play- 
 piping hot I 
 
 And a notice how, only this morning, three liberal thieves 
 were shot. 
 
 Above it, behold the archbishop's most fatherly of 
 rebukes. 
 
 And beneath, with his crown and his lion, some little new 
 law of the Duke's ! 
 
/ 
 
 20 UP AT A VILLA DOWN IN THE CITY. 
 
 Or a sonnet with flowery marge, to the Reverend Don 
 
 So-and-so 
 Who is Dante, Boccaccio, Petrarca, Saint Jerome, and 
 
 Cicero, 
 ** And moreover, " (the sonnet goes rhyming,) " the skirts 
 
 of St. Paul has reached, 
 Having preached us those six Lent-lectures more 
 
 unctuous than ever he preached." 
 Noon strikes, — here sweeps the procession ! our Lady 
 
 borne smiling and smart 
 With a pink gauze gown all spangles, and seven swords 
 
 stuck in her heart ! 
 Bang, whangs whang, goes the drum, tootle-te-tootle the fife ; 
 No keeping one's haunches still : it *s the greatest pleasure 
 
 in life. 
 
 10. 
 
 But bless you, it' s dear — it' s dear ! fowls, wine, at 
 
 double the rate. 
 They have clapped a new tax upon salt, and what oil 
 
 pays passing the gate 
 It 's a horror to think of. And so, the villa for me, not 
 
 the city ! 
 Beggars can scarcely be choosers — but still — ah, the 
 
 pity, the pity ! 
 Look, two and two go the priests, then the monks with 
 
 cowls and sandals. 
 And the penitents dressed in white shirts, a-holding the 
 
 yellow candles. 
 
UP AT A VILLA — DOWN IN THE CITY. 21 
 
 One, he carries a flag up straight, and another a cross 
 
 with handles, 
 And the Duke's guard brings up the rear, for the better 
 
 prevention of scandals. 
 Bang, whang, whang, goes the drum, tootle-te^ootle the 
 
 fife. 
 Oh, a day in the citj-square, there is no such pleasure lo 
 
 life! 
 
A WOMAN'S LAST WOBDi 
 
 / '• / / 
 
 Let 's contend no more, Love^ 
 
 Strive .nor \y^eep —^ 
 All be as before, Love, 
 — Only sleep I 
 
 What so wild as words are ? 
 
 — I and thou 
 In debate, as birds are, 
 
 Hawk on bough! 
 
 3. 
 
 See the creature stalking 
 While we speak — 
 
 Hush and hide the talking, 
 Cheek on cheek I 
 
A woman's last word. 
 
 A. 
 
 What so falaeaa- truth is. 
 
 False to thee ? 
 Where the serpent's tooth is, 
 
 Shun the tree — 
 
 5 
 
 Where the apple reddens 
 
 Never pry — 
 Lest W6 lose our Edens, 
 
 Eve and 1 1 
 
 Be a god and hold me 
 
 With a charm — 
 Be a man and fold me 
 
 With thine arm I 
 
 7. 
 Teach me, only teach, Love ! 
 
 As I ought 
 I will speak thy speech, Love, 
 
 Think thy thought — 
 
 8. 
 
 Meet, if thou require it, 
 
 Both demands, 
 Laying flesh and spirit 
 
 In thy hands ! 
 
f4 A woman's last word. 
 
 That shall be to-morrow 
 
 Not to-night : 
 I must burj sorrow 
 
 Out of sight. 
 
 10. 
 
 — Must a little weep, Love, 
 
 — Foolish me I 
 And so fall asleep, Love, 
 
 Loved by thee. 
 
 ■ 
 
FRA LIPPO LIPPI. 
 
 I AH poor brother Lippb, by your leave ! . 
 You need not clsip your torcKes to, my face, / 
 
 Zook^, what 's to blame ? yCJii think y(Ju see a monk I 
 What, it*s past midnight, and you go the rounds, 
 And here you catch me at^ an alley's erid y 
 Wliere sportive ladies leave their doors ajar. 
 The Carmine 's my cloister : hunt it up, 
 Do, — harry out, if you must show your zeal. 
 Whatever rat, there, haps on his wrong hole, 
 And nip each softHng of a wee white mouse, 
 Weke, weke, that's crept to keep him company! 
 Aha, you know your betters ? Then, you '11 take 
 Your hand away that's fiddling on my throat. 
 And please to know me likewise. Who am I ? 
 Why, one, sir, who is lodging with a friend 
 Three streets off — he 's a certain . . . how d'ye Citll ? 
 "~ Master — a . . . Cosimo of the Medici, 
 
 In the house that caps the corner. Boh ! you were be. 
 Remember and tell me, the day you 're hanged, 
 
26 FRA LIPPO LIPPI. 
 
 How you affected such a gullet*s-gripe ! 
 
 But you, sir, it concerns you that your knates 
 
 Pick up a manner nor discredit you. 
 
 Zooks, are we pilchards, that they sweep the streets 
 
 And count fair prize what comes into their net ? 
 
 He 's Judas to a tittle, that man is ! 
 
 Just such a face ! why, sir, you make amends. 
 
 Lord, I 'm not angry ! Bid your hangdogs go 
 
 Drink out this quarter-florin to the health 
 
 Of the munificent House that harbours me 
 
 (And many more beside, lads ! more beside !) 
 
 And all's come square again. I'd like his face — 
 
 His, elbowing on his comrade in the door 
 
 With the pike and lantern, — for the slave that holds 
 
 John Baptist's head a-dangle by the hair 
 
 With one hand (" look you, now," as who should say) 
 
 And his weapon in the other, yet unwiped ! 
 
 It's not your chance to have a bit of chalk, 
 
 A wood-coal or the like ? or you should see ! 
 
 Yes, I'm the painter, since you style me so. 
 
 What, brother Lippo's doings, up and down, 
 
 You know them and they take you ? like enough ! 
 
 I saw the proper twinkle in your eye — 
 
 'Tell you I liked your looks at very first. 
 
 Let 's sit and set things straight now, hip to haunch. 
 
 Here 's spring come, and the nights one makes up bands 
 
 To roam the town and sing out carnival. 
 
 And I've been three weeks shut within my mew, 
 
 A-painting for the great man, saints and saints 
 
PRA LIPPO LIPPI 27 
 
 And saints again. I could not paint all niglit — 
 
 Ouf ! I leaned out of window for fresh air. 
 
 There came a hurry of feet and little feet, 
 
 A sweep of lutestrings, laughs, and whifts of song, — 
 
 Flower o* the hroom^ 
 
 Take away love, and our earth is a tomb ! 
 
 Flower d the quince, 
 
 I let Lisa go, and what good^s in life since "^ 
 
 Flower o' the thyme — and so on. Round they went. 
 
 Scarce had they turned the comer when a titter. 
 
 Like the skipping of rabbits by moonlight, — three sIub 
 
 And a face that looked up . . . zooks, sir, flesh and blood, 
 
 That's all I'm made of! Into shreds it went. 
 
 Curtain and counterpane and coverlet. 
 
 All the bed furniture — a dozen knots. 
 
 There was a ladder ! down I let myself. 
 
 Hands and feet, scrambling somehow, and so dropped, 
 
 And after them. I came up with the fun 
 
 Hard by St. Laurence, hail fellow, well met, — 
 
 Flower o' the rose. 
 
 If Pve been merry, what matter who hnows ? 
 
 And so as I was stealing back again 
 
 To get to bed and have a bit of sleep 
 
 Ere I rise up to-morrow and go work 
 
 On Jerome knocking at his poor old breast 
 
 With his great round stone to subdue the flesh, 
 
 You snap me of the sudden. Ah, I see ! 
 
 riiough your eye twinkles still, you shake your head — 
 
28 FRA LIPPO LIPPI. 
 
 Mine 's sliaved, — a monk, you say — the sting *s in that I 
 
 If Master Cosimo announced himself, 
 
 Mum 's the word naturally ; but a monk ! 
 
 Come, what am I a beast for ? tell us, now ! 
 
 I was a baby when my mother died 
 
 And father died and left me in the street. 
 
 I starved there, God knows how, a year or two 
 
 On fig-skins, melon-parings, rinds and shucks, 
 
 Refuse and rubbish. One fine frosty day 
 
 My stomach being empty as your hat, 
 
 The wind doubled me up and down I went. 
 
 Old Aunt Lapaccia trussed me with one hand, 
 
 (Its fellow was a stinger as I knew) 
 
 And so along the wall, over the bridge, 
 
 By the straight cut to the convent. Six words, there. 
 
 While I stood munching my first bread that month : 
 
 " So, boy, you 're minded," quoth the good fat father 
 
 Wiping his own mouth, 'twas refection-time, — 
 
 ** To quit this very miserable world ? 
 
 WiQ you renounce" . . . The mouthful of bread/ 
 
 thought I ; 
 By no means ! Brief, they made a monk of me ; 
 I did renounce the world, its pride and greed, 
 Palace, farm, villa, shop and banking-house, 
 Trash, such as these poor devils of Medici 
 Have given their hearts to — all at eight years old. 
 Well, sir, I found in time, you may be sure, 
 TTwas not for nothing — the good bellyful. 
 The warm serge and the rope that goes all round. 
 
FRA LIPPO LIPPI. 29 
 
 And day-long blessed idleness beside ! 
 
 " Let's see what the urchin 's fit for " — that came next 
 
 Not overmuch their way, I must confess. 
 
 Such a to-do ! they tried me with their books. 
 
 Lord, they'd have taught me Latin in pure waste ! 
 
 Flower o' the clove, 
 
 All the Latin I construe is, " amo^* I love ! 
 
 But, mind you, when a boy starves in the streets 
 
 Eight years together, as my fortune was. 
 
 Watching folk's faces to know who will fling 
 
 The bit of half-stripped grape-bunch he desires, 
 
 And who will curse or kick him for his pains — 
 
 Which gentleman processional and fine, 
 
 Holding a candle to the Sacrament 
 
 Will wink and let him lift a plate and catch 
 
 The droppings of the wax to sell again, 
 
 Or holla for the Eight and have him whipped, — 
 
 How say I ? — nay, which dog bites, which lets drop 
 
 His bone from the heap of offal in the street ! 
 
 — The soul and sense of him grow sharp alike. 
 
 He learns the look of things, and none the less 
 
 For admonitions from the hunger-pinch. 
 
 I had a store of such remarks, be sure. 
 
 Which, after I found leisure, turned to use : 
 
 I drew men's faces on my copy-books. 
 
 Scrawled them within the antiphonary's marge, 
 
 Joined legs and arms to the long music-notes, 
 
 Found nose and eyes and chin for A.s and B.s, 
 
 And made a string of pictures of the world 
 
30 FRA LIPPO LIPPI. 
 
 Betwixt the ins and outs of verb and noun, 
 
 On the wall, the bench, the door. The inook« u^ired 
 
 black. 
 " Nay," quoth the Prior, " turn him out, d'ye say ? 
 In no wise. Lose a crow and catch a lark. 
 What if at last we get our man of parts. 
 We Carmelites, like those Camaldolese 
 And Preaching Friars, to do our church up fine 
 And put the front on it that ought to be ! " 
 And hereupon they bade me daub away. 
 Thank you ! my head being cranuned, their walls a 
 
 blank, 
 Never was such prompt disemburdening. 
 First, every sort of monk, the black and white, 
 1 drew them, fat and lean : then, folks at church, 
 From good old gossips waiting to confess 
 Their cribs of barrel-droppings, candle-ends, — 
 /^To the breathless fellow at the altar-foot, 
 Fresh from his murder, safe and sitting there 
 With the little children round him in a row 
 Of admiration,jhalf for his beard and half 
 For that white anger of his victim's son 
 Shaking a fist at him with one fierce arm, 
 Signing himself with the other because of Christ 
 (Whose sad face on the cross sees only this 
 After the passion of a thousand years) 
 Till some poor girl, her apron o'er her head 
 Which the intense eyes looked through, came at eve 
 On tiptoe, said a word, dropped in a loaf. 
 
FRA LIPPO LIPPI. S^ 
 
 Her {Mur of ear-rings and a bunch of flowers 
 The brute took growling, prayed, and then was gone. 
 I painted all, then cried " 'tis ask and have — 
 Choose, for more *s ready ! " — laid the ladder flat. 
 And showed my covered bit of doister-walL 
 The monks closed in a circle and praised loud 
 Till checked, (taught what to see and not to see, 
 Being simple bodies) " that 's the very man ! 
 Look at the boy who stoops to pat the dog I 
 That woman 's like the Prior's niece who comes 
 To care about his asthma : it 's the life ! " 
 But there my triumph 's straw-fire flared and funked — 
 Their betters took their turn to see and say : 
 The Prior and the learned pulled a face 
 And stopped all that in no time. "How ? what 's here ? 
 Quite from the mark of painting, bless us all ! 
 Faces, arms, legs and bodies like the true 
 As much as pea and pea ! it *s devil's-game ! 
 Your business is not to catch men with show. 
 With homage to the perishable clay, 
 But lift them over it, ignore it all, 
 ' Make them forget there *s such a thing a? flesh. 
 Your business is to paint the souls of men — 
 Man's soul, and it 's a fire, smoke . . no it 's not . . 
 It 's vapour done up like a new-bom babe — 
 (In that shape when you die it leaves your mouth) 
 It 's . . \» ell, what matters talking, it 's the soul ! j 
 GiV3 us no more of body than shows spuj. 
 Here 's Giotto, with his Saint a-praising God ! 
 
32 FRA LIPPO LIPPI. 
 
 That sets you praising, — why not stop with him ? 
 Why put all thoughts of praise out of our heads 
 With wonder at lines, colours, and what not ? 
 Paint the soul, never mind the legs and ai*ms ! 
 Rub all out, try at it a second time. 
 Oh, that white smallish female with the breasts, 
 She 's just my niece . . . Herodias, I would say, — 
 Who went and danced and got men's heads cut off — 
 Have it all out ! " Now, is this sense, I ask ? 
 A fine way to paint soul, by painting body 
 
 50 ill, the eye can't stop there, must go further 
 And can't fare worse ! Thus, yellow does for whit© 
 When what you put for yellow 's simply black, 
 And any sort of meamng looks intense 
 
 When all beside itself means and looks nought. 
 Why can't a painter lift each foot in turn. 
 Left foot and right foot, go a double step, 
 Make his flesh liker and his soul more like, 
 Both in their order ? Take the prettiest face, 
 The Prior's niece . . . patron-saint — is it so pretty 
 You can't discover if it means hope, fear. 
 Sorrow or joy ? won't beauty go with these ? 
 Suppose I 've made her eyes all right and blue, 
 Can't I take breath and try to add life's flash. 
 And then add soul and heighten them threefold ? 
 Or say there 's beauty with no soul at all — 
 
 51 never saw it — put the case the same — ) 
 If you get simple beauty and nought else, 
 Vou get about tlio best thing God invents, — 
 
FRA LIPPO LIPPI. 88 
 
 That's soroewiiat. And you'll find the soul you hare 
 
 missed, 
 Within yourself when you return Him thanks ! 
 " Rub all out ! " well, well, there 's my life, in short, 
 And so the thing has gone on ever since. 
 I 'm grown a man no doubt, I Ve broken bounds — 
 (You should not take a fellow eight years old 
 And make him swear to never kiss the girls -^ 
 I 'm my own master, paint now as I please — 
 Having a friend, you see, in the Comer-house ! 
 Lord, it 's fast holding by the rings in front — 
 Those great rings serve more purposes than just 
 To plant a flag in, or tie up a horse ! 
 And yet the old schooling sticks — the old grave eyea 
 Are peeping o'er my shoulder as I work, 
 The heads shake still — " It 's Art's decline, my son ! 
 You 're not of the true painters, great and old : 
 Brother Angelico 's the man, you '11 find : 
 Brother Lorenzo stands his single peer. 
 Fag on at flesh, you 'U never make the third I " 
 Flower o* the pine, 
 
 Tou keep your mistr . . . manners, and Vll stick to mine ' 
 I 'm not the tliird, then : bless us, they must know ! 
 Don't you think they're the likeliest to know. 
 They, with their Latin ? so I swallow my rage. 
 Clench my teeth, suck my lips in tight, and paint 
 To please them — sometimes do, and sometimes doa't^ 
 For, doing most, there 's pretty sure to come 
 A turn — some warm eve finds me at my saints — 
 3 
 
34- FRA LIPPO LIPPI. 
 
 A laugh, a cry, the business of the world — 
 
 (Flower o' the peach, 
 
 Death for us all, and his own life for each !) 
 
 And my whole soul revolves, the cup runs o'er, 
 
 The world and life 's too big to pass for a dream, 
 
 And I do these wild things in sheer despite, 
 
 And play the fooleries you catch me at. 
 
 In pure rage ! the old mill-horse, out at grass 
 
 After hard years, throws up his stiff heels so. 
 
 Although the miller does not preach to him 
 
 The only good of grass is to make chaff. 
 
 What would men have ? Do they like grass or no ■ 
 
 May they or mayn't they ? all I want 's the thing 
 
 Settled forever one way : as it is. 
 
 You tell too many lios and hurt yourself. 
 
 You don't hke what you only like too much. 
 
 You do like what, if given you at your word, 
 
 You find abundantly detestable. 
 
 For me, I think I speak as I was taught - 
 
 I always see the Garden and God there 
 
 A-making man's wife — and, my lesson learned, 
 
 The value and significance of flesh, 
 
 I can't unlearn ten minutes afterward. 
 
 You understand me : I 'm a beast, I know. 
 But see, now — why, I see as certainly 
 As that the morning-star 's about to shine. 
 What will hap some day. We 've a youngster here 
 Comes to our convent, studies what I do. 
 Slouches and stares and lets no atom drop — 
 
FRA LIPPO LIPPI. 35 
 
 His name is Guidi — he '11 not mind the monks — 
 They call him Hulking Tom, he lets them talk — 
 He picks my practice up — he *11 paint apace, 
 I hope so — though I never live so long, 
 I know what 's sure to follow. You be judge ! 
 You speak no Latin more than I, belike — 
 However, you *re my man, you Ve seen the world 
 
 — The beauty and the wonder and the power. 
 
 The shapes of things, their colours, lights and shades, 
 Changes, surprises, — and God made it all ! 
 
 — For what ? do you feel thankful, ay or no, 
 For this fair town's face, yonder river's line. 
 The mountain round it and the sky above, 
 Much more the figures of man, woman, child. 
 These are the frame to ? What 's it all about ? 
 To be passed o'er, despised ? or dwelt upon. 
 Wondered at ? oh, this last of course, you say. 
 But why not do as well as say, — paint these 
 Just as they are, careless what comes of it ? 
 God's works — paint any one, and count it crime 
 To let a truth slip. Don't object, " His works 
 Are here already — nature is complete : 
 Suppose you reproduce her — (which you can't) 
 There 's no advantage ! you must beat her, then." 
 For, don't you mark, we 're made so that we love 
 First when we see them painted, things we have passed 
 Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see ; 
 
 Ajid so they are better, painted — better to us, 
 Which is the same thing. Art was given for that — 
 
Ob FRA LIPPO LIPPI. 
 
 God uses us to help each other so, 
 
 Lending our minds out. Have you noticed, now, 
 
 Your cullion's hanging face ? A bit of chalk, 
 
 And trust me but you should, though ! How much more, 
 
 If I drew higher things with the same truth ! 
 
 That were to take the Prior's pulpit-place, 
 
 Interpret God to all of you ! oh, oh. 
 
 It makes me mad to see what men shall do 
 
 And we in our graves ! This world 's no blot for us, 
 
 Nor blank — it means intensely, and means good : 
 
 To find its meaning is my meat and drink. 
 
 " Ay, but you don't so instigate to prayer " 
 
 Strikes in the Prior ! " when your meaning 's plain 
 
 It does not say to folks — remember matins — 
 
 Or, mind you fast next Friday." Why, for this 
 
 What need of art at all ? A skull and bones. 
 
 Two bits of stick nailed cross-wise, or, what's best, 
 
 A bell to chime the hour with, does as well. 
 
 I painted a St. Laurence six months since 
 
 At Prato, splashed the fresco in fine style. 
 
 " How looks my painting, now the scaffold 's down ? " 
 
 I ask a brother : " Hugely," he returns — 
 
 " Already not one phiz of your three slaves 
 
 That turn the Deacon off his toasted side, 
 
 But's scratched and prodded to our heart's content. 
 
 The pious people have so eased their own 
 
 When coming to say prayers there in a rage. 
 
 We get on fast to see the bricks beneath. 
 
 Expect another job this time next year. 
 
FRA LIPPO LIPPI. 87 
 
 For pity and religion grow i' the crowd — 
 
 Your painting serves its purpose ! ** Hang the fbolt 
 
 — That is — you '11 not mistake an idle word 
 Spoke in a huff by a poor monk, God wot, 
 Tasting the air this spicy night which turns 
 The unaccustomed head like Chianti wine ! 
 Oh, the church knows ! don't misreport me, now ! 
 It's natural a poor monk out of bounds 
 Should have his apt word to excuse himself: 
 And hearken how I plot to make amends. 
 I have bethought me : I shall paint a piece 
 . . . There 's for you ! Give me six months, then go, set 
 Something in Sant' Ambrogio's . . . (bless the nuns ! 
 They want a cast of my office) I shall paint 
 God in the midst. Madonna and her babe, 
 Ringed by a bowery, flowery angel-brood, 
 Lilies and vestments and white faces, sweet 
 As puff on puff of grated orris-root 
 When ladies crowd to church at midsummer. 
 And then in the front, of course a saint or two — 
 Saint John, because he saves the Florentines, 
 Saint Ambrose, who puts down in black and white 
 The convent's friends and gives them a long day, 
 And Job, I must have him there past mistake, 
 The man of Uz, (and Us without the z. 
 Painters who need his patience.) Well, all these 
 Secured at their devotions, up shall come 
 Out of a corner when you least expect, 
 \s onp by a dark stair into a great light 
 
38 JPRA LIPPO LIPPI. 
 
 Music and talking, who but Lippo ! I ! — 
 
 Mazed, motionless and moon-struck — I 'm the man ! 
 
 Back I shrink — what is this I see and hear ? 
 
 I, caught up with my monk's things by mistake, 
 
 My old serge gown and rope that goes all round, 
 
 I, in this presence, this pure company ! 
 
 Where 's a hole, where 's a corner for escape ? 
 
 Then steps a sweet angelic slip of a thing 
 
 Forward, puts out a soft palm — " Not so fast ! " 
 
 — Addresses the celestial presence, " nay — 
 
 He made you and devised you, after all. 
 
 Though he 's none of you ! Could Saint John there, draw- 
 
 His camel-hair make up a painting-brush ? 
 
 We come to brother Lippo for all that, 
 
 Jste perfecit opus ! " So, all smile — 
 
 I shuffle sideways with my blushing face 
 
 Under the cover of a hundred wings 
 
 Thrown like a spread of kirtles when you 're gay 
 
 And play hot cockles, all the doors being shut, 
 
 Till, wholly unexpected, in there pops 
 
 The hothead husband ! Thus I scuttle off 
 
 To some safe bench behind, not letting go 
 
 The palm of her, the little lily thing 
 
 That spoke the good word for me in the nick. 
 
 Like the Prior's niece . . . Saint Lucy, I would say. 
 
 And so all 's saved for. me, and for the church 
 
 A pretty picture gained. Go, six months hence ! 
 
 Your hand, sir, and good bye : no lights, no lights ! 
 
 The street 's hushed, and I know my own way back — 
 
 Don't fear me ! There 's the gray beginning. Zooks I 
 
/. 
 
 A TOCCATA OP GALUPPI'S. 
 
 Op, Gfaluppi, Baldassaro, this is very sad to find I 
 
 I can hardly niisconceive you ; ii w&ald prc^ve me dei*f 
 
 and blind; 
 But although I give you credit, *tls with such a heavy 
 
 mind! 
 
 Here you come with your old music, and here's all the 
 
 good it brings. 
 
 What, they lived once thus at Venice, where the mer- 
 chants were the kings. 
 
 Where St. Mark's is, where the Doges used to wed the 
 
 sea with rings ? 
 
 8. 
 
 Ay, because the sea's the street there; and 'tis arched 
 
 by . . . what you call 
 
 . . . Shylock's bridge with houses on it, wherie they kept 
 
 the carnival ! 
 
 I was never out of England — it's as if I saw it aU I 
 
40 A TOCCATA OP GALUPPfS. 
 
 Did young people take their pleasure when the sea was 
 
 warm in May ? 
 
 Balls and masks begun at midnight, burning ever to mid- 
 day, 
 
 When they made up fresh adventures for the morrow, 
 
 do you say ? 
 
 5. 
 
 Was a lady such a lady, cheeks so round and lips so 
 
 red, — 
 On her neck the small face buoyant, like a beil-flower on 
 
 its bed. 
 O'er the breast's superb abundance where a man might 
 
 base his head ? 
 
 6. 
 
 Well (and it was graceful of them) they 'd break talk 
 
 off and afford 
 
 — She, to bite her mask's black velvet, he to finger on 
 
 his sword. 
 
 While you sat and played Toccatas, stately at the 
 
 clavichord ? 
 
 7. 
 
 What? Those lesser thirds so plaintive, sixths dimin- 
 ished, sigh on sigh. 
 
 Told them something? Those suspensions, those solu* 
 
 tions — " Must we die ? ** 
 
A TOCCATA OF GALUPPI*S. 41 
 
 Those commiserating sevenths — " Life might last ! we 
 can but try ! " 
 
 8. 
 
 *• Were you happy ? " — " Yes." — " And are you still as 
 happy ? " — « Yes — And you ?" 
 
 — " Then more kisses " — " Did / stop them, when a 
 million seemed so few ? " 
 
 Hark — the dominant's persistence, till it must be an- 
 swered to ! 
 
 9. 
 
 So an octave struck the answer. Oh, they praised you, 
 
 I dare say ! 
 " Brave Galuppi ! that was music ! good alike at grave 
 
 and gay ! 
 I can always leave off talking, when I hear a master 
 
 play." 
 
 10. 
 
 Then they left you for their pleasure : till in due time, 
 
 one by one. 
 Some with lives that came to nothing, some with deeds 
 
 as well undone. 
 Death came tacitly and took them where they never see 
 
 the sun. 
 
 11. 
 But when I sit down to reason, — think to take my stand 
 nor swerv^ 
 
42 A TOCCATA OP GALUPPl'S. 
 
 Till I triumph o'er a secret wrung from nature's close 
 
 reserve, 
 
 In you come with your cold music, till I creep thro' 
 
 every nerve. 
 
 12. 
 
 Yes, you, like a ghostly cricket, creaking where a house 
 
 was burned — 
 
 " Dust and ashes, dead and done with, Venice spent what 
 
 Venice earned ! 
 
 The soul, doubtless, is immortal — where a soul can be 
 
 discerned. 
 
 18. 
 
 " Yours for instance, you know physics, something of 
 
 Mathematics are your pastime ; souls shall rise in their 
 
 degree ; 
 
 Butterflies may dread extinction, — you'll not die, it 
 
 cannot be ! 
 
 14. 
 « As for Venice and its people, merely born to bloom and 
 
 drop, 
 Here on earth they bore their fruitage, mirth and folly 
 
 were the crop. 
 What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to 
 
 stop ? 
 
A TOCCATA OF GALUPPl's. 43 
 
 15. 
 
 * Dust and ashes 1 " So you creak it, and I want the 
 
 heart to scold 
 
 Dear dead -women, with such hair, too — what 's become 
 
 of all the gold 
 
 Used to hang and brush their bosoms ? I feel chilly and 
 
 ^own old. 
 
BY THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 1. 
 
 Ho w weU I know what I mean to do 
 
 When the long dark Autumn evenings come, 
 
 And where, my soul, is thy pleasant hue ? 
 With the music of all thy voices, dumb 
 
 In life's November too ! 
 
 I shall be found by the fire, suppose, 
 
 O'er a great wise book as beseemeth age, 
 
 While the shutters flap as the cross-wind blows, 
 And I turn the page, and I turn the page, 
 
 Not verse now, only prose ! 
 
 3. 
 
 TiQ the young ones whisper, finger on lip, 
 " There he is at it, deep in Greek — 
 
 Now or never, then, out we slip 
 To cut from the hazels by the creek 
 
 A mainmast for our ship." 
 
BT THE F1BE3IDB. 15 
 
 4. 
 
 I shall be at it indeed, my friends ' 
 
 Greek puts already on either side 
 Such a branch-work forth, as soon extendi 
 
 To a vista opening far and wide, 
 And I pass out where it ends. 
 
 5. 
 
 The outside-frame like your hazel-trees 
 But the inside-archway narrows fast, 
 
 And a rarer sort succeeds to these. 
 And we slope to Italy at last 
 
 And youth, by green degrees. 
 
 6. 
 
 I follow wherever I am led, 
 
 Knowing so well the leader's hand — 
 
 Oh, woman-country, wooed, not wed. 
 
 Loved all the more by earth's male-laodii 
 
 Laid to their hearts instead ! 
 
 Look at the ruined chapel again 
 Half way up in the Alpine gorge. 
 
 Is that a tower, I point you plain, 
 Or is it a mill or an iron forge 
 
 Breaks solitude in vain ? 
 
46 BY THE IIBESIDE. 
 
 8. 
 
 A turn, and we stand in the heart of thmgs ; 
 
 The woods are round us, heaped and dim ; 
 From slab to slab how it slips and springs, 
 
 The thread of water single and slim. 
 Thro' the ravage some torrent brings I 
 
 9. 
 
 Does it feed the little lake below ? 
 
 That speck of white just on its marge 
 Is Pella ; see, in the evening glow 
 
 How sharp the silver spear-heads charge 
 When Alp meets Heaven in snow. 
 
 10. 
 On our other side is the straight-up rock ; 
 
 And a path is kept *twixt the gorge and it 
 By boulder-stones where lichens mock 
 
 The marks on a moth, and small ferns fit 
 ITieir teeth to the poUshed block. 
 
 11. 
 
 Oh, the sense of the yellow mountain flowers, 
 And the thorny balls, each three in one, 
 
 The chestnuts throw on our path in showers. 
 For the drop of the woodland fruit's begun 
 
 These early November hours — 
 
BT THE FIRESIDE. 47 
 
 12. 
 
 That crimson the creeper's leaf across 
 Like a splash of blood, intense, abrupt, 
 
 O'er a shield, else gold from rim to boss, 
 And lay it for show on the fairy-cupped 
 
 Elf-needled mat of moss, 
 
 13. 
 
 By the rose-flesh mushrooms, undivulged 
 Last evening — nay, in to-day's first dew 
 
 Yon sudden coral nipple bulged 
 
 Where a freaked, fawn-coloured, flaky crew 
 
 Of toadstools peep indulged. 
 
 14. 
 
 And yonder, at foot of the fronting ridge 
 That takes the turn to a range beyond. 
 
 Is the chapel reached by the one-arched bridge 
 Where the water is stopped in a stagnant pond 
 
 Danced over by the midge. 
 
 15. 
 
 The chapel and bridge are of stone alike. 
 Blackish gray and mostly wet ; 
 
 Cut hemp-stalks steep m the narrow dyke. 
 See here again, how the lichens fret 
 
 And the roots of the ivy strike 1 
 
48 BY THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 16. 
 
 Poor little place, where its one priest comes 
 On a festa-day, if he comes at all, 
 
 To the dozen folk from their scattered homes. 
 Gathered within that precinct small 
 
 By the dozen ways one roams 
 
 17. 
 
 To drop from the charcoal-burners* huts, 
 Or climb from the hemp-dressers' low shed, 
 
 Leave the grange where the woodman stores his nuts. 
 Or the wattled cote where the fowlers spread 
 
 Their gear on the rock's bare juts. 
 
 18. 
 
 It has some pretension too, this front, 
 With its bit of fresco half-moon-wise 
 
 Set over the porch, art's early wont — 
 'Tis John in the Desert, I surmise, 
 
 But has borne the weather's brunt — 
 
 19. 
 
 Not from the fault of the builder, though, 
 For a pent-house properly projects 
 
 Where three carved beams make a certain show. 
 Dating — good thought of our architect's — 
 
 'Five, six, nine, he lets you know. 
 
BT THE FIRESIDE. 49 
 
 20. 
 
 And all day long a bird sings there, 
 
 And a stray sheep drinks at the pond at times : 
 The place is silent and aware ; 
 
 It has had its scenes, its joys and crimes, 
 But that is its own affair. 
 
 My perfect wife, my Leonor, 
 
 Oh, heart my own, oh, eyes, mine too, 
 
 Whom else could I dare look backward for, 
 With whom beside should I dare pursue 
 
 The path gray heads abhor ? 
 
 22. 
 
 For it leads to a crag's sheer edge with them ; 
 
 Youth, flowery all the way, there stops — 
 Not they ; age threatens and they contemn. 
 
 Till they reach the gulf wherein youth drops, 
 One inch from our life's safe hem ! 
 
 23. 
 
 With me, youth led — I will speak now, 
 No longer watch you as you sit 
 
 {leading by fire-light, that great brow 
 And the spirit-small hand propping it 
 
 Hutely — my heart knows how — 
 
50 BY THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 24. 
 When, if I think but deep enough, 
 
 You are wont to answer, prompt as rhyme ; 
 And you, too, find without a rebuff 
 
 The response your soul seeks many a time 
 Piercing its fine flesh-stuff — 
 
 26. 
 
 My own, confirm me ! If I tread 
 This path back, is it not in pride 
 
 To think how little I dreamed it led 
 To an age so blest that by its side 
 
 Youth seems the waste instead 1 
 
 26. 
 
 My own, see where the years conduct ! 
 
 At first, 'twas something our two souls 
 Should mix as mists do : each is sucked 
 
 Into each now ; on, the new stream rolls, 
 Whatever rocks obstruct. 
 
 27. 
 
 Think, when our one soul understands 
 
 The great Word which makes all things new 
 
 When earth breaks up and Heaven expands — 
 How will the change strike me and you 
 
 In the House not made with hands ? 
 
BY THE FIRESIDE. Ol 
 
 28. 
 
 Oh, I must feel your brain prompt mine, 
 
 Your heart anticipate my heart, 
 You must be just before, in fine. 
 
 See and make me see, for your part, 
 New depths of the Divine ! 
 
 29- 
 
 But who could have expected this, 
 
 When we two drew together first 
 Just for the obvious human bliss, 
 
 To satisfy life's daily thirst 
 With a thing men seldom miss ? 
 
 30. 
 
 Come back with me to the first of all. 
 Let us lean and love it over again — 
 
 Let us now forget and then recall, 
 Break the rosary in a pearly rain. 
 
 And gather what we let fall 
 
 81. 
 
 What did I say ? — that a small bird sings 
 All day long, save when a brown pair 
 
 Of hawks from the wood float with wide wings 
 Strained to a bell : 'gainst the noonday glare 
 
 You count the streaks and rings. 
 
52 BY THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 32. 
 
 But at afternoon or almost eve 
 *Tis better ; then the silence grows 
 
 To that degree, you half believe 
 It must get rid of what it knows, 
 
 Its bosom does so heave. 
 
 33. 
 
 Hither we walked, then, side by side, 
 Arm in arm and cheek to cheek, 
 
 And still I questioned or replied. 
 
 While my heart, convulsed to really speak, 
 
 Lay choking in its pride. 
 
 34. 
 
 Silent the crumbling bridge we cross, 
 And pity and praise the chapel sweet, 
 
 And care about the fresco's loss. 
 
 And wish for our souls a like retreat, 
 
 And wonder at the moss. 
 
 35. 
 
 Stoop and kneel on the settle under — 
 Look through the window's grated square 
 
 Nothing to see ! for fear of plunder. 
 The cross is down and the altar bare. 
 
 As if thieves don't fear thunder. 
 
BY THE FIRESIDE. 5ft 
 
 36. 
 
 We stoop and look in through the grate, 
 
 See the little porch and rustic door, 
 Read duly the dead builder's date, 
 
 Then cross the bridge we crossed before, 
 Take the path again — but wait I 
 
 37. 
 
 Oh moment, one and infinite ! 
 
 The water slips o'er stock and stone ; 
 The west is tender, hardly bright. 
 
 How gray at once is the evening grown -~ 
 One star, the chrysolite 1 
 
 38. 
 
 We two stood there with never a third. 
 But each by each, as each knew well. 
 
 The sights we saw and the sounds we heard. 
 The lights and the shades made up a spell 
 
 Till the trouble grew and stirred. 
 
 Oh, the little more, and how much it is ! 
 
 And the httle less, and what worlds away 
 How a sound shall quicken content to bliss. 
 
 Or a breath suspend the blood's best play, 
 And life be a proof of this I 
 
54 BT THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 40. 
 
 Had slie willed it, still had stood the screen 
 So slight, so sure, 'twixt my love and her. 
 
 I could fix her face with a guard between, 
 And find her soul as when friends confer, 
 
 Friends — lovers that might have been. 
 
 41. 
 
 For my heart had a touch of the woodland time, 
 Wanting to sleep now over its best. 
 
 Shake the whole tree in the summer-prime, 
 But bring to the last leaf no such test. 
 
 " Hold the last fast ! " says the rhyme. 
 
 42. 
 
 For a chance to make your little much. 
 
 To gain a lover and lose a friend. 
 Venture the tree and a myriad such. 
 
 When nothing you mar but the year can mend I 
 But a last leaf — fear to touch. 
 
 43. 
 
 Yet should it unfasten itself and fall 
 Eddying down till it find your face 
 
 At some slight wind — (best chance of all !) 
 Be your heart henceforth its dwelling-place 
 
 Yon trembled to forestall I 
 
BY THE FIRESIDE. n*^ 
 
 44. 
 
 Worth how well, those dark gray eyes, 
 — That hair so dark and dear, how worth 
 
 That a man should strive and agonize, 
 And taste a very hell on earth 
 
 For the hope of such a prize ! 
 
 45. 
 
 Oh, you might have turned and tried a man, 
 Set him a space to weary and wear. 
 
 And prove which suited more your plan. 
 His best of hope or his worst despair, 
 
 Yet end as he began. 
 
 46. 
 
 But you spared me this, like the heart you are, 
 And filled my empty heart at a word. 
 
 If you join two lives, there is oft a scar. 
 
 They are one and one, with a shadowy third ; 
 
 One near one is too far. 
 
 47. 
 
 A moment after, and hands unseen 
 
 Were hanging the night around us fast. 
 
 But we knew that a bar was broken between 
 Life and life ; we were mixed at last 
 
 In spite of the mortal screen. 
 
56 BY THE FIRESIDE. 
 
 48. 
 
 The forests had done it ; there they stood — 
 "We caught for a second the powers at play : 
 
 They had mingled us so, for once and for good, 
 Their work was done — we might go or stay, 
 
 They relapsed to their ancient mood. 
 
 49. 
 
 How the world is made for each of us I 
 How all we perceive and know in it 
 
 Tends to some moment's product thus. 
 When a soul declares itself — to wit, 
 
 By its fruit — the thing it does I 
 
 50. 
 
 Be Hate that fruit or Love that fruit, 
 It forwards the General Deed of Man, 
 
 And each of the Many helps to recruit 
 The life of the race by a general plan. 
 
 Each living his own, to boot. 
 
 51. 
 
 I am named and known by that hour's feat, 
 There took my station and degree. 
 
 So grew my own small life complete 
 As nature obtained her best of me — 
 
 One bom to love you, sweet I 
 
BY THE FIRESIDE. 67 
 
 52. 
 
 And to watch you sink by the fireside now 
 
 Back again, as you mutely sit 
 Musing by fire-light, that great brow 
 
 And the spirit-small hand propping it 
 Yonder, my heart knows how I 
 
 63. 
 
 So the earth has gained by one man more, 
 And the gain of earth must be Heaven's gain too 
 
 And the whole is well worth thinking o'er 
 
 When the autumn comes : which I mean to do 
 
 One day, as I said before. 
 
ANY WIFE TO ANY HUSBAND. 
 
 1. 
 
 My love, this is the bitterest, that thou 
 Who art all truth and who dost love me now 
 
 As thine eyes say, as thy voice breaks to say — 
 Should'st love so truly and could'st love me still 
 A whole long life through, had but love its will. 
 
 Would death that leads me from thee brook deHy ! 
 
 I have but to be by thee, and thy hand 
 Would never let mine go, thy heart withstand 
 
 The beating of my heart to reach its place. 
 When should I look for thee and feel thee gone ? 
 When cry for the old comfort and find none ? 
 
 Never, I know 1 Thy bguI is in thy face. 
 
 8. 
 
 Oh, I should fade — *tis willed so I might I save, 
 Gladly I would, whatever beauty gave 
 
ANT WIPE TO ANT HUSBAND. 59 
 
 Joy to thy sense, for that was precious too. 
 It is not to be granted. But the soul 
 Whence the love comes, all ravage leaves that whole ; 
 
 Vainly the flesh fades — soul makes all things new. 
 
 4. 
 
 And 'twould not be because my eye grew dim 
 Thou could'st not find the love there, thanks to Him 
 
 Who never is dishonoured in the spark 
 He gave us from his fire of fires, and bade 
 Remember whence it sprang nor be afraid 
 
 While that bums on, though all the rest grow dark. 
 
 So, how thou would'st be perfect, white and clean 
 Outside as inside, soul and soul's demesne 
 
 Alike, this body given to show it by I 
 Oh, three-parts through the worst of life's abyss, 
 What plaudits from the next world after this, 
 
 Could'st thou repeat a stroke and gain the sky I 
 
 6. 
 
 And is it not the bitterer to think 
 
 That, disengage oui hands and thou wilt sink 
 
 Although thy love was love in very deed ? 
 I know that nature ! Pass a festive day 
 Thou dost not throw its relic-flower away 
 
 Nor bid its music's loitering echo speed. 
 
ANT WIPE TO ANT HUSBAND. 
 
 Thou let'st the stranger's glove lie where it fell ; 
 If old things remain old things all is well, 
 
 For thou art grateful as becomes man best : 
 And hadst thou only heard me play one tune, 
 Or viewed me from a window, not so soon 
 
 With thee would such things fade as with the reat. 
 
 8. 
 
 I seem to see ! we meet and part: 'tis brief: 
 The book I opened keeps a folded leaf. 
 
 The very chair I sat on, breaks the rank ; 
 That is a portrait of me on the wall — 
 Three lines, my face comes at so slight a call ; 
 
 And for all this, one little hour 's to thank. 
 
 But now, because the hour through years was fixed, 
 Because our inmost beings met and mixed, 
 
 Because thou once hast loved me — wilt thou dare 
 Say to thy soul and Who may list beside, 
 " Therefore she is immortally my bride, 
 
 Chance cannot change that love, nor time impair. 
 
 10. 
 
 »» So, what if in the dusk of life that's left, 
 r, a tired traveller, of my sun bereft, 
 
 T onV from my path when, mimicking the same, 
 
ANr WIPE TO ANT HUSBAND. 61 
 
 The fire-fly glimpses past me, come and gone ? 
 ' — Where was it till the sunset ? where anon 
 It will be at the sunrise 1 what 's to blame ? " 
 
 11. 
 
 Is it so helpful to thee ? canst thou take 
 The mimic up, nor, for the true thing's sake, 
 
 Put gently by such efforts at a beam ? 
 Is the remainder of the way so long 
 Thou need'st the little solace, thou the strong ? 
 
 Watch out thy watch, let weak ones doze and dream 
 
 12. 
 
 « — Ah, but the fresher faces ! Is it true,** 
 Thou 'It ask, " some eyes are beautiful and new ? 
 
 Some hair, — ^how can one choose but grasp such wealth ' 
 And if a man would press his lips to Ups 
 Fresh as the wilding hedge-rose cup there slips 
 
 The dew-drop out of, must it be by stealth ? 
 
 13. 
 
 " It cannot change the love kept still for Her, 
 Much more than, such a picture to prefer 
 
 Passing a day with, to a room's bare side. 
 The painted form takes nothing she possessed, 
 Tet while the Titian's Venus lies at rest 
 
 A man looks. Once more, what is there to chide ? * 
 
62 ANY WIFE TO ANY HUSBAND. 
 
 14. 
 
 So must I see, from where I sit and watch, 
 My own self sell myself, my hand attach 
 
 Its warrant to the very thefts from me — 
 Thy singleness of soul that made me proud, 
 Thy purity of heart I loved aloud. 
 
 Thy man's truth I was bold to bid God see 1 
 
 15. 
 
 Love so, then, if thou wilt ! Give all thou canst 
 Away to the new faces — disentranced — 
 
 (Say it and think it) obdurate no more, 
 Reissue looks and words from the old mint — 
 Pass them afresh, no matter whose the print 
 
 Image and superscription once they bore I 
 
 16. 
 Recoin thyself and give it them to spend, — 
 It all comes to the same thing at the end, 
 
 Since mine thou wast, mine art, and mine shalt be^ 
 Faithful or faithless, sealing up the sum 
 Or lavish of my treasure, thou must come 
 
 Back to the heart's place here I keep for thee I 
 
 17. 
 Only, why should it be with stain at all ? 
 Why must I, 'twixt the leaves of coronal, 
 Put any kiss of pardon on thy brow ? 
 
ANT WIPE TO ANT HUSBAND. 63 
 
 Why need the other women know so much 
 And talk together, " Such the look and such 
 The smile he used to love with, then as now ! * 
 
 18. 
 
 Might I die last and show thee ! Should I find 
 Such hardship in the few years left behind, 
 
 If free to take and light my lamp, and go 
 Into thy tomb, and shut the door and sit 
 Seeing thy face on those four sides of it 
 
 The better that they are so blank, I know I 
 
 19. 
 
 Why, time was what I wanted, to turn o'er 
 Within my mind each look, get more and more 
 
 By heart each word, too much to learn at first, 
 And join thee all the fitter for the pause 
 'Neath the low door-way's lintel. That were cause 
 
 For lingering, though thou calledst, if I durst ! 
 
 20. 
 
 And yet thou art the nobler of us two. 
 What dare I dream of, that thou canst not do. 
 
 Outstripping my ten small steps with one striie ? 
 r '11 say then, here 's a trial and a task — 
 Is it to bear? — if easy, I'll not ask — 
 
 Though love fail, I can trust on in thy pride. 
 
(54 ANY WIFE TO ANY HUSBAND. 
 
 21. 
 
 Pride ? — when those eyes forestall the life behind 
 The death I have to go through ! — when I find, 
 
 Now that I want thy help most, all of thee ! 
 What did I fear ? Thy love shall hold me fast 
 Until the little minute's sleep is past 
 
 And I wake saved. — And yet, it will not be ! 
 

 tt^AAXJ 
 
 AN EPISTLE 
 
 CONTAINING THE 
 
 8TBANGE MEDICAL EXPEKIENCE OF KARSHISH, TUE 
 ARAB PHYSICIAN. 
 
 Kabshish, the picker-up of learning's crumbs. 
 The not-incurious in God's handiwork 
 (This man's-flesh He hath admirably made, "^ 
 Blown like a bubble, kneaded like a paste, L 
 
 To coop up and keep down on earth a space \ 
 
 That puff of v apour from His mouth, man's soul) 
 — To Abib, all-sagacious in our art, 
 Breeder in me of what poor skill I boast. 
 Like me inquisitive how pricks and cracks "^--r- 
 Befall the flesh through too much stress and strain, 
 Whereby the wily, vapou r fain would slip 
 Back and rejoin its source before the term, — 
 
 And aptest in contrivance, under God, a j ^ 'j Vl HI 
 
 To baffle it by deftly stopping such : -^ JisA^t^ > K/W*.i- 
 
 The vagrant Scholar to his Sage at home 
 
 Sends (n^ft^ting (health and knowledge, fame with peace) Voo^t^^w-a 
 I ' Three samples of true snake-stone — rarer still, " *v 
 
 One of the other sort, the melon-shaped, 
 (But fitter, pounded fine, for charms than drugs) 
 And wi-iteth now the twenty-second time. 
 
 .4\,.rvJU <^^UV.^ 4ArKt-^ 
 
66 AN EPISTLE. 
 
 My joumeyings were brought to Jericho> 
 Thus I resume. Who studious in our art 
 SHall count a little labour unrepaid ? 
 I have shed sweat enough, left flesh and bone a 
 
 On many a flinty furlong of this land. I^TKi?^ U/>aX- 
 
 Also the country-side is all on fire 
 
 With rumours of a marching hitherward — « Ih^jk 
 
 Some^say^Vesj^siasjc^^ some, hjs-son. wC\\t'\rrT^^'**^ 
 A black lynx snarled and pricked a tufted ear ; '' 
 
 Lust of my blood inflamed his yellow balls : 
 I cried and threw my staff and he was gone. 
 Twice have the robbers stripped and beaten me, 
 And once a town declared me for a spy, 
 But at the end, I reach Jerusalem, 
 Since this poor covert where I pass the night, 
 This Bethany, lies scarce the distance thence 
 A^an with plague-sores at the third degree 
 Euns till he drops down dead. Thou laughest here I 
 'Sooth, it elates me, thus reposed and safe, 
 To void the stuffing of ray travel-scrip 
 And share with thee whatever Jewry yields. 
 A viscid choler is observable 
 In tertians, I was nearly bold to say, 
 And falling-sickness hath a happier cure 
 Than our school wots of: there 's a spider here 
 Weaves no web, watches on the ledge of tombs, 
 Sprinkled with mottles on an ash -gray ba ck ; 
 Take five and drop^ihejoa^ . .jout who knows his mind, | 
 / The Syrian run-a-gate I trust this to ? 
 
AN EPISTLE. W 
 
 His service payeth me a sublimate 
 Blown up his nose to help the ailing eye. 
 Best wait : I reach Jerusalem at mom, 
 There set in order my experiences, 
 ^ Gather what most deserves and give thee al l— -^ ^ 
 Or I might add, judea's gum 4ra^acanffi , 
 
 Scales off in purer flakes, shines clearer-grained, 
 Cracks 'twixt the pestle and the porphyry, 
 In fine exceeds our produce. Scalp-disease 
 Confounds me, crossing so with leprosy — 
 
 Thou hadst admired one sort I gained at Zoar-- , -i -f f 
 
 But zeal outruns discretion. Here I end. ri'^ ^-^ '^^^'^ ^^' 
 
 Yet stay : my Syrian blinketh gratefully, 
 
 Protesteth his devotion is my price — ^ 
 
 Suppose I w rite what harms not, thoup^h he steal ? / ' ^ ' 
 
 t I half resolve to tell thee^yet I blush^J -dJufcu r' 
 
 What set me off a-writing first of all. 
 
 An itch I had, a sting to write, a tang ! 
 
 For, be it this to wn's bar renness^ — or else 
 r w/>,Ml The Man had something in the look of him — 
 
 His case has struck me far more than 'tis worth. 
 
 So, pardon if — (lest presently I lose ^ . 
 
 I n the grea Lpress of_ngyjdtyijtt hand j 
 I The care and pains this somehow stole from me) 
 
 ^ I bid thee take the thing while fresh in mind, 
 
 Ahnost in sight — for, wilt thou have the truth ? 
 
 The very man is gone from me but now, 
 
 Whose aUment is the subject of discourse. 
 
 Thus then, and let thy better wit help all. 
 
68 AN EPISTLE. 
 
 *Tis but a cas3 of mania — subinduced 
 
 "^ — ■■ '>, 
 
 By epilepsy, at the turning-point 
 
 Of trance prolonged unduly some three days ^ 
 
 When by the exhibition of some drug 
 
 Or spell, exorcisation, stroke of art 
 
 Unknown to me and which 'twere well to know , 
 
 The evil thing out-breaking all at once 
 
 Left the man whole and sound of body indeed, — « 
 
 But, flinging, so to speak, life's gates too wide, 
 
 Making a clear house of it too suddenly, 
 
 Ihe first conceit that entered pleased to write 
 
 Whatever it was minded on the wall 
 
 So plainly at that vantage, as it were, 
 
 (First come, first served) that nothing subsequent 
 
 Attaineth to erase the fancy-scrawls 
 
 Which the returned and new-established soul 
 
 Hath gotten now so thoroughly by heart 
 
 That henceforth she will read or these or none. 
 
 And first — the man's own firm conviction rests 
 
 That he was dead (in fact they buried him) 
 
 That he was dead and then restored to life 
 
 By a Nazarene physician of his tribe : 
 
 — 'Sayeth, the same bade " Rise," and he did risa 
 
 " Such cases are diurnal," thou wilt cry. 
 
 Not so this figment ! — not, that such a fume, 
 
 Juatead of giving jpyay jo ti me and hea lth. 
 
 Should eat itself into the life of life, 
 
 Pls saffron tingeth flesh, blood, bones and all I 
 
 For see, how he takes up the after-hfe. 
 
 The man — it is one Lazarus a Jew, 
 
AN EPISTLE, 
 
 69 
 
 Sanguine, proportioned, fifty years of age, 
 The body's habit wholly laudable, 
 As much, indeed, beyond the common health 
 As he were made and put aside to show. 
 Think, cou ld we penetrate by any drug . ^^ 
 ^nd bathe the weari ed soul and wo rried flesh, 
 And brin g it clear, a nd giir^ by thre e days sleep ! 
 Whence has the man the balm that brightens all ? 
 This grown man eyes t he world now like a child. 
 Some elders of his tribe, I should premise, 
 Led in their friend, obedient as a sheep, 
 To bear my inquisition. While they spoke. 
 Now sharply, now with sorrow, — told the case, — 
 He listened not. except I spoke to him, 
 But folded his two hands and let them talk. 
 Watching the flies that buzzed : and yet no fooL 
 And that 's a sample how his years must go. 
 Look if a beggar, in fixed middle-life. 
 Should find a treasure, can he use the same 
 With straightened liabits and with tastes starved small. 
 And take at once to his impoverished brain 
 The sudden element that changes things, 
 — That sets the undreamed-of rapture at his hand. 
 And puts the cheap old joy in the scorned dust ? 
 Is he not such an one as moves to mirth — 
 Warily parsimonious, when's no need, 
 Wasteful as drunkenness at undue times ? 
 All prudent counsel as to what befits 
 The golden mean, is lost on such an one. 
 

 
 (I 
 
 •^ 
 
 OM^>A\ 
 
 TO AN EPISTLE. 
 
 The man's fantastic will is the man's law. 
 
 So here — we '11 call the treasure knowledge, say — 
 
 Increased beyond the fleshly faculty — 
 
 Heav en opened to a_soul while yet on earth, 
 
 Earth Jorced on a soul's use while seeing Heaven. 
 
 The man is witless of the size, the sum, 
 
 The value in proportion of all things, 
 
 Or whether it be little or be much. 
 
 Discourse to him of prodigious armaments 
 
 Assembled to besiege his city now. 
 And of the passing of a mule with gourds — 
 I'Tis one ! Then take it on the other side, 
 Speak of some trifling fact — he will gaze rapt 
 With stupor at its very littleness — 
 (Far as I see) as if in that indeed 
 He caught prodigious import, whole results ; 
 And so will turn to us the bystanders 
 In ever the same stupor (note this point) 
 That we too see. not with his opened eyes I 
 Wonder and doubt come wrongly into play, 
 Preposterously, at cross purposes. 
 Should his child sicken unto death, — why, look 
 For scarce abatement of his cheerfulness. 
 Or pretermission of his daily craft — 
 While a word, gesture, glance, from that same child 
 At play or in the school or laid asleep. 
 Will start him to an agony of fear. 
 Exasperation, just as like ! demand 
 The reason whv — " 'tis but a word," object — 
 
AN EPISTLE 7i 
 
 A gesture " '— he regards thee as our lord fj'^^'^?) ^^^"^ 
 Who lived there in the pyramid alone, ^ 
 
 Looked at us, dost thou mind, when being young . 
 
 We both would unadvisedly recite 
 
 Some charm's beginning, from that book of his, 
 
 Able to bid the sun throb wide and burst 
 
 All into stars, as suns grown old are wont. 
 
 Thou and the child have each a veil alike 
 
 Thrown o'er your heads from under which ye both 
 
 Stretch your blind hands and trifle with a match 
 
 Over a mine of Greek fire, did ye know ! 
 
 He holds on firmly to some thread of life — \ /JI)oja, ' 
 
 (It is the life to lead perforcedly) \ ^^ /^ 
 
 Which runs across some vast distracting orb 
 ! Of glory on either side that meagre thread, fK^>LA~, 
 
 J \ Which, conscious of, he must not enter yet — 
 \ vThe spiritual life around the earthly life ! / 
 
 The law of that is known to him as this — / 
 
 flis heart and brain move there^ his feet sta y here. 
 
 So is the man perplext with impulses 
 
 Sudden to start off crosswise, not straight on. 
 
 Proclaiming what is Right and Wrong across — 
 
 ^d not along — this black thread through the biaze -»• 
 
 " It should be " balked by " here it cannot be." 
 
 And oft the man's soul springs into his face 
 
 As if he saw again and heard again 
 
 His sage that bade him " Rise " and he did rise. 
 
 Something — a word, a tick of the blood within 
 
 Admonishes — then back he sinks at once 
 
 ^ ^ 7/1 (Sovu-A-^ C-> »; fj^n^wsiL. ^:«xi V li-iji^ V^T/u^ fuJc. 
 
X 
 
 72 AN EPISTLE. 
 
 To ashes, that was very fire before, 
 In sedulous recurrence to Ms trade 
 "Whereby he earneth him the daily bread — 
 And studiously the humbler for that pride, 
 Professedly the faultier that he knows 
 God's secret, while he holds the thread of life. 
 Indeed the especial marking of the man 
 / |j[s proj3£^ubmission to the Heavenly will — 
 ISeeinffit, what it is, and why it is. 
 ^ayeth, he will wait parent to the last 
 For that same death which will restore his being 
 To equilibrium, body loosening soul 
 Divorced even now by premature full growth : 
 He will live, nay, it pleaseth him to live 
 So long as God please, and just how God please. 
 He even seeketh not to please God more 
 (Which meaneth, otherwise) than as God please. 
 Hence I perceive not he affects to preach 
 The doctrine of his sect^whate'er it be — 
 Make proselytes as madmen thirst to do. 
 How can he give his neighbour the real ground. 
 His own conviction ? ardent as he is — 
 Call his great truth a lie, why still the old 
 " Be it as God please " reassureth him. 
 I probed the sore as thy disciple should — 
 y" How, beast," said I, " this stolid carelessness 
 / Sufficeth thee, when Rome is on her march 
 1^ To stamp out like a little spark thy town, 
 Thy tribe, thy crazy tale and thee at once ? " 
 He merely looked with his large eyes on me. 
 
 y^r 
 
 ATI ilJU ^ 
 
AN EPISTLE. 
 
 73 
 
 riie man is apathetic, you deduce ? 
 Contrariwise he loves both old and young, 
 Tble'and weak — affects the very brutes 
 And birds —how say I? flowers of the field — 
 As a wise workman recognizes tools 
 In a master's workshop, loving what they make. 
 Thus is the man as harmless as a lamb : 
 Only impatient, let him do his best. 
 At ignorance and carelessness and sin — 
 An indignation which is promptly curbed. 
 As when in certain travels I have feigned 
 To be an ignoramus in our art 
 According to some preconceived design, 
 And happed to hear the land's practitioners 
 Steeped in conceit sublimed by ignorance. 
 Prattle fantastically on disease, 
 Its cause and cure — and I must hold my peace I 
 
 Thou wilt object — why have I not ere this 
 Sought out the sage himself, the^NazarQftg 
 Who wrought this cure, inquiring at the source, 
 Conferring with the frankness that befits ? 
 Alas ! it grieveth me, the learned leech 
 Perished in a tumult many years ago, 
 Accused, — our learning's fate, — of wizardry, 
 Rebellion, to the setting up a rule 
 And creed prodigious as described to me. 
 His death which happened when the earthquake fell i,«^«^-** 
 (Prefiguring, as soon appeared, the loss 
 To occult learning in our lord the sage 
 
74 AN EPISTLE. 
 
 That lived there in the pyramid alone) 
 —Was wrought by the mad people — that 's theii wont — 
 
 On vain recourse, as I conjecture it, 
 
 To his tried virtue, for miraculous help — 
 
 How could he stop the earthquake ? That 's their way ! 
 
 The other imputations must be lies : 
 
 But take one — though I loathe to give it thee, 
 
 In mere respect to any good man's fame ! 
 
 (And after all our patient Lazarus 
 
 Is stark mad — should we count on what he says ? 
 
 Perhaps not — though in writing to a leech 
 
 'Tis well to keep back nothing of a case.) 
 
 This man so cured regards the curer then, 
 
 As — God forgive me — who but God himself, 
 
 Creator and Sustainer of the world, 
 
 That came and dwelt in flesh on it awhile ! 
 
 — 'Sayeth that such an One was born and lived, 
 
 Taught, healed the sick, broke bread at his own house^ 
 
 Then died, with Lazarus by, for aught I know, 
 
 And yet was . . . what I said nor choose repeat, 
 
 And must have so avouched himself, in fact. 
 
 In hearing of this very Lazarus 
 
 Who saith — but why all this of what he saith ? 
 
 Why write of trivial matters, things of price 
 
 Calling at every moment for remark ? 
 \I noticed on the margin of a pool 
 IBlue-flowering borage, the Aleppo sort, 
 
 Aboundeth, very nitrous. It is strange ! 
 
 Thy pardon for this lon^ and tedious^ case, 
 
AN EPISTLE. 75 
 
 WTiicli, now that I review it, needs must seem 
 
 Unduly dwelt on, prolixly set forth. 
 
 Nor I myself discern in what is writ 
 
 Good cause for the peculiar interest 
 
 And awe indeed this man has touched me with. 
 
 Perhaps the journey's end, the weariness 
 
 Had wrought upon me first. I met him thus — 
 
 I crossed a ridge of short sharp broken hills 
 
 Like an old lion's cheek-teeth. Out there came 
 
 A moon made like a face with certain spots 
 
 Multiform, manifold, and menacing : 
 
 Then a wind rose behind me. So we met 
 
 I In this old sleepy town at unaware, 
 
 I Them^and I. I send thee what is writ. 
 Regard it as a chance, a matter risked 
 To this ambiguous Syrian — he may lose, 
 Or steal, or give it thee with equal good. 
 Jerusalem's repose shall make amends 
 For time this letter wastes, thy time and mine, 
 Till when, once more thy pardon and farewell ! 
 
 The very God ! think. Abib ; dost thou thmk ? 
 
 S o, the All-Great, were the All-Lovinsr too — . 
 
 So, through the thunder comes a human voice 
 Saying, " Q heart I made, a. heart beats here ! 
 Face, my hands fashioned, see it in myself. 
 Thou hast no power nor may'st conceive of mine, 
 But love I gave thee, with Myself to love, 
 And thou must love me who have died for thee ! ** 
 The madman saith He said so ; it is strange . 
 
MESMERISM. 
 
 1. 
 
 All I believed is true ! 
 
 I am able yet 
 
 All I want to get 
 By a method as strange as new : 
 Dare I trust the same to you ? 
 
 If at night, when doors are shut. 
 And the wood-worm picks, 
 And the death-watch ticks. 
 And the bar has a flag of smut, 
 And a cat 's in the water-butt — 
 
 3. 
 
 And the socket floats and flares, 
 And the house-beams groan, 
 And a foot unknown 
 
MESMERISM. 77 
 
 Is surmised on the garret-stairs, 
 And the locks slip unawares — 
 
 And the spider, to serve his ends, 
 
 By a sudden thread, 
 
 Arms and legs outspread. 
 On the table's midst descends, 
 Comes to find, God knows what friends ! 
 
 5. 
 
 If since eve drew in, I say, 
 I have sate and brought 
 (So to speak) my thought 
 To bear on the woman away. 
 Till I felt my hair turn gray — 
 
 Till I seemed to have and hold 
 
 In the vacancy 
 
 'Twixt the wall and me. 
 From the hair-plait's chestnut-gold 
 To the foot in its muslin fold — 
 
 7. 
 
 Have and hold, then and there, 
 Her, from head to foot, 
 Breathing and mute. 
 
'^ MESMERISM. 
 
 Passive and yet aware, 
 
 In the grasp of my steady stare — 
 
 8. 
 Hold and have, there and then, 
 All her body and soul 
 That completes my Whole, 
 All that women add to men. 
 In the clutch of my steady ken 
 
 9. 
 Having and holding, till 
 
 I imprint her fast 
 
 On the void at last 
 As the sun does whom he will 
 By the calotypist's skill 
 
 10, 
 
 Then, — if my heart's strength serve, 
 And through all and each 
 Of the veils I reach 
 
 To her soul and never swerve, 
 
 Kiiitting an iron nerve 
 
 11. 
 
 Commanding that to advance 
 And inform the shape 
 Which has made escape 
 
MESMERISM. 
 
 79 
 
 And before my countenance 
 Answers me glance for glance — 
 
 12. 
 
 I, stai witli a gesture fit 
 Of my hands that best 
 Do my soul's behest, 
 Pointing the power from it, 
 While myself do steadfast sit — 
 
 13. 
 
 Steadfast and still the same 
 
 On my object bent 
 
 While the hands give vent 
 To my ardour and my aim 
 And break into very flame — 
 
 14. 
 
 Then, I reach, I must believe, 
 Not her soul in vain. 
 For to me again 
 It reaches, and past retrieve 
 Is wound in the toils I weave -• 
 
 16. 
 
 And must follow as I require. 
 As befits a thrall, 
 Bringing flesh and all, 
 
80 MESMERISM. 
 
 Essence and earth-attire, 
 
 To the source of the tractile fire — 
 
 16. 
 
 Till the house called hers, not mine, 
 With a growing weight 
 Seems to suffocate 
 K she break not its leaden line 
 And escape from its close confine — 
 
 17. 
 
 Out of doors into the night I 
 On to the maze 
 Of the wild wood-ways, 
 Not turning to left or right 
 From the pathway, blind with sight - 
 
 18. 
 
 Making thro' rain and wind 
 O'er the broken shrubs, 
 'Twixt the stems and stubs. 
 With a still composed strong mind, 
 Not a care for the world behind — 
 
 19. 
 
 Swifter and still more swift, 
 As the crowding peace 
 Doth to joy increase 
 In the wide blind eyes uplift, 
 Thro' the darkness and the drift ! 
 
MESMERISM. 81 
 
 20. 
 
 While I — to the shape, I too 
 
 Feel my soul dilate 
 
 Nor a whit abate 
 And relax not a gesture due 
 As I see my belief come true — 
 
 21. 
 
 For there ! have I drawn or no 
 
 Life to that lip ? 
 
 Do my fingers dip 
 In a flame which again they throw 
 On the cheek that breaks a-glow ? 
 
 22. 
 
 Ha ! was the hair so first ? 
 
 What, unfilleted, 
 
 Made alive, and spread 
 Through the void with a rich outbursi 
 Chestnut gold-interspersed ! 
 
 23. 
 
 Like the doors of a casket-shrine, 
 
 See, on either side. 
 
 Her two arms divide 
 Till the heart betwixt makes sign. 
 Take me, for I am thine I 
 6 
 
MESMERISM. 
 24. 
 
 Now — now — the door is heard 
 Hark ! the stairs and near — 
 Nearer — and here — 
 Now I and at call the third 
 She enters without a word. 
 
 25. 
 
 On doth she march and on 
 To the fancied shape — 
 It is past escape 
 Herself, now — the dream is done 
 And the shadow and she are one. 
 
 26. 
 
 First I will pray. Do Thou 
 That ownest the soul, 
 Yet wilt grant controul 
 To another nor disallow 
 For a time, restrain me now I 
 
 27. 
 
 I admonish me while I may, 
 Not to squander guilt. 
 Since require Thou wilt 
 
 At my hand its price one day ! 
 
 What the price is, who can say ? 
 
A SERENADE AT THE VILLA. 
 
 1. 
 
 That was I, you heard last night 
 When there rose no moon at all, 
 
 Nor, to pierce the strained and tight 
 Tent of heaven, a planet small : 
 
 Life was dead, and so was light. 
 
 2. 
 
 Not a twinkle from the flj, 
 Not a glimmer from the worm. 
 
 When the crickets stopped their cry, 
 When the owls forbore a term, 
 
 You heard music ; that was L 
 
 3. 
 
 Earth turned in her sleep with pain, 
 
 Sultrily suspired for proof: 
 Li at heaven and out again. 
 
 Lightning ! — where it broke the roof, 
 Bloodlike, some few drops of rain. 
 
84 A SERENADE AT THE VILLA. 
 
 4. 
 
 What they could my words expressed, 
 O my love, my all, my one ! 
 
 Singing helped the verses best, 
 
 And when singing's best was done, 
 
 To mv lute I left the rest. 
 
 5. 
 
 So wore night ; the east was gray, 
 
 White the broad-faced hemlock flowers ; 
 
 Soon would come another day ; 
 Ere its first of heavy hours 
 
 Found me, I had past away. 
 
 What became of all the hopes. 
 Words and song and lute as well ? 
 
 Say, this struck you — " When life gropes 
 Feebly for the path where fell 
 
 Light last on the evening slopes, 
 
 " One friend in that path shall be 
 To secure my steps from wrong ; 
 
 One to count night day for me. 
 Patient through the watches long, 
 
 Serving most with none to see." 
 
A SERENADE AT THE VILLA. 85 
 
 8. 
 
 Is ever say — as something bodes — 
 
 " So the worst has yet a worse I 
 When life halts 'neath double loads, 
 
 Better the task-master's curse 
 Than such music on the roads I 
 
 9. 
 
 ** When no moon succeeds the sun, 
 Nor can pierce the midnight's tent 
 
 Any star, the smallest one. 
 
 While some drops, where lightning went, 
 
 Show the final storm begun — 
 
 10. 
 
 " When the fire-fly hides its spot, 
 When the garden-voices fail 
 
 In the darkness thick and hot, — 
 Shall another voice avail. 
 
 That shape be where those are not ? 
 
 11. 
 
 " Has some plague a longer lease 
 Proffering its help uncouth ? 
 
 Can't one even die in peace ? 
 As one shuts one's eyes on youth. 
 
 Is that face the last one sees ? " 
 
8§ A SERENADE AT THE VILLA. 
 
 12. 
 
 Oh, how dark your villa was, 
 Windows fast and obdurate I 
 
 How the garden grudged me grass 
 Where I stood — the iron gate 
 
 Ground its teeth to let me pass I 
 
MY STAR. 
 
 All that I know 
 
 Of a certain star, 
 Is, it can throw 
 
 (Like the angled spar) 
 Now a dart of red, 
 
 Now a dart of blue, 
 Till my friends have said 
 They would fain see, too, 
 My star that dartles the red and the blue ! 
 Then it stops like a bird, — like a flower, hangs furled ; 
 
 They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it 
 What matter to me if their star is a world ? 
 Mine has opened its soul to me ; therefore I love it. 
 
mSTANS TYRANNUS. 
 
 Op the million or two, more or less, 
 I rule and possess, 
 One man, for some cause undelined, 
 Was least to my mind. 
 
 I struck him, he grovelled of course — 
 
 For, what was his force ? 
 
 I pinned him to earth with my weight 
 
 And persistence of hate — 
 
 And he lay, would not moan, would not curse, 
 
 As if lots might be worse. 
 
 8. 
 
 " "Were the object less mean, would he stand 
 
 At the swing of my hand ! 
 
 For obscurity helps him and blots 
 
 The hole where he squats." 
 
 So I set my five wits on the stretch 
 
 To inveigle the wretch. 
 
INSTANS TRTANNUS. 89 
 
 All in vain ! gold and jewels I threw, 
 
 Still lie couclied there perdue. 
 
 I tempted his blood and his flesh, 
 
 Hid in roses mj mesh, 
 
 Choicest eates and the flagon's best spilth — 
 
 Still he kept to his filth ! 
 
 Had he kith now or kin, were access 
 
 To his heart, if I press — 
 
 Just a son or a mother to seize — 
 
 No such booty as these ! 
 
 Were it simply a friend to pursue 
 
 *Mid my million or two. 
 
 Who could pay me in person or pelf 
 
 What he owes me himself. 
 
 No ! I could not but smile through my chafe — ',/ 
 
 For the fellow lay safe cJuV^'^'^\-y^ 
 
 As his mates do, the midge and the nit, J^^^ 
 
 — Through minuteness, to wit. ' 
 
 5. 
 
 Then a humor more great took its place 
 
 At the thought of his face, 
 
 The droop, the low cares of the mouth. 
 
 The trouble uncouth 
 
 'Twixt the brows, all that air one is fain 
 
 To put out of its pain — 
 
 And, no, I admonished myself, 
 
 > 
 
 Ar 
 
90 INSTANS TYRANNUS. ' 
 
 " Is one mocked by an elf, 
 
 Is one baffled by toad or by rat ? 
 
 The gravamen 's in that ! 
 
 How the lion, who crouches to suit 
 
 His back to my foot. 
 
 Would admire that I stand in debate I 
 
 But the Small is the Great 
 
 If it vexes you, — that is the thing ! 
 
 Toad or rat vex the King ? 
 
 Though I waste half my realm to unearth 
 
 Toad or rat, 'tis well worth ! " 
 
 6. 
 
 So I soberly laid my last plan 
 
 To extinguish the man. 
 
 Round his creep-hole, — with never a break 
 
 Ran my fires for his sake ; 
 
 Over-head, did my thunders combine 
 
 With my under-ground mine : 
 
 Tni I looked from my labor content 
 
 To enjoy the event. 
 
 7. 
 
 When sudden . . . how think ye, the end ? 
 
 Did I say " without friend ? " 
 
 Say rather, from marge to blue marge 
 
 The whole sky grew his targe 
 
 With the sun*s self for visible boss, 
 
 While an Arm ran across 
 
IN8TANS TTRANNUS. 91 
 
 Which the earth heaved beneath like a breast 
 
 Where the wretch was safe prest ! 
 
 Do you see ? just my vengeance complete, 
 
 The man sprang to his feet, 
 
 Stood erect, caught at Go^'<j skirts, and prayed I 
 
 -— So, /wa" siraid 1 
 
A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 1. 
 
 That fawn-skin-dappled hair of hers, 
 
 And the blue eye 
 
 Dear and dewy, 
 And that infantine fresh air of hers I 
 
 To think men cannot take you, Sweet, 
 
 And enfold you. 
 
 Ay, and hold you. 
 And so keep you what they make you. Sweet I 
 
 You like us for a glance, you know — 
 
 For a word's sake. 
 
 Or a sword's sake, 
 AH 's the same, whate'er the chance, you know. 
 
A PRETTY WOMAN. 98 
 
 4. 
 
 Aud in turn we make you ours, we say — 
 
 You and youth too, 
 
 Eyes and mouth too, 
 All the face composed of flowers, we say. 
 
 6. 
 
 All's our own, to make the most of, Sweet — 
 
 Sing and say for. 
 
 Watch and pray for, 
 Keep a secret or go boast of. Sweet. 
 
 6. 
 
 But for loving, why, you would not. Sweet, 
 
 Though we prayed you, 
 
 Paid you, brayed you 
 In a mortar — for you could not, Sweet. 
 
 So, we leave the sweet face fondly there — 
 
 Be its beauty 
 
 Its sole duty ! 
 Let all hope of grace beyond, lie there I 
 
 8. 
 
 And while the face lies quiet there, 
 
 Who shall wonder 
 
 That I ponder 
 A conclusion ? I will try it there. 
 
94 A PRETTY WOMAN. 
 
 9. 
 
 As, — why must one, for the love forgone, 
 
 Scout mere liking ? 
 
 Thunder-striking 
 Earth, — the heaven, we look above for, gone I 
 
 10. 
 
 Why with beauty, needs there money be — 
 
 Love with liking ? 
 
 Crush the fly-king 
 In his gauze, because no honey bee ? 
 
 11. 
 
 May not liking be so simple-sweet. 
 
 If love grew there 
 
 'Twould undo there 
 All that breaks the cheek to dimples sweet ? 
 
 12. 
 
 Is the creature too imperfect, say ? 
 
 Would you mend it 
 
 And so end it ? 
 Since not all addition perfects aye ! 
 
 18. 
 
 Or is it of its kind, perhaps. 
 
 Just perfection — 
 
 Whence, rejection 
 Of a grace not to its mind, perhaps? 
 
A PBETTT WOMAN. 95 
 
 14. 
 
 Shall we bum up, tread that face at once 
 
 Into tinder, 
 
 And so hinder 
 Sparks from kindling all the place at once ? 
 
 15. 
 
 Or else kiss away one's soul on her ? 
 
 Your love-fancies ! — 
 
 A sick man sees 
 Truer, when his hot eyes roll on her I 
 
 16. 
 
 Thus the craftsman thinks to grace the rose, — 
 
 Plucks a mould-flower 
 
 For his gold flower, 
 Uses fine things that efface the rose. 
 
 17. 
 
 Bosj rubies make its cup more rose, ' 
 
 Precious metals 
 Ape the petals, — 
 Last, some old king locks it up, morose ! 
 
 18. 
 Then, how grace a rose ? I know a way ! 
 
 Leave it rather. 
 
 Must you gather ? 
 Smell, kiss, wear it — at last, throw away ! 
 
« CHILDE KOLA^D TO THE DARK TOWER 
 CAME." 
 
 (See Edgar's Song in '' Leab.") 
 
 1. 
 My first thought was, he lied in every word, 
 That hoarj cripple, with malicious eye 
 Askance to watch the working of his lie 
 On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford 
 Suppression of the glee that pursed and scored 
 Its edge at one more victim gained thereby. 
 
 What else should he be set for, with his staff? 
 WTiat, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare 
 All travellers that might find him posted there, 
 And ask the road ? I guessed what skuU-like laugh 
 Would break, what crutch ' gin write my epitaph 
 For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare, 
 
 3. 
 
 If at his counsel I should turn aside 
 
 Into that ominous tract which, all agree, 
 
^•*CHILI>E ROLAND TO THE DARK TOWER CAME." 97 
 
 Hides the Dark Tower. Yet acquiescingly 
 [ did turn as he pointed ; neither pride 
 Nor hope rekindling at the end descried, 
 
 So much as gladness that some end should be. 
 
 For, what with my whole world-wide wandering, 
 
 "What with my search drawn out thro' years, my hope 
 Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope 
 
 With that obstreperous joy success would bring, — 
 
 I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring 
 My heart made, finding failure in its scope. 
 
 5. 
 
 As when a sick man very near to death 
 
 Seems dead indeed, and feels begin and end 
 The tears and takes the farewell of each friend. 
 And hears one bid the other go, draw breath 
 Freeher outside, (" since all is o'er " he saith, 
 " And the blow fall'n no grieving can amend ") 
 
 6. 
 
 While some discuss if near the other graves 
 Be room enough for this, and when a day 
 Suits best for carrying the corpse away. 
 With care about the banners, scarves and staves, — 
 And still the man hears all, and only craves 
 He may not shame such tender love and stay. 
 7 
 
98 " CHILDE ROLAND 
 
 7. 
 
 Thus, I had so long suffered in this quest, 
 Heard failure prophesied so oft, been writ 
 So many times among " The Band " — to wit, 
 The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed 
 Their steps — that just to fail as they, seemed best. 
 And all the doubt was now — should I be fit 
 
 8. 
 
 So, quiet as despair, I turned from him. 
 That hateful cripple, out of his highway 
 Into the path he pointed. All the day 
 Had been a dreary one at best, and dim 
 Was settling to its close, yet shot one grim 
 Red leer to see the plain catch its estray. 
 
 ^. 
 
 For mark ! no sooner was I fairly found 
 Pledged to the plain, after a pace or two. 
 Than pausing to throw backward a last view 
 
 To the safe road, 'twas gone ! gray plain all tc»v I 
 
 Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound. 
 I might go on ; nought else remained to \» 
 
 10. 
 So on I went. I think I never saw 
 
 Such starved ignoble nature ; nothing throve ; 
 For flowers -^ as well expect a cedar grove I 
 
TO THE DARK TOWER CAME." 99 
 
 But cockle, spurge, according to their law 
 Might propagate their kind, with none to awe, 
 You 'd think : a burr had been a treasure-trove. 
 
 11. 
 No ! penury, inertness, and grimace. 
 
 In some strange sort, were the land's portion. " See 
 Or shut your eyes " — said Nature peevishly — 
 " It nothing skills : I cannot help my case : 
 The Judgment's fire alone can cure this place. 
 Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free." 
 
 12. 
 
 If there pushed any ragged thistle-stalk 
 
 Above its mates, the head was chopped — the bents. 
 
 Were jealous else. What made those holes and rents 
 Cn the dock's harsh swarth leaves ^— bruised as to baulk 
 All hope of greenness ? 'tis a brute must walk 
 
 Pashing their life out, with a brute's intents. 
 
 13. 
 As for the grass, it grew as scant as hair 
 In leprosy — thin dry blades pricked the mud 
 Which underneath looked kneaded up with blood- 
 One stiff blind horse, his every bone a-stare, 
 Stood stupefied, however he came there — 
 Thrust out past service from the devil's stud ! 
 
100 "CHILDE KOLAND 
 
 14. 
 
 Alive ? he might be dead for all I know 
 
 With that red gaunt and coUoped neck a-strain, 
 And shut eyes underneath the rusty mane. 
 
 Seldom went such grotes^eness with such woe : 
 
 I never saw a brute I hated so — 
 
 He must be wicked to deserve such pain. 
 
 15. 
 
 1 shut my eyes and turned them on my heart. 
 As a man calls for wine before he fights, 
 I asked one draught of earlier, happier sights 
 
 Ere fitly I could hope to play my part. 
 
 Think first, fight afterwards — the soldier's art : 
 One taste of the old times sets all to rights I 
 
 16. 
 
 Not it ! I fancied Cuthbert's reddening face 
 Beneath its garniture of curly gold, 
 Dear fellow, till I almost felt him fold 
 An arm in mine to fix me to the place. 
 That way he used. Alas ! one night's disgrace ! 
 Out went my heart's new fire and left it cold. 
 
 17. 
 
 Giles, then, the soul of honour — there he stands 
 Frank as ten years ago when knighted first. 
 
TO THE DABK TOWER' CAME." ^ 101 
 
 Wliat honest men should dare' (he said) he durst. 
 Grood — but the scene shifts — faugh ! what hangmaa'a 
 Pin to his breast a parchment ? his own hands_ [hands 
 
 Read it Poor traitor, spit upon and curst I 
 
 18. 
 
 Better this present than a past like that — 
 Back therefore to my darkening path again. 
 No sound, no sight as far as eye could strain. 
 
 Will the night send a howlet or a bat ? 
 
 I asked : when something on the dismal flat 
 
 Came to aiTest my thoughts and change their trsm, 
 
 19. 
 
 A sudden little river crossed my path 
 
 As unexpected as a serpent comes. 
 
 No sluggish tide congenial to the glooms — 
 This, as it frothed by, might have been a bath 
 For the fiend's glowing hoof — to see the wrath 
 
 Of its black eddy bespate with flakes and spumes. 
 
 20. 
 
 So, petty yet so spiteful ! all along 
 
 Low scrubby alders kneeled down over it ; 
 Drenched willows flung them headlong in a fit 
 Of mute despair, a suicidal throng : 
 The river which had done them all the wrong, 
 Whate'er that was, rolled by, deterred no whit 
 
1,02 ^OHILDE ROLAND 
 
 21. 
 
 Wliich, while I forded, — good saints, how I feared 
 To set my foot upon a dead man's cheek, 
 Each step, or feel the spear I thrust to seek 
 
 For hollows, tangled in his hair or beard ! 
 
 — It may have been a water-rat I speared, 
 But, ugh ! it sounded like a baby's shriek. 
 
 22. 
 Glad was I when I reached the other bank. 
 
 Now for a better country. Vam presage ! 
 
 Who were the strugglers, what war did they wage 
 Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank 
 Soil to a plash ? toads in a poisoned tank, 
 
 Or wild cats in a redhot iron cage — 
 
 23. 
 The fight must so have seemed in that feU cirque. 
 
 What kept them there, with all the plain to choose ? 
 
 No foot-print leading to that horrid mews, 
 None out of it : mad brewage set to work 
 Their brains, no doubt, like galley-slaves the Turk 
 
 Pits for his pastime, Christians against Jews. 
 
 24. 
 
 And more than that — a furlong on — why, there ! 
 What bad use was that engine for, that wheel. 
 Or brake, not wheel — that harrow fit to reel 
 
TO THE DARK TOWER CAME.** 103 
 
 Men's bodies out like silk? with all the air 
 Of Tophet's tool, on earth left unaware, 
 
 Or brought to sharpen its rusty teeth of steel 
 
 25. 
 
 Then came a bit of stubbed ground, once a wood. 
 Next a marsh, it would seem, and now mere earth 
 Desperate and done with ; (so a fool finds mirth, 
 
 Makes a thing and then mars it, till his mood 
 
 Changes and off he goes !) within a rood 
 
 Bog, clay and rubble, sand and stark black dearth. 
 
 26. 
 
 Now blotches rankling, coloured gay and grim, 
 Now patches where some leanness of the soil's 
 Broke into moss or substances like boils ; 
 
 Then came eeaie palsied oak, a cleft in him O^^ 
 
 Like a distorted mouth that sphts its rim 
 Gaping at death, and dies while it recoils. 
 
 27. 
 
 And just as far as ever from the end ! 
 
 Nought in the distance but the evening, nought, 
 To point my footstep further ! At the thought, 
 A great black bird, ApoUyon's bosom-friend. 
 Sailed past, nor beat his wide wing dragon-penned 
 That brushed my cap — perchance the guide I sought 
 
104 " CHILDE ROLAND 
 
 28. 
 
 For looking up, aware I somehow grew 
 
 'Spite of the dusk, the plain had given place 
 
 All round to mountains — with such name to grace 
 
 Mere ugly heights and heaps now stol'n in view. 
 
 How thus they had surprised me, — solve it, you ! 
 How to get from them was no plainer case. 
 
 29. 
 
 Yet half I seemed to recognize some trick 
 
 Of mischief happened to me, God knows when — 
 In a bad dream perhaps. Here ended, then, 
 
 Progress this way. When, in the very nick 
 
 Of giving up, one time more, came a click 
 
 As when a trap shuts — you 're inside the den ! 
 
 30. 
 
 Burningly it came on me all at once. 
 
 This was the place ! those two hills on the right 
 Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn in fight —* 
 
 While to the left, a tall scalped mountain . . . Dunce, 
 
 Fool, to be dozing at the very nonce, 
 
 After a life spent training for the sight ! iK^% 
 
 31. 
 
 WTiat in the midst lay but the Tower itself? 
 The round squat turret, blind as the fool's heart, 
 Built of brown stone, without a counterpart 
 
TO THE DARK TOWER CAME.** 105 
 
 In the whole world. The tempest's mocking elf 
 PomtvS to the shipman thus the unseen shelf 
 He strikes on, only when the timbers start. 
 
 32. 
 
 Not see ? because of night perhaps ? — Why, day 
 Came back again for that ! before it left, 
 The dying sunset kindled through a cleft : 
 The hills like giants at a hunting, lay — 
 Chin upon hand, to see the game at bay, — 
 
 " Now stab and end the creature — to the heft I ** 
 
 33. 
 
 Not hear? when noise was everywhere ? it tolled 
 Increasing like a bell. Names in my ears, 
 Of all the lost adventurers my peers, — 
 
 How such an one was strong, and such was bold, 
 
 And such was fortunate, yet each of old 
 
 Lost, lost ! one moment knelled the woe of years. 
 
 34. 
 
 There they stood, ranged along the hiU-sides — met 
 To view the last of me, a living frame 
 For one more picture ! in a sheet of flame 
 
 I saw them and I knew them all. And yet 
 
 Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set 
 
 And blew. " Ghilde Roland to the Dark Tower cams,' 
 
RESPECTABILITY. 
 
 Dear, had the world in its caprice 
 
 Deigned to proclaim " I know you both, 
 Have recognized your plighted troth, 
 Im sponsor for you — live in peace ! " — 
 €ow many precious months and years 
 
 Of youth had passed, that speed so fast, 
 Before we found it out at last, 
 The world, and what it fears ? 
 
 How much of priceless life were spent 
 With men that every virtue decks, 
 And women models of their sex. 
 
 Society's true ornament, — 
 
 Ere we dared wander, nights like this, 
 Thro' wind and rain, and watch the Seine^ 
 And feel the Boulevart break again 
 
 To warmth and light and bhss ? 
 
KESPECTABILITY. 107 
 
 3. 
 
 I know ! the world proscribes not love ; 
 
 Allows my finger to caress 
 
 Your lip's contour and downiness, 
 Provided it supply a glove. 
 The world's good word ! — the Institute ! 
 
 Guizot receives Montalembert ! 
 
 Eh ? down the court three lampions flare — 
 Put forward your best foot ! 
 
A LIGHT WOMAN. 
 
 1. 
 
 So far as our story approaches the end, 
 
 Which do you pity the most of us three ? — 
 
 My friend, or the mistress of my friend 
 With her wanton eyes, or me ? 
 
 My friend was ahready too good to lose, 
 
 And seemed in the way of improvement yet, 
 
 When she crossed his path with her hunting-nooss 
 And over him drew her net. 
 
 8. 
 
 When I saw him tangled in her toils, 
 A shame, said I, if she adds just him 
 
 To her nine-and-ninety other spoils, 
 The hundredth, for a whim ! 
 
 4. 
 And before my friend be wholly hers, 
 
 How eq#y to prove to him, I said. 
 An eagle *s the game her pride prefers, 
 
 Though she snaps at the wren instead I 
 
A LIGHT WOMAN. 109 
 
 So I gave her eyes my own eyes to take, 
 My hand sought hers as in earnest need, 
 
 And round she turned for my noble sake, 
 And gave me herself indeed. 
 
 6. 
 
 The eagle am I, with my fame in the world, 
 The wren is he, with his maiden face. 
 
 — You look away and your lip is curled ? 
 Patience, a moment's space I 
 
 7. 
 
 For see — my friend goes shaking and white ; 
 
 He eyes me as the basilisk : 
 I have turned, it appears, his day to nighty 
 
 Eclipsing his sun's disk. 
 
 8. 
 
 And I did it, he thinks, as a very thief: 
 
 " Though I love her — that he comprehends — 
 One should master one's passions, (love, in chief) 
 And be loyal to one's friends ! " 
 
 9. 
 
 And she, — she lies in my hand as tame 
 As a pear hung basking over a wall ; 
 
 Just a touch to try and off it came ; 
 'Tis mine, — can I let it fall ? 
 
110' A LIGHT WOMAN. 
 
 10. 
 
 With no mind to eat it, that *8 the worst ! 
 
 Were it thrown in the road, would the case assist ? 
 *Twas quenching a dozen blue-flies' thirst 
 
 When I gave its stalk a twist. 
 
 11. 
 
 And I, — what I seem to my friend, you see — 
 What I soon shall seem to his love, you guess. 
 
 What I seem to myself, do you ask of me r 
 No hero, I confess. 
 
 12. 
 
 Tis an awkward thing to play with souls, 
 And matter enough to save one's own. 
 
 Yet think of my friend, and the burning coals 
 He played with for bits of stone ! 
 
 13. 
 
 One likes to show the truth for the truth ; 
 
 That the woman was light is very true : 
 But suppose she says, — never mind that youth — 
 
 What wrong have I done to you ? 
 
 14. 
 Well, any how, here the story stays, 
 
 So far at least as I understand ; 
 And, Robert Browning, you writer of plays, 
 
 Here 's a subject made to your hand ! 
 
THE STATUE AND THE BUST. 
 
 There 's a palace in Florence, the world knows ^%li, 
 And a statue watches it from the square, 
 And this story of both do the townsmen telL 
 
 Ages ago, a lady there, 
 
 At the furthest window facing the east 
 
 Asked, ** Who rides by with the royal air ? " 
 
 The brides-maids' prattle around her ceased ; 
 
 She leaned forth, one on either hand ; 
 
 They saw how the blush of the bride increased — 
 
 They felt by its beats her heart expand — 
 As one at each ear and both in a breath 
 Whispered, " The Great-Duke Ferdmand." 
 
 That selfsame instant, underneath. 
 The Duke rode past in his idle way, 
 Empty and fine like a swordless sheath. 
 
112 THE STATUE AND TPIE BUST. 
 
 Gay he rode, with a friend as gay, 
 
 Till he threw his head back — " Who is she ? ' 
 
 — "A Bride the Riccardi brings home to-day/ 
 
 Hair in heaps laid heavily 
 
 Over a pale brow spirit-pure — 
 
 Carved like the heart of the coal-black tree. 
 
 Crisped like a war-steed*s encolure — 
 Which vainly sought to dissemble her eyes 
 Of the blackest black our eyes endure. 
 
 And lo, a blade for a knight's emprise 
 Filled the fine empty sheath of a man, — 
 The Duke grew straightway brave and wise. 
 
 He looked at her, as a lover can ; 
 
 She looked at him, as one who awakes, — 
 
 The past was a sleep, and her life began. 
 
 As love so ordered for both their sakes, 
 
 A feast was held that selfsame night 
 
 In the pile which the mighty shadow makes. 
 
 (For Yia Larga is three-parts light, 
 
 But the Palace overshadows one, 
 
 Because of a crime which may God requite 1 
 
THE STATUE AND THE BUST. 118 
 
 To Florence and God the wrong was done, 
 Through the first republic's murder there 
 By Cosimo and his cursed son.) 
 
 (The Duke with the statue's face in the square) 
 Turned in the midst of his multitude 
 At the bright approach of the bridal pair. 
 
 Face to face the lovers stood 
 
 A single minute and no more, 
 
 While the bridegroom bent as a man subdued — 
 
 Bowed till his bonnet brushed the floor — 
 For the Duke on the lady a kiss conferred, 
 As the courtly custom was of yore. 
 
 tn a minute can lovers exchange a word ? 
 
 [f a word did pass, which I do not think, , 
 
 Only one out of the thousand heard. 
 
 That was the bridegroom. At day's brink 
 He and his bride were alone at last 
 In a bed-chamber by a taper's blink. 
 
 Calmly he said that her lot was cast, 
 
 That the door she had passed was shut on h«r 
 
 Till the final catafalk repassed. 
 
 8 
 
114 THE STATUE AND THE BUST. 
 
 The world meanwhile, its noise and stir, 
 Through a certain window facing the east 
 She might watch like a convent's chronicler* 
 
 Since passing the door might lead to a feast, 
 And a feast might lead to so much beside, 
 He, of many evils, chose the least. 
 
 " Freely I choose too," said the bride — 
 " Your window and its world suffice." 
 So replied the tongue, while the heart replied 
 
 ** If I spend the night with that devil twice, 
 May his window serve as my loop of hell 
 Whence a damned soul looks on Paradise ! 
 
 " 1 fly to the Duke who loves me well. 
 Sit by his side and laugh at sorrow 
 Ere I count another ave-bell. 
 
 " 'Tis only the coat of a page to borrow. 
 
 And tie my hair in a horse-boy's trim. 
 
 And I save my soul — but not to-morrow " — 
 
 (She checked herself and her eye grew dim) - 
 " My father tarries to bless my state : 
 I must keep it one day more for him. 
 
THE STATUE AND THE BUST. 115 
 
 " Is one day more so long to wait ? 
 Mor'^over the Duke rides past, I know — 
 "We shall see each other, sure as fate." 
 
 She turned on her side and slept. Just so I 
 So we resolve on a thing and sleep. 
 So did the lady, ages ago. 
 
 That night the Duke said, " Dear or cheap 
 As the cost of this cup of bliss may prove 
 To body or soul, I will drain it deep." 
 
 And on the morrow, bold with love, 
 
 He beckoned the bridegroom (close on call, 
 
 As his duty bade, by the Duke's alcove) 
 
 And smiled " 'Twas a very funeral 
 
 Your lady will think, this feast of ours, — - 
 
 A shame to efface, whate'er befall ! 
 
 " What if we break from the Amo bowers. 
 
 And let Petraja, cool and green, 
 
 Chire last night's fault with this morning's flowers ? " 
 
 The bridegroom, not a thought to be seen 
 On his steady brow and quiet mouthy 
 Said, " Too much favour for me so mean 1 
 
116 THE STATUE AND THE BUST. 
 
 " Alas ! my lady leaves the south. 
 
 Each wind that comes from the Apemiine 
 
 Is a menace to her tender youth. 
 
 " 'No way exists, the wise opine, 
 
 If she quits her palace twice this year, 
 
 To avert the flower of life's decline." 
 
 Quoth the Duke, " A sage and a kindly fear. 
 Moreover Petraja is cold this spring — 
 Be our feast to-night as usual here ! " 
 
 And then to himself — " Which night shall bring 
 Thy bride to her lover's embraces, fool — 
 Or I am the fool, and thou art his king ! 
 
 " Yet my passion must wait a night, nor cool — 
 For to-night the Envoy arrives from France, 
 Whose heart I unlock with thyself, my tool. 
 
 ** I need thee still and might miss perchance. 
 
 To-day is not wholly lost, beside. 
 
 With its hope of my lady's countenance — 
 
 " For I ride^ — what should I do but ride ? 
 
 And passing her palace, if I list. 
 
 May glance at its window — well betide I " 
 
THE STATUE AND THE BUST. 117 
 
 So said, so done : nor the lady missed 
 One ray that broke from the ardent brow, 
 Nor a curl of the lips where the spirit kissed. 
 
 Be sure that each renewed the vow. 
 No morrow's sun should arise and set 
 And leave them then as it left them now. 
 
 But next day passed, and next day yet, 
 "With still fresh cause to wait one more 
 Ere each leaped over the parapet. 
 
 And still, as love's brief morning wore, 
 "With a gentle start, half smile, half sigh, 
 They found love not as it seemed before. 
 
 They thought it would work infallibly, 
 But not in despite of heaven and earth — 
 The rose would blow when the storm passed by. 
 
 Meantime they could profit in winter's dearth 
 By winter's fruits that supplant the rose : 
 The world and its ways have a certain worth 
 
 And to press a point while these oppose 
 Were a simple policy — best wait. 
 And lose no friends and gain no foes. 
 
118 THE STATUE AND THE BUST. 
 
 Meanwhile, worse fates than a lover's fate 
 Who daily may ride and lean and look 
 Where his lady watches behind the grate ! 
 
 And she — she watched the square like a book 
 Holding one picture and only one, 
 Which daily to find she undertook. 
 
 When the picture was reached the book was done, 
 And she turned from it all night to scheme 
 Of tearing it out for herself next sun. 
 
 Weeks grew months, years — gleam by gleam 
 
 The glory dropped from youth and love. 
 
 And both perceived they had dreamed a dream. 
 
 Which hovered as dreams do, still above, — 
 But who can take a dream for truth ? 
 Oh, hide our eyes from the next remove ! 
 
 One day as the lady saw her youth 
 Depart, and the silver thread that streaked 
 Her hair, and, worn by the serpent's tooth, 
 
 The brow so puckered, the chin so peaked, — 
 And wondered who the woman was. 
 So hollow-eyed and haggard-cheeked, 
 
 n 
 
THE STATUE AND THE BUST. 119 
 
 Fronting her silent in the glass — 
 ** Summon here," she suddenly said, 
 ** Before the rest of my old self pass, 
 
 •' Him, the Carver, a hand to aid. 
 
 Who moulds the clay no love will change^ 
 
 And fixes a beauty never to fade. 
 
 " Let Robbia's craft so apt and strange 
 Arrest the remains of young and fair, 
 And rivet them while the seasons range. 
 
 ** Make me a face on the window there 
 Waiting as ever, mute the while. 
 My love to pass below in the square ! 
 
 " And let me think that it may beguile 
 Dreary days which the dead must spend 
 Down in their darkness under the aisle — 
 
 "To say, — * what matters at the end ? 
 I did no more while my heart was warm, 
 Than does that image, my pale-faced friend/ 
 
 " Where is the use of the lip's red charm, 
 The heaven of hair, the pride of the brow. 
 And the blood that blues the inside arm — 
 
120 l-HE STATUE AND THE BUST. 
 
 Unless we turn, as the soul knows how, 
 The earthly gift to an end divine ? 
 A lady of clay is as good, I trow." 
 
 But long ere Robbia's cornice, fine 
 
 With flowers and fruits which leaves enlace, 
 
 Was set where now is the empty shrine — 
 
 (With, leaning out of a bright blue space, 
 As a ghost might from a chink of sky, 
 The passionate pale lady's face — 
 
 Eying ever with earnest eye 
 
 And quick-turned neck at its breathless stretch. 
 
 Some one who ever passes by — ) 
 
 The Duke sighed like the simplest wretch 
 
 In Florence, " So, my dream escapes ! 
 
 WlQ its record stay ? " And he bade them fetch 
 
 Some subtle fashioner of shapes — 
 
 " Can the soul, the will, die out of a man 
 
 Ere his body find the grave that gapes ? 
 
 " John of Douay shall work my plan, 
 Mould me on horseback here aloft. 
 Alive — (the subtle artisan !) 
 
THE STATUE AND THE BUSl. 121 
 
 * In the very square I cross so oft ! 
 That men may admire, when future suns 
 Shall touch the eyes to a purpose soft 
 
 " While the mouth and the brow are brave in bronze — 
 Admire and say, * When he was alive, 
 How he would take his pleasure once ! ' 
 
 " And it shall go hard but I contrive 
 
 To hsten meanwhile and laugh in my tomb 
 
 At indolence which aspires to strive." 
 
 So ! while these wait the trump of doom, 
 How do their spirits pass, I wonder, 
 Nights and days in the narrow room ? 
 
 Still, I suppose, they sit and ponder 
 What a gift life was, ages ago. 
 Six steps out of the chapel yonder. 
 
 Surely they see not God, I kno"w, 
 
 Nor all that chivalry of His, 
 
 The soldier-saints who, row on row, 
 
 Bum upward each to his point of bliss — 
 
 Since, the end of life being manifest. 
 
 He had cut his way thro' the world to thia. 
 
IZ2 THE STATUE AND THE BUST. 
 
 I hear your reproach — " But delay was best, 
 
 For their end was a crime ! " — Oh, a crime will do 
 
 As well, I reply, to serve for a test. 
 
 As a virtue golden thi'ough and through, 
 
 Sufficient to vindicate itself 
 
 And prove its worth at a moment's view. 
 
 Must a game be played for the sake of pelf? 
 Where a button goes, 'twere an epigram 
 To offer the stamp of the very Guelph. 
 
 The true has no value beyond the sham. 
 
 As well the counter as com, I submit. 
 
 When your table 's a hat, and your prize, a dram. 
 
 Stake your counter as boldly every whit. 
 
 Venture as truly, use the same skill. 
 
 Do your best, whether winning or losing it, 
 
 If you choose to play — is my principle ! 
 Let a man contend to the uttermost 
 For his life's set prize, be it what it will ! 
 
 The counter our lovers staked was lost 
 
 As surely as if it were lawful coin : 
 
 And the sin I impute to each frustrate ghost 
 
THE STATUE AND THE BUST. 123 
 
 Was, the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin, 
 Though the end in sight was a crime, I say. 
 You of the virtue, (we issue join) 
 How strive you ? De te^fahukt ! 
 
LOVE IN A LIFE. 
 
 1. 
 
 Room after room, 
 
 I hunt the house through 
 
 We inhabit together. 
 
 *Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her, « 
 
 Next time, herself ! — not the trouble behind her 
 
 Left in the curtain, the couch's perfume ! 
 
 As she brushed it, the cornice-wreath blossomed anew,— 
 
 Yon looking-glass gleamed at the wave of her feather. 
 
 2. 
 
 Yet the day wears, 
 
 And door succeeds door ; 
 
 I try the fresh fortune — 
 
 Range the wide house from the wing to the centre. 
 
 Still the same chance ! she goes out as I enter. 
 
 Spend my whole day in the quest, — who cares ? 
 
 But 'tis twilight, you see, — with such suites to explore, 
 
 Such closets to search, such alcoves to importune ! 
 
LIFE IN A LOVE. 
 
 Escapp: me ? 
 ' Never — 
 Beloved ! 
 WLile I am I, and you are you, 
 
 So long as the world contains us both, 
 Me the loving and you the loth, 
 While the one eludes, must the other pursue. 
 My life is a fault at last, I fear — 
 
 It seems too much like a fate, indeed ! 
 Though I do my best I shall scarce succeefl — 
 But what if I fail of my purpose here ? 
 It is but to keep the nerves at strain. 
 
 To dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall, 
 And baffled, get up to begin again, — 
 
 So the chace takes up one's life, that 's alL 
 While, look but once from your furthest bound, 
 
 At me so deep in the dust and dark. 
 No sooner the old hope drops to ground 
 
 Than a new one, straight tc the selfsame mark, 
 I shape me — 
 Ever 
 Removed i 
 
HOW IT STRIKES A CONTEMPORARY. 
 
 I ONLY knew one poet in my life : 
 
 And this, or something like it, was his way. 
 
 You saw go up and down Valladolid, 
 A man of mark, to know next time you saw. 
 His very serviceable suit of black 
 Was courtly once and conscientious still, 
 And many might have worn it, though none did : 
 The cloak that somewhat shone and showed the threada 
 Had purpose, and the ruff, significance. 
 He walked and tapped the pavement with his cane, 
 Scenting the world, looking it full in face. 
 An old dog, bald and blindish, at his heels. 
 They turned up, now, the alley by the church, 
 That leads no whither ; now, they breathed themselves 
 On the main promenade just at the wrong time. 
 You 'd come upon his scrutinizing hat, 
 leaking a peaked shade blacker than itself 
 Agaiust tird single mndow spared some house 
 Cntaci yet with its mouldered Moorish work, — 
 Or else surprise the ferrel of his stick 
 Trying the mortar's temper 'tween the chinks 
 
HOW IT STRIKES A CONTEMPORARY. 127 
 
 Of some new shop a-building, French and fine. 
 
 He stood and watched the cobbler at his trade, 
 
 The man who slices lemons into drink, 
 
 The coffee-roaster's brazier, and the boys 
 
 That volunteer to help him turn its winch. 
 
 He glanced o'er books on stalls with half an eye. 
 
 And fly-leaf ballads on the vendor's string, 
 
 And broad-edge bold-print posters by the wall. 
 
 He took such cognizance of men and things. 
 
 If any beat a horse, you felt he saw ; 
 
 If any cursed a woman, he took note ; 
 
 Yet stared at nobody, — they stared at him,' 
 
 And found, less to their pleasure than surprise, 
 
 He seemed to know them and expect as much. 
 
 So, next time that a neighbour's tongue was loosed. 
 
 It marked the shameful and notorious fact. 
 
 We had among us, not so much a spy. 
 
 As a recording chief-inquisitor, 
 
 The town's true master if the town but knew ! 
 
 We merely kept a Governor for form, 
 
 Wliile this man walked about and took account 
 
 Of all thought, said, and acted, then went home, 
 
 And wrote it fully to our Lord the King, 
 
 Who has an itch to know things, He knows why, 
 
 And reads them in His bedroom of a night. 
 
 Oh, you might smile ! there wanted not a touch, 
 
 A tang of . . . well, it was not wholly ease 
 
 As back into your mind the man's look came — 
 
 Stricken in years a httle, — such a brow 
 
128 now IT STRIKES A CONTEMPORAET. 
 
 His eyes had to live under ! — clear as flint 
 
 On either side the formidable nose 
 
 Curved, cut, and coloured, like an eagle's claw. 
 
 Had he to do with A/s surprising fate ? 
 
 When altogether old B. disappeared 
 
 And young C. got his mistress, — was 't our friend. 
 
 His letter to the King, that did it all ? 
 
 What paid the bloodless man for so much pains ? 
 
 Our Lord the King has favourites manifold. 
 
 And shifts his ministry some once a month ; 
 
 Our city gets new Governors at whiles, — 
 
 But never word or sign, that I could hear. 
 
 Notified to this man about the streets 
 
 The King's approval of those letters conned 
 
 The last thing duly at the dead of night. 
 
 Did the man love his office ? frowned our Lord, 
 
 Exhorting when none heard — " Beseech me not ! 
 
 Too far above my people, — beneath Me ! 
 
 I set the watch, — how should the people know ? 
 
 Forget them, keep Me all the more in mind ! '* 
 
 Was some such understanding 'twixt the Two ? 
 
 I found no truth in one report at least — 
 That if you tracked him to his home, down lanes 
 Beyond the Jewry, and as clean to pace. 
 You found he ate his supper in a room 
 Blazing with lights, four Titians on the wall, 
 And twenty naked girls to change his plate I 
 Poor man, he lived another kind of life 
 
HOW IT STRIKES A CONTEMPORARY. 129 
 
 In tliat new, stuccoed, third house by the bridge, 
 
 Fresh-painted, rather smart than otherwise ! 
 
 1'he whole street might o'erlook him as he sat, 
 
 Leg crossing leg, one foot on the dog's back. 
 
 Playing a decent cribbage with his maid 
 
 ( Jacynth, you 're sure her name was) o'er the cheese 
 
 And fruit, three red halves of starved winter-pears, 
 
 Or treat of radishes in April ! nine — 
 
 Ten, struck the church clock, straight to bed went he. 
 
 My father, like the man of sense lie was, 
 Would point him out to me a dozen times j 
 " St — St " he 'd whisper, " the Corregidor ! " 
 I had been used to think that personage 
 "Was one with lacquered breeches, lustrous belt, 
 And feathers like a forest in his hat. 
 Who blew a trumpet and proclaimed the news. 
 Announced the bull-fights, gave each church its turn. 
 And memorized the miracle in vogue ! 
 He had a great observance from us boys — 
 I was in error ; that was not the man. 
 
 I'd like now, yet had haply been afraid, 
 To have just looked, when this man came to die. 
 And seen who lined the clean gay garret's sides 
 And stood about the neat low truckle-bed. 
 With the heavenly manner of relieving guard. 
 Here had been, mark, the general-in-chief. 
 Thro' a whole campaign of the world's life and death 
 9 
 
130 HOW IT STRIKES A CONTEMPORAUr, 
 
 Doing the King's work all the dim day long, 
 
 In his old coat, and up to his knees in mud. 
 
 Smoked like a herring, dining on a crust, — 
 
 And now the day was won, relieved at once ! 
 
 No further show or need for that old coat. 
 
 You are sure, for one thing ! Bless us, all the while 
 
 How sprucely we are dressed out, you and I ! 
 
 A second, and the angels alter that. 
 
 Well, I could never write a verse, — could you ? 
 
 Let 's to the Frado and make the most of time. 
 
THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER. 
 
 1. 
 
 I SAID — Then, dearest, since *tis so, 
 Since now at length my fate I know, 
 Since nothing all my love avails, 
 Since all my life seemed meant for, fails, 
 
 Since this was written and needs must be - 
 My whole heart rises up to bless 
 Your name in pride and thankfulness ! 
 Take back the hope you gave, — I claim 
 Only a memory of the same, 
 — ^And this beside, if you will not blame, 
 
 Your leave for one more last ride with me. 
 
 2. 
 
 My 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 : 
 
132 THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER. 
 
 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 deified. 
 
 Who knows but the world may end to-night ? 
 
 Hush ! if you saw some western cloud 
 
 All billowy-bosomed, over-bowed 
 
 By many benedictions — sun's 
 
 And moon's and evening-star's at once — 
 
 And so, you, looking and loving best, 
 Conscious grew, your passion drew 
 Cloud, sunset, moonrise, star-shine too 
 Down on you, near and yet more near, 
 Till flesh must fade for heaven was here ! — 
 Thus leant she and lingered — joy and fear I 
 
 Thus lay she a moment on my breast. 
 
 4. 
 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 Hfe awry? 
 Had I said that, had I done this, 
 So might I gain, so might I miss. 
 Might she have loved me ? just as well 
 
THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER. 133 
 
 She might have hated, — who can tell ? 
 Where had I been now if the worst befell ? 
 And here we are ridmg, she and L 
 
 5. 
 
 Fail I alone, in words and deeds ? 
 Why, all men strive and who succeeds ? 
 We rode ; it seemed my spirit flew, 
 Saw other regions, cities new. 
 
 As the world rushed by on either side. 
 I thought. All labour, yet no less 
 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. 
 
 6. 
 
 What hand and brain went ever paired ? 
 What heart alike conceived and dared ? 
 What act proved all its thought had been ? 
 What will but felt the fleshly screen ? 
 
 We ride and I see her bosom heave. 
 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. 
 
134 THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER. 
 
 "What does it all mean, poet ? well, 
 Your brain 's 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 
 *Tis something, nay 'tis much — but then, 
 Have you yourself what 's best for men ? 
 Are you — poor, sick, old ere your time — 
 Nearer one whit your own sublime 
 Than we who never have turned a rhyme ? 
 
 Sing, riding 's a joy ! For me, I ride. 
 
 8. 
 
 And you, great sculptor — so you gave 
 A score of years to art, her slave. 
 And that 's your Venus — whence 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. 
 
 9. 
 Who knows what 's fit for us ? Had fate 
 Proposed bliss here should sublimate 
 
THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER. I3a 
 
 My being ; had I signed the bond — 
 Still one must lead some life beyond, 
 
 — Have a bliss to die with, dim-descried. 
 This foot once planted on the goal, 
 This glory-garland round my soul. 
 Could I descry such ? Try and test ! 
 I sink back shuddering from the quest — 
 Earth being so good, would Heaven seem best ? 
 
 Now, Heaven and she are beyond this ride. 
 
 10. 
 
 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 ? 
 What if we still ride on, we two, 
 With life forever old yet new. 
 Changed not in kind but in degree, 
 The instant made eternity, — 
 And Heaven just prove that I and she 
 
 Bide, ride together, forever ride ? 
 
THE PATRIOT. 
 
 AH OLD STORY. 
 
 It was roses, roses, all the way. 
 
 With myrtle mixed in my path like mad. 
 
 The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway. 
 The church-spires flamed, such flags they had, 
 
 A year ago on this very day ! 
 
 The air broke into a mist with bells. 
 
 The old walls rocked with the crowds and cries. 
 Had I said, " Good folks, mere noise repels — 
 
 But give me your sun from yonder skies ! " 
 They had answered, " And afterward, what else ? " 
 
 Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun, 
 To give it my loving friends to keep. 
 
 Nought man could do, have I left undone, 
 And you see my harvest, what I reap 
 
 This very day, now a year is run. 
 
THE PATRIOT. 137 
 
 4. 
 
 There 's nobody on the house-tops now — 
 Just a palsied few at the windows set — 
 
 For the best of the sight is, all allow, 
 At the Shambles' Gate — or, better yet, 
 
 By the very scaffold's foot, I trow. 
 
 5. 
 
 I go in the rain, and, more than needs, 
 
 A rope cuts both my wrists behind. 
 And I think, by the feel, my forehead bleeds, 
 
 For they fling, whoever has a mind. 
 Stones at me for my year's misdeeds. 
 
 6. 
 
 Thus I entered Brescia, and thus I go ! 
 
 In such triumphs, people have dropped down dead. 
 " Thou, paid by the World, — what dost thou owe 
 
 Me ? " God might have questioned : but now instead 
 *Tis G^d shall requite ! I am safer so. 
 
MASTER HOGUES OF SaXE-GOTHA. 
 
 1. 
 
 Hist, but a word, fair and soft ! 
 
 Forth and be judged, Master Hugues ! 
 Answer the question I've put you so oft — 
 
 What do you mean by your mountainous fugues ? 
 See, we 're alone in the loft, 
 
 1, the poor organist here, 
 
 Hugues, the composer of note — 
 Dead, though, and done with, this many a year — 
 
 Let 's have a colloquy, something to quote, 
 Make the world prick up its ear ! 
 
 3. 
 
 See, the church empties a-pace. 
 
 Fast they extinguish the lights — 
 Hallo, there, sacristan ! five minutes' grace I 
 
MASTER HUGUES OF SAXE-GOTHA. 139 
 
 Here 's a crank pedal wants setting to rights, 
 Baulks one of holding the base. 
 
 4. 
 
 See, our huge house of the sounds 
 
 Hushing its hundreds at once, 
 Bids the last loiterer back to his bounds 
 
 — Oh, you may challenge them, not a response 
 Get the church saints on their rounds ! 
 
 5. 
 
 (Saints go their rounds, who shall doubt ? 
 
 — March, with the moon to admire. 
 
 Up nave, down chancel, turn transept about, 
 Supervise all betwixt pavement and spire, 
 Put rats and mice to the rout — 
 
 6. 
 
 Aloys and Jurien and Just — 
 
 Order things back to their place, 
 Have a sharp eye lest the candlesticks rust, 
 
 Rub the church plate, dam the sacrament lace, 
 Clear the desk velvet of dust.) 
 
 7. 
 
 Here's your book, younger folks shelve ! 
 Played I not off-hand and runningly. 
 Just now, your masterpiece, hard number twelve ? 
 
140 MASTER HUGUES OF SAXE-GOTHA. 
 
 Here 's what should strike, — could one handle it 
 Help the axe, give it a helve ! [cunningly. 
 
 8. 
 
 Page after page as I played, 
 
 Every bar's rest where one wipes 
 Sweat from one's brow, I looked up and surveyed 
 
 O'er my three claviers, yon forest of pipes 
 Whence you still peeped in the shade. 
 
 9. 
 
 Sure you were wishful to speak, 
 
 You, with brow ruled like a score, 
 Yes, and eyes buried in pits on each cheek 
 
 Like two great breves as they wrote them of yore 
 Each side that bar, your straight beak I 
 
 10. 
 
 Sure you said — " Good, the mere notes ! 
 
 Still, couldst thou take my intent, 
 Ejiow what procured me our Company's votes — 
 
 Masters being lauded and sciohsts shent, 
 Parted the sheep from the goats ! " 
 
 11. 
 
 Well then, speak up, never jflinch ! 
 
 Quick, ere my candle's a snufF 
 — Burnt, do you see ? to its uttermost mch — 
 
MASTER HUGUE8 OP SAXE-GOTHA. 141 
 
 / believe in you, but that's not enough. 
 Give my conviction a clinch ! 
 
 12. 
 
 First you deliver your phrase 
 
 — Nothing propound, that I see, 
 Fit in itself for much blame or much praise — 
 
 Answered no less, where no answer needs be : 
 Off start the Two on their ways ! 
 
 IS. 
 
 Straight must a Third interpose, 
 Volunteer needlessly help — 
 
 In strikes a Fourth, a Fifth thrusts in his 
 So the cry 's open, the kennel 's a-yelp, 
 
 Argument 's hot to the close ! 
 
 14. 
 
 One disertates, he is candid — 
 
 Two must discept, — has distinguished ! 
 
 Three helps the couple, if ever yet man did : 
 
 Four protests. Five makes a dart at the thing washed ■ 
 
 Back to One, goes the case bandied ! 
 
 15. 
 
 One says his say with a difference — , 
 
 More of expounding, explaining ! 
 All now is wrangle, abuse, and vociferance — 
 
142 MASTER HUGUES OF SAXE-GOTHA. 
 
 Now there 's a truce, all 's subdued, self-restraining 
 Five, though, stands out all the stiffer hence. 
 
 16. 
 
 One is incisive, corrosive — 
 
 Two retorts, nettled, curt, crepitant — 
 Thi-ee makes rejoinder, expansive, explosive — 
 
 Four overbears them all, strident and strepitant — 
 Five . . . O Danaides, O Sieve ! 
 
 17. 
 
 Now, they ply axes and crowbars — 
 
 Now, they prick pins at a tissue 
 Fine as a skein of the casuist Escobar's 
 
 Worked on the bone of a lie. To what issue ? 
 Where is our gain at the Two-bars ? 
 
 18. 
 Est fuga, volvitur rota! 
 
 On we drift. Where looms the dim port ? 
 One, Two, Three, Four, Five, contribute their quota - 
 
 Something is gained, if one caught but the import - 
 Show it us, Hugues of Saxe-Gotha ! 
 
 19. 
 Wliat with affirming, denying. 
 
 Holding, risposting, subjoining, 
 AJl 's like ... it 's like ... for an instance I 'm trying . 
 
MASTER HUGDES OF SAXE-GOTHA. 143 
 
 There ! See our roof, its gilt moulding and groining 
 Under those spider-webs lying! 
 
 20 
 
 So your fugue broadens and thickens, 
 
 Greatens and deepens and lengthens, 
 Till one exclaims — " But where 's music, the dickens ? 
 
 Blot ye the gold, while your spider-web strengthens, 
 Blacked to the stoutest of tickens ? " 
 
 21. 
 
 I for man's effort am zealous. 
 
 Prove me such censure's unfounded! 
 Seems it surprising a lover grows jealous — 
 
 Hopes 'twas for something his organ-pipes sounded. 
 Tiring three boys at the bellows ? 
 
 22. 
 
 Is it your moral of Life ? 
 
 Such a web, simple and subtle, 
 Weave we on earth here in impotent strife. 
 
 Backward and forward each throwing his shuttle. 
 Death ending all with a knife ? 
 
 23 
 
 Over our heads Truth and Nature — 
 Still our life 's zigzags and dodges. 
 Ins and outs weavinof a new le<nslature — 
 
144 MASTER HUGUES OF SAXE-GOTHA. 
 
 God's gold just shining its last where that lodges, 
 Palled beneath Man's usurpature ! 
 
 24. 
 
 So we o'ershroud stars and roses, 
 
 Cherub and trophy and garland. 
 Nothings grow something which quietly closes 
 
 Heaven's earnest eye, — not a glimpse of the far land 
 Cxets through our comments and glozes. 
 
 25. 
 
 Ah, but traditions, inventions, 
 
 (Say we and make up a visage) 
 So many men with such various intentions 
 
 Down the past ages must know more than this age I 
 Leave the web all its dimensions ! 
 
 26. 
 
 Who thinks Hugues wrote for the deaf? 
 
 Proved a mere mountain in labour ? 
 Better submit — try again — what 's the clef ? 
 
 'Faith, it 's no trifle for pipe and for tabor — 
 Four flats — the minor in F. 
 
 27. 
 
 Friend, your fugue taxes the finger. 
 
 Learning it once, who would lose it ? 
 Y'et all the while a misgiving will linger — 
 
MASTER HUGUES OF 8AXE-G0THA. 145 
 
 Truth 's golden o'er us although we refuse it — 
 N'ature, thro' dust-clouds we fling her ! 
 
 28. 
 
 Hugues ! I advise med poena 
 
 (Counterpoint glares like a Gorgon) 
 Bid One, Two, Three, Four, Five, clear the arena I 
 
 Say the word, straight I unstop the Full-Organ, 
 Blare out the mode Palestrma. 
 
 29. 
 
 While in the roof, if I 'm right there — 
 
 . . . Lo, you, the wick in the socket ! 
 Hallo, you sacristan, show us a light there ! 
 
 Down it dips, gone like a rocket ! 
 What, you want, do you, to come unawares. 
 Sweeping the church up for fir^t morning-prayers, 
 And find a poor devil at end of his cares 
 At the foot of your rotten-planked rat-riddled stairs ? 
 
 Do I carry the moon in my pocket ? 
 
 Xi) 
 

 BISHOP BLOUGRAM'S APOLOGY. 
 
 No more wine ? then we '11 push back chairs and talk, 
 A final glass for me, tho' : cool, i'faith ! 
 We ought to have our Abbey back, you see. 
 It' s different, preaching in basilicas, 
 And doing duty in some masterpiece 
 Like this of brother Pugin's, bless his heart ! 
 I doubt if they 're half baked, those chalk rosettes, 
 Ciphers and stucco-twiddlings everywhere ; 
 It 's just like breathing in a lime-kiln : eh ? 
 These hot long ceremonies of our church 
 Cost us a little — oh, they pay the price, 
 You take me — amply pay it ! Now, we '11 talk . 
 
 So, you despise^ me, Mr. Gigadibs. 
 No deprecation, — nay, I beg you, sir ! 
 Beside 'tis our engagement : don't you know, 
 I promised, if you 'd watch a dinner out. 
 We 'd see truth dawn together ? — truth that peepa 
 Over the glass's edge when dinner 's done. 
 And body gets its sop and holds its noise 
 
BISHOP BLOUGRAM's APOLOGY. 147 
 
 And leaves soul free a little. Now 's the time — 
 
 Tis break of day ! You do^ despise mejhen. 
 
 And if I say, "despise me," — never fear— \ 
 
 I know you do not in a certain sense — 
 
 Not in my arm-chair for example : here, 
 
 I well imagine you respect my place 
 
 (Status, entourage, worldly circumstance) ^ 
 
 Quite to its value — very much indeed 
 
 — Are up to the protesting eyes of you 
 
 In pride at being seated here for once — 
 
 You '11 turn it to such capital account ! 
 
 When somebody, through years and years to come, 
 
 Hints of the bishop, — names me — that 's enough<^--) 
 
 " Blougram ? I knew him " — (into it you slide) 
 
 " Dined with him once, a Corpus Christi Day, 
 
 All alone, we two -^he 's a clever man —4 '^ ' 
 
 And after dinner, — why, the wine you know, — 
 
 Oh, there was wine, and good ! — what with the wine . • 
 
 'Faith, we began upon all sorts of talk ! 
 
 lie 's no bad fellow, Blougram —he had seen V 
 
 Sometliing of mine he relished —y some review ■^> 
 
 He 's quite above their humbug in his heart, 
 
 Half-said as much, indeed — the thing 's his trade — 
 
 I warrant, Blougram 's skeptical at times ^-^ . 
 
 How otherwise ? I liked him, I confess ! '* 
 
 CJie ch'e, my dear sir, as we say at Rome, 
 
 Don't you protest now ! It 's fair give and take ; 
 
 You have had your turn and spoken your home-truths^--* 
 
 The hand 's mine now, and here you follow suit. 
 
148 BISHOP blougram's apology. 
 
 Thus much conceded, still the first fact stays — 
 Jfou do despise me ; your ideal of life 
 Is not the bishop's — • you would not be I — * ^ 
 You would like better to be Goethe, now. 
 Or Buonaparte^— or, bless me, lower still, 
 Count D'Orsay, — so you did what you preferred, 
 Spoke as you thought, and, as you cannot help. 
 Believed or disbelieved, no matter what. 
 So long as on that point, whate'er it was. 
 You loosed your mind, were whole and sole yourself. 
 — That, my ideal never can include. 
 Upon that element of truth and worth 
 Never be based ! for say they make me Pope 
 (Tiiey caii't — suppose it for our argument) 
 Why, there I 'm at my tether's end — I 've reached 
 My height, and not a height which pleases you. 
 An unbelieving Pope won't do, you say. 
 It 's like those eerie stories nurses tell. 
 Of how some actor played Death on a stage 
 With pasteboard crown, sham orb, and tinselled dart^ 
 And called himself the monarch of the worl^. 
 Then going in the tire-room afterward 
 Because the play was done, to shift himself. 
 Got touched upon the sleeve familiarly 
 The moment he had shut the closet door 
 By Death hunself. Thus God might touch a Pope 
 At unawares, ask what his baubles mean, 
 And whose part he presumed to play just now ? 
 Best be yourself, imperial, plain and true ! 
 
 m 
 
BISHOP BLOUGRAM'S APOLOGT 1 VJ 
 
 So, dmwing comfortable breath again, 
 
 You weigh and find whatever more or less 
 
 I boast of my ideal realized ^. 
 
 Is nothing in the balance when opposed 
 
 To your ideal, your grand simple life, 
 
 Of which you will not realize one jot. 
 
 1 am much, you are nothing ; you would be aD 
 
 I would be merely much ^— you beat me there. 
 
 No , friend, you do not_beat me, — hearken why*; 
 The common problem, your's^ mine, ev^gr ojj0^ 
 Is not to fancy what were fair in life 
 Provided it could be, — -but^ finding first , 
 What may be, then find how to make it^fair 
 Up to our means — a very different thing ! 
 No abstract mtellectual plan of Hfe 
 Quite irrespective of life's plainest laws, 
 But one, a man, who is man and nothing more, 
 May lead witliin a world which (by your leave) 
 Is Rome or London -^ — not Fool's-paradise. , 
 Embellish Rome, idealize away. 
 Make Paradise of London if you can. 
 You 're welcome, nay, you 're wise. 
 
 , A simile I 
 
 We mortals cross the ocean of this world 
 Each in his average cabin of a life '— . 'j 
 The best 's not big, the worst yields elbow-room. 
 Now fr.r our six months' voyage — how prepare? 
 
 
 -at, 
 
 :^' 
 
150 BISHOP BLOUGRAM*S APOLOGY. 
 
 You come on shipboard with a landsman's Kst 
 
 Of things he calls convenient — so they are ! ' 
 
 An India screen is pretty furniture, 
 
 A piano-forte is a fine resource, 
 
 All Balzac's novels occupy one shelf. 
 
 The new edition fifty volumes long ; 
 
 And little Greek books with the funny type 
 
 They get up well at Leipsic fill the next — , 
 
 Go on ! slabbed marble, what a bath it makes ! 
 
 And Parma's pride, the Jerome, let us add ! 
 
 'Twere pleasant could Correggio's fleeting glow 
 
 Hang full in face of one where'er one roams, 
 
 Since he more than the others brings with him 
 
 Italy's self, — the marvellous Modenese ! 
 
 Yet 'twas not on your list before, perhaps. 
 
 — Alas ! friend, here 's the agent ... is 't the name ? 
 
 The captain, or whoever 's master here — 
 
 You see him screw his face up ; what 's his cry 
 
 Ere you set foot on shipboard ? " Six feet square ! ** 
 
 If you won't understand what six feet mean, 
 
 Compute and purchase stores accordingly — 
 
 And if in pique because he overhauls 
 
 Your Jerome, piano and bath, you come on board 
 
 Bare — why you cut a figure at the first. 
 
 While sympathetic landsmen see you off; 
 
 Not afterwards, when, long ere half seas o'er, 
 
 You peep up from your utterly naked boards 
 
 Ento some snug and well-appointed berth 
 
 Like mine, for instance (try the cooler jug — 
 
BISHOP BLOUGRAM'S APOLOGY. I'^l 
 
 Put back the other, but don't jog the ice) 
 
 And mortified you mutter ." Well and good — 
 
 He sits enjoying his sea-furniture — 
 
 'Tis stout and proper, and there 's store of it. 
 
 Though I 've the better notion, all agree, 
 
 Of fitting rooms up ! hang the carpenter. 
 
 Neat ship-shape fixings and contrivances — 
 
 I would have brought my Jerome, frame and all ! " 
 
 And meantime you bring nothing : never mind — 
 
 You 've proved your artist-nature : what you don't, 
 
 You might bring, so despise me, as I say. 
 
 Now come, let 's backward to the starting place. 
 See my way : we 're two college friends, suppose — 
 Prepare together for our voyage, then. 
 Each note and check the other in his work, — 
 Here 's mine, a bishop's outfit ; criticize ! 
 What 's wrong ? why won't you be a bishop too ? 
 
 Why> first, you don't believe, you don't and can't, 
 (Not statedly, that is, and fixedly 
 And absolutely and exclusively) 
 In any revelation called divine. 
 No dogmas nail your faith — and what remains 
 But say so, like the honest man you are ? 
 First, therefore, overhaul theology ! 
 Nay, I too, not a fool, you please to think, 
 Must find believing every whit as hard. 
 And if I do not frankly say as much. 
 The ugly consequence is clear enough. 
 
152 BISHOP blougram's apology. 
 
 Now, wait, my friend : well, I do not believe -— 
 If you '11 accept no faith that is not fixed, 
 Absolute and exclusive, as you say. 
 (You're wrong — I mean to prove it in due time; 
 Meanwhile, I know where difficulties lie 
 I could not, cannqt^solve, nor ave;: shall, 
 So give up hope accordingly to solve — 
 (To you, and over the wine.) Our dogmas then 
 "With both of us, tho' in unhke degree. 
 Missing full credence — overboard with them I 
 I mean to meet you on your own premise — 
 Good, there go mine in company with yours I 
 
 And now what are we ? unbelievers, both, 
 Calm and complete, determinately fixed 
 To-day, to-morrow, andjoreyer, pray ? 
 You '11 guarantee me that ? Not so, I think. 
 In nowise ! all we 've gained is, that belief, 
 As unbelief before, shakes us by fits. 
 Confounds us like its predecessor. Where 's 
 The gain ? how can we guard our^ unbelief. 
 Make it bear fruit to us ? — the problem here. 
 J[ust_whenw£_are safest, there 's a sunset-touch, 
 A fancy from a flower-bell, some one's death, 
 A chorus-ending from Euripides, — 
 And that 's enough for fifty hopes and fears 
 As old and new at once as nature's self, 
 To rap and knock and enter in our soul. 
 Take hands and dance there, a fantastic ring, 
 
BISHOl' BLOUGRAM's APOLOGY. lO-i 
 
 Roun d^ the an cient idol, on his base again, — 
 Thegrand Perhaps ! we look on helplessly, — 
 There the old misgivings, crooked questions are — 
 ^ This good God, — what he co uld do, if he would. 
 Would, if he could — then must have done long since i 
 If so, when, where, and how ? some way must be, -^ 
 Once feel about, and soon or late jou hit 
 Some sense, in which it might be, after all. 
 Wliy not, « The Way, the„Truth, the Life ?" 
 
 — That way 
 Over the mounta in^ which who stands upon 
 Is apt to doubt if it 's indeed a road ; 
 While if he views it from the waste itself, 
 Up goes the line there, plain from base to brow, 
 Not vague, mistakable ! what 's a break or two 
 Seen from the unbroken desert either side ? 
 And then (to bring in fresh philosophy) 
 What if the breaks themselves should prove at last 
 The most consummate of contrivances 
 To train a man's eye, teach him what is faith, — 
 And so we stumble at truth's very test ? 
 
 fWhat have we gained then by our unbelief 
 But a life of doubt diversified by faith, 
 [ For one of faith diversified by doubt. 
 
 We called the chess-board white, — we call it black. 
 
 " Well," you rejoin, " the end 's no worse, at least. 
 We 've reason for both colours on the board. 
 
154 BISHOP BLOUGRAM'S APOLOQr. 
 
 Why not confess, then, where I drop the^th 
 And you the doubt, that I'm as right asjwj J" 
 
 Because, friend, in the next place, this being so. 
 And both things even, — faith and unbeUef 
 Left to a man's choice, — we '11 proceed a step. 
 Returning to our image^which I like. 
 
 A man's choice, yes — but a cabin-passenger's— 
 The man made for the special life of the world — 
 Do you forget him ? I remember though ! 
 Consult our ship's conditions and you find 
 One and but one choice suitable to all, 
 The choice that you unluckily prefer. 
 Turning things topsy-turvy — they or it 
 Going to the ground. (; Belief or unbelief 
 Bears upon life, determines its whole course^j 
 Begins at its beginning. ) See the world 
 Such as it is, — you made it not, nor I ; 
 I mean to take it as it is, — and you 
 Not so you '11 take it, — though you get nought else. 
 I know the special kind of life I like, 
 "What suits the most my idiosyncrasy. 
 Brings out the best of me and bears me fruit 
 In power, peace, pleasantness, and^ length of days. 
 I find that positive belief does^ this 
 For me, and unbelief, no whit of this. 
 — For you, it does, however — that^we '11 try I 
 Tis clear, I cannot lead my life, at least 
 
 I 
 
BISHOP BLOUGRAM's APOLOGY. 15.^ 
 
 Induce the world to let me peaceably, 
 Without declaring at the outset, " Friends, 
 I absolutely and peremptorily 
 Believe ! " — Isaj_faith is my waking life. 
 One sleeps, indeed, and dreams at intervals, 
 "We know, but waking 's the main point with us, 
 AnSfmy provision 's for life's waking part. 
 Accordingly, I use heart, head and hands 
 All day, I build, scheme, study and make friends ; 
 And when night overtakes me, down I lie, 
 Sleep, dream a little, and get done with it, 
 The sooner the better, to begin afresh. 
 What 's midnight's doubt before the dayspring's faith ? 
 You, the philosopher, that disbelieve. 
 That recognize the night, give dreams their weight — 
 To be consistent you should keep your bed, 
 Abstain from healthy acts that prove you a man. 
 For fear you drowse perhaps at unawares ! 
 And certainly at night you '11 sleep and dream. 
 Live through the day and bustle as you please. 
 Andso you l ive to sleep as IJO-Wake, 
 .^Vunbelieve as I to still believe ? 
 Well, and the common sense of the world calls you 
 Bed-ridden, — and its good things come to me. 
 Its estimation, which is half the fight. 
 That 's the first cabin-comfort I secure — 
 The next . . . but you perceive with half an eye I 
 Come, come, it 's best believing, if we can — 
 You can't but own that. 
 

 
 156 BISHOP blougram's apology. 
 
 Next, concede again -j— 
 If once we choose belief, on all accounts 
 We can't be too decisive in our faith. 
 Conclusive and exclusive in its terms. 
 To suit the world which gives us the good things. 
 In every man's career are certain points 
 Whereon he dares not be indifferent; 
 The world detects him clearly, if he' is, 
 As baffled at the game, and losing life. 
 He may care little or he may care much 
 For riches, honour, pleasure, work, repose, 
 Since various theories of life and life's 
 Success are extant which might easily 
 Comport with either estimate of these, 
 And whoso chooses wealth or poverty, 
 Labour or quiet, is not judged a fool 
 Because his fellows would choose otherwise^:' 
 We let him choose upon his own account 
 So long as he 's consistent with his choice. 
 JBut certain points, left wholly to himself. 
 When once a man has arbitrated on, 
 We say he must succeed there or go hang. 
 Thus, he should wed the woman he loves most 
 Or needs most, whatsoe'er the love or need — 
 For he can^ wed twice. Then, he must avouch. 
 Or follow, at the least, sufficientFy, 
 The form of faith his conscience holds the best, 
 Whate'er the process of conviction waSj^^^ 
 For nothing can compensate his mistake 
 
\^ 
 
 BISHOP BLOUGRAm's APOLOGY. 157 
 
 On such a point, the man himself being judge — 
 He cannot wed twice, nor twice lose his soul. 
 
 Well now — there 's one great form of Christian faith 
 I happened to be born in — which to teach 
 Was given me as I grew up, on all hands, 
 As best and readiest means of living by ; 
 The same on examination being proved 
 jThe most pronounced moreover, fixed, precise 
 / And absolute form of faith in the whole world — 
 Accordingly, most potent of all forms 
 For working on the world. Observe, my friend, 
 Such as you know me, I am free to say. 
 In these hard latter days which hamper one, 
 Myself, by no immoderate exercise 
 Of intellect and learning, and the tact 
 To let external forces work for me, 
 Bid the street's stones be bread and they are bread, 
 Bid Peter's creed, or^ rather, Hildebran d^, 
 Exalt me o'er my fellows in the world 
 And make my life an ease and joy and pride, 
 It does so, — which for me 's a great point gained. 
 Who have a soul and body that exact 
 A comfortable care in many ways. 
 There 's power in me and will to dominate 
 Which I must exercise, they hurt me else : 
 In many ways I need mankind's respect, 
 Obedience, and the love that 's born of fear : 
 While at the same time, there 's a taste I have, 
 
I6i$ BISHOP blougram's apology. 
 
 A toy of soul, a titillating thing, 
 
 Refuses to digest these dainties crude. 
 
 The naked life is gross till clothed upon : 
 
 I must take what men offer, with a grace 
 
 As though I would not, could I help it, take ! 
 
 An uniform to wear though over-rich — 
 
 Something imposed on me, no choice of mine ; 
 
 No fancy-dress worn for pure fashion's sake 
 
 And despicable therefore ! now men kneel 
 
 And kiss my hand — of course the Church's hand. 
 
 Thus I am made, thus life is best for me. 
 
 And thus that it should be I have procured ; 
 
 And thus it could not be another way, 
 
 I venture to imagine. 
 
 You '11 reply — 
 So far my choice, no doubt, is a success ; 
 But were I made of better elements, 
 With nobler instincts, purer tastes, like you, 
 I hardly would account the thing success 
 Though it do all for me I say. 
 
 But, friend, 
 We speak of whatsis — not of what might be, > 
 And how 'twere better if 'twere otherwise. 
 I am the man you see here plain enough -— 
 Grant I 'm a beast, why beasts must lead beasts' lives ) 
 Suppose I own at once to tail and claws — 
 The tailless man exceeds me ; but being tailed 
 
BISHOP BLODGRAM'S A.POLOGY. id9 
 
 I *11 lash out lion-fashion, and leave apes 
 
 To dock their ^ump and dress their haunches up. 
 
 Mj business is not to remake m^elf 
 
 But make the absolute best of what God made. 
 
 Or — our first simile — though you proved me doome** 
 
 To a viler berth still, to the steerage-hole. 
 
 The sheep-pen or the pig-stye, I should strive 
 
 To make what use of each were possible ; 
 
 And as this cabin gets upholstery, 
 
 That hutch should rustle with sufficient straw. 
 
 But, friend, I don't acknowledge quite so fast 
 I fail of all your manhood's lofty tastes 
 Enumerated so complacently. 
 On the mere ground that you forsooth can find 
 In this particular life I choose to lead 
 No fit provision for them. Can you not ? 
 Say you, my fault is I address myself 
 To grosser estimators than I need, 
 And that 's no way of holding up the soul — ^ 
 Which, nobler, needs men's praise perhaps, yet knows 
 One wise man's verdict outweighs all the fools', — 
 Would like the two, but, forced to choose, takes that ? 
 I pine among my million imbecile* 
 ^You think) aware some dozen men of sense 
 Eye me and know me, whether I believe 
 In the last winking Virgin, as I vow, 
 3^ am a fool, or disbelieve in her 
 And am a knave, — approve in neither case. 
 
 /2^ ,<>^^ 
 
 a^ ,/^e^^ ^f/^/K.> 
 
In50 bishop blougram's apology. 
 
 Withhold their voices though I look their way 
 
 Like Verdi when, at his worst opera's end * 
 
 (The thing they gave at Florence, — what 's its name ?) 
 
 While the mad houseful's plaudits near out-bang 
 
 His orchestra of salt-box, tongs and bones, 
 
 He looks through all the roaring and the wi'eaths 
 
 Where sits Rossini patient in his stall. 
 
 Nay, friend, I meet you with an answer here — 
 For even your prime men who appraise their kind 
 Are men still, catch a thing within a thing. 
 See more in a truth than the truth's simple self, 
 Confuse themselves. You see lads walk the street 
 Sixty the minute ; what 's to note in that ? 
 You see one lad o'erstride a chimney-stack ; 
 Him you must watch — he 's sure to fall, yet stands I 
 Our interest's on the dangerous edge of things. 
 The honest thief, the tender murderer, 
 The superstitious atheist, demireps 
 That love and save their souls in new French books — 
 We watch while these in equilibrium keep 
 The giddy line midway : one step aside. 
 They 're classed and done with. I, then, keep the line 
 Before your sages, — just the men to shrink 
 From the gross weights, coarse scales, and labels broad 
 You offer their refinement. Fool or knave ? 
 Wliy needs a bishop be a fool or knave 
 Wlien there 's a thousand diamond weights between ? 
 So I enlist them. Your picked Twelve, you '11 find- 
 
BISHOP BLOUGRAM's APOLOGY. 161 
 
 I'rofess themselves indignant, scandalized 
 
 At thus being held unable to explain 
 
 How a superior man who disbelieves 
 
 May not believe as well : that 's Schelling's way ! 
 
 It 's through my coming in the tail of time, 
 
 Nicking the minute with a happy tact. 
 
 Had I been born three hundred years ago 
 
 They 'd say, " What 's strange ? Blougram of course 
 
 believes ; " 
 And, seventy years since, " disbelieves of course." 
 JBut now, " He may believe ; and yet, and yet 
 How can he ? " — All eyes turn with interest. 
 Whereas, step off the line on either side — 
 You, for example, clever to a fault. 
 The rough and ready man that write apace, 
 Eead somewhat seldomer, think perhaps even less — 
 You disbelieve ! WTio wonders and who cares ? 
 Lord So-and-So — his coat bedropt with wax, 
 All Peter's chains about his waist, his back 
 Brave with the needlework of Noodledom, 
 Believes ! Again, who wonders and who cares ? 
 But I, the man of sense and learning too. 
 The able to think yet act, the this, the that, 
 I, to IjeHeve at this late time of day ! 
 Enough ; you see, I need not fear contempt. 
 
 — Except it 's yours ! admire me as these may, 
 You don't. But what at least do you admire ? 
 Present your own perfections, your ideal, 
 11 
 
162 BISHOP blougram's apology. 
 
 Your pattern man for a minute — oh, make haste I 
 
 Is it Napoleon you would have us grow ? 
 
 Concede the means ; allow his head and hand, 
 
 (A large concession, clever as you are) 
 
 Good ! — In our common primal element 
 
 Of unbelief (we can't believe, you know — 
 
 We 're still at that admission, recollect) 
 
 Where do you find — apart from, towering-o'er 
 
 The secondary temporary aims 
 
 Which satisfy the gross tastes you despise — 
 
 Where do you find his star ? — his crazy trust 
 
 God knows through what or in what ? it 's alive 
 
 And shines and leads him and that 's all we want. 
 
 Have we aught in our sober night shall point 
 
 Such ends as his were, and direct the means 
 
 Of working out our purpose straight as his, 
 
 Nor bring a moment's trouble on success 
 
 With after-care to justify the same ? 
 
 - — Be a Napoleon and yet disbelieve ! 
 
 Why, the man 's mad, friend, take his light away. 
 
 What 's the vague good of the world for which you *d 
 
 dare 
 With comfort to yourself blow millions up ? 
 We neither of us see it ! we do see 
 The blown-up millions — spatter of their brains 
 And writhing of their bowels and so forth, 
 In that bewildering entanglement 
 Of horrible eventualities 
 "**<4st calculation to the end of time I 
 
 I 
 
BISHOP BLOUGRAM's A.POLOOY. 163 
 
 Can I mistake for some clear word of God 
 
 (Wliich were my ample warrant for it all) 
 
 His puff of hazy instincts, idle talk, 
 
 " The state, that 's I," quack-nonsense about kings, 
 
 And (when one beats the man to his last hold) 
 
 The vague idea of setting things to rights, 
 
 Policing people efficaciously, 
 
 More to their profit, most of all to his own ; 
 
 The whole to end that dismallest of ends 
 
 By an Austrian marriage, cant to us the church. 
 
 And resurrection of the old regime. 
 
 Would I, who hope to live a dozen years. 
 
 Fight Austerlitz for reasons such and such ? 
 
 No : for, concede me but the merest chance 
 
 Doubt may be wrong — there 's judgment, life to come ! 
 
 With just that chance, I dare not. Doubt proves right ? 
 
 This present life is all ? you offer me 
 
 I Its^ozen noisy years with not a chance 
 That wedding an Arch-Duchess, wearing lace, 
 
 \ And getting called by divers new-coined names, 
 J Will drive off ugly thoughts and let me dine, 
 Sleep, read and chat in quiet as I like ! 
 
 \ Therefore, I wiU not. 
 
 Take another case ; 
 Fit up the cabin yet another way. 
 What say you to the poet's ? shall we write 
 Hamlets, Othellos — make the world our own, 
 Withoijt a risk to run of either sort ? 
 
164 BISHOP blougram's apology. 
 
 I can't ! — to put the strongest reason first. 
 
 "But try," you urge, " the trymg shall suffice : 
 
 The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life. 
 
 Try to be Shakspeare, leave the rest to fate ! " 
 
 Spare my self-knowledge — there 's no fooling me I 
 
 If I prefer remaining my poor self, 
 
 I say so not in self-dispraise but praise. 
 
 K I 'm a Shakspeare, let the well alone — 
 
 Why should I try to be what now I am ? 
 
 If I 'm no Shakspeare, as too probable, — 
 
 His power and consciousness and self-delight 
 
 And all we want in common, shall I find — 
 
 Trying forever ? while on points of taste 
 
 Wherewith, to speak it humbly, he and I 
 
 Are dowered alike — I '11 ask you, I or he, 
 
 Which in our two lives realizes most ? 
 
 Much, he imagined — somewhat, I possess. 
 
 He had the imagination ; stick to that ! 
 
 Let him say " In the face of my soul's works 
 
 Your world is worthless and I touch it not 
 
 Lest I should wrong them " — I withdraw my plea 
 
 But does he say so ? look upon his life ! 
 
 Himself, who only can, gives judgment there. 
 
 He leaves his towers and gorgeous palaces 
 
 To build the trimmest house in Stratford town ; 
 
 Saves money, spends it, o^vns the worth of things, 
 
 Giulio Romano's pictures, Dowland's lute ; 
 
 Enjoys a show, respects the puppets, too, 
 
 And none more, had he seen its entry once. 
 
BISHOP BLOUGRAM's APOLOGY. 165 
 
 Than " Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal." 
 Why then should I who play that personage, 
 The very Pandulph Shakspeare's fancy made, 
 Be told that had the poet chanced to start 
 From where I stand now (some degree like mine 
 Being just the goal he ran his race to reach) 
 He would have run the whole race back, forsooth. 
 And left being Pandulph, to begin write plays ? 
 Ah, the earth's best can be but the earth's best ! 
 
 I Did Shakspeare live, he could but sit at home 
 
 / And get himself in dreams the Vatican, 
 
 ; Greek busts, Venetian paintings, Roman walls, 
 And English books, none equal to his own. 
 Which I read, bound in gold, (he never did.) 
 — Terni and Naples' bay and Gothard's top — 
 
 , Eh, friend ? I could not fancy one of these — 
 But, as I pour this claret, there they are — 
 I've gained them — crossed St. Gothard last July 
 With ten mules to the carriage and a bed 
 Slung inside ; is my hap the worse for that ? 
 
 , We want the same things, Shakspeare and myself 
 A.nd what I want, I have : he, gifted more, 
 
 } Could fancy he too had it when he liked. 
 But not so thoroughly that if fate allowed 
 He would not have it also in my sense. 
 
 ^_We play one game. I send the ball aloft 
 No less adroitly that of fifty strokes 
 Scarce five go o'er the wall so wide and high 
 Which sends them back to me : I wish and get. 
 
166 BISHOP blougram's apology. 
 
 He struck balls higher and with better skill. 
 But at a poor fence level with his head, 
 And hit — his Stratford house, a coat of arms. 
 Successful dealings in his grain and wool, — 
 While I receive heaven's incense in my nose 
 And style myself the cousin of Queen Bess. 
 Ask him, if this life 's all, who wins the game ? 
 
 Believe — and our whole argument breaks up. 
 Enthusiasm 's the best thing, I repeat ; 
 
 , .Only, we can't command it ; fire and life 
 Are all, dead matter 's nothing, we agree : 
 And be it a mad dream or God's very breath. 
 The fact 's the same, — belief's fire once in us, 
 Makes of all else mere^sjtiiflf to sho w it self. 
 We penetrate our life with such a glow 
 As fire lends wood and iron — this turns steel. 
 That burns to ash — all 's one, fire proves its power 
 For good or ill, since men call flare success. 
 But paint a fire,jt_will not therefore burn. 
 Light one in me, I '11 find it food enough ! 
 Why, to be Luther — that 's a hfe to lead. 
 Incomparably better than my own. 
 
 I He comes, reclaims God's earth for God, he says, 
 
 I Sets up God's rule again by simple means, 
 
 1 Re-opens a shut book, and all is done. 
 
 J He flared out in the flaring of mankind ; 
 
 '^uch Luther's luck was *^ ho w^ shall such be mine? 
 uEe succeeded, nothing 's left to do - 
 
BISHOP BLOUGRAM'S APOLOGY. 167 
 
 And if he did not altogether — well, 
 Strauss is the next advance. All Strauss should be 
 I might be also. But to what result ? 
 He looks upon no future : Luther did. 
 _What can I gain on the denying side ? 
 Ice makes no conflagration. State the facts, 
 Read the text right, emancipate the world — 
 The emancipated world enjoys itself 
 With scarce a thank-you — Blougram told it first 
 It could not owe a farthing, — not to him 
 More than St. Paul ! 'twould press its pay, you think ? 
 Then add there 's still that plaguey hundredth chance 
 Strauss may be wrong. And so a risk is run — 
 Forwhat gain ? not for Luther's, who secured 
 A real heaven in his heart throughout his^life, 
 Si5)posing death a littlejLlteredJjaingsj 
 
 "Ay, but since really I lack faith," you cry, 
 ^ I run the same risk really on all sides. 
 In cool indifference as bold unbelief. 
 As well be Strauss as swing 'twixt Faul and him. 
 It 's not worth having, such imperfect faith, 
 Nor more available to do faith's work 
 Than unbelief like yours. Whole faith, or none ! '* 
 
 Softly, my friend ! I must dispute that point. 
 Once ^wn the use of faith, I^ll^ndywijaith. 
 We*re back on Christian ground. You call tor faith J 
 I show you doub t, to prove that faith exists. 
 
168 BISHOP BLOUGRAM*S APOLOGY. 
 
 The more of doubt, the stronger faith, I say, 
 
 If faith o'ercomes doubt. How I know it does ? 
 
 By life and man's free will, God gave for that ! 
 
 To m ould life as_wejchoose it, s hows our choicti : 
 
 That's our one act, the previous work 's His ovy n. 
 
 You criticize the soil ? it reared this tree — 
 
 This broad life and whatever fruit it bears ! 
 
 What matter though I doubt at every pore,* 
 
 Head-doubts, heart-doubts, doubts at my fingers' ends, 
 
 Doubts in the trivial work of every day. 
 
 Doubts at the very bases of my soul 
 
 In the grand moments when she probes herself — 
 
 If finally I have a Hfe to show. 
 
 The thing I did, brought out in evidence 
 
 Against the thing done to me underground 
 
 By Hell and all its brood, for aught I know ? 
 
 I say, whence sprang this ? shows it faith or doubt ? 
 
 All 's doubt in me ; where 's break of faith in this ? 
 
 It is the idea, the feeling and the love 
 
 God means mankind should strive for and show forth, 
 
 Whatever be the process to that end, — 
 
 And not historic knowledge, logic sound, 
 
 And metaphysical acumen, sure ! 
 
 " What think ye of Christ," friend ? when all 's done 
 
 and said. 
 You like this Christianity or not ? 
 It may be false, but will you wish it true ? 
 Has it your vote to be so if it can ? 
 Trust you an instinct silenced long ago 
 
BISHOP BLOUGRAM's APOLOGr. 169 
 
 That will break silence and enjoin you love 
 
 What mortified philosophy is hoarse, 
 
 Aiid all in vain, with bidding you despise ? 
 
 If you desire faith — then you 've faith enough. 
 
 What else seeks God — nay, what else seek ourselves ? 
 
 You form a notion of me, we '11 suppose, 
 
 On hearsay ; it 's a favourable one : 
 
 " But still," (you add,) " there was no such good man, 
 
 Because of contradictions in the facts. 
 
 One proves, for instance, he was bom in Rome, 
 
 This Blougram — yet throughout the tales of him 
 
 I see he figures as an Englishman." 
 
 Well, the two things are reconcilable 
 
 But would I rather you discovered that. 
 
 Subjoining — " Still, what matter though they be ? 
 
 Blougram concerns me nought, born here or there." 
 
 Pure faith indeed — you know not what you ask I 
 /Naked belief in God the Omnipotent, 
 ( Omniscient, Omnipresent, sears too much 
 V The sense of conscious creatures to be borne. 
 
 It were the seeing him, no flesh shall dare. 
 
 Some think. Creation 's meant to show him forth : 
 
 I say, it 's meant to hide him all it can, 
 
 And that 's what all the blessed Evil 's for. 
 
 Its use in time is to environ us. 
 
 Our breath, our drop of dew, with shield enough 
 
 Against that sight till we can bear its stress. 
 
 tinder a vertical sun, the exposed brain 
 
170 BISHOP blougrAxm's apology. 
 
 And lidless eye and disimprisoned heart 
 Less certainly would wither up at once 
 Than mind, confronted with the truth of Xlini* 
 But time and earth case-harden us to live ; 
 The feeblest sense is trusted most ; the child 
 Feels God a moment, ichors o'er the place, 
 Plays on and grows to be a man like us. 
 With me, faith means perpetual unbelief 
 Kept quiet like the snake 'neath Michael's foot 
 Who stands calm just because he feels it writhe. 
 Or, if that 's too ambitious, — here 's my box — 
 I need the excitation of a pinch 
 Threatening the torpor of the inside-nose 
 Nigh on the imminent sneezs that never comes. 
 " Leave it in peace " advise the simple folk — 
 Make it aware of peace by itching-fits, 
 Say I — let doubt occasion still more faith ! 
 
 You '11 say, once all believed, man, woman, child, 
 In that dear middle-age these noodles praise. 
 How you 'd exult if I could put you back 
 Six hundred years, blot out cosmogony, 
 Geology, ethnology, what not, 
 (Greek endings jovith the little passing-bell 
 That signifies some faith 's about to die) 
 And set you square with Genesis again, — 
 When such a traveller told you his last news. 
 He saw the ark a-top of Ararat 
 But did not climb there since 'twas getting dusk 
 
BISHOP BLOUGRAM's APOLOGY. 171 
 
 And robber-bands infest the mountain's foot I 
 How should you feel, I ask, in such an age, 
 How act ? As other people felt and did ; 
 With soul more blank than this decanter's knob, 
 Believe — and yet lie, kill, rob, fornicate 
 Full in belief's face, like the beast you 'd be ! 
 
 No, when the fight begins withiri himself, 
 A man 's worth something. God stoops o'er his head, 
 Satan looks up between his feet — both tug — 
 He 's left, himself, in the middle : the soul wakes 
 And grows. Prolong that battle through his life ! 
 Never leave growing till the life to come ! 
 Here, we 've got callous to the Virgin's winks 
 That used to puzzle people wholesomely — 
 Men have outgrown the shame of being fools. 
 What are the laws of Nature not to bend 
 If the Church bid them, brother Newman asks. 
 Up with the Immaculate Conception, then — 
 On to the rack with faith — is my advice ! 
 Will not that hurry us upon our knees 
 Knocking our breasts, " It can't be — yet it shall ! 
 Who am I, the worm, to argue with my Pope ? 
 Low things confound the high things ! " and so forth. 
 That 's better than acquitting God with grace 
 As some folks do. He 's tried — no case is proved, 
 Philosophy is lenient — He may go ! 
 
 You '11 say — the old system 's not so obsolete 
 
172 BISHOP blougram's apology. 
 
 But men believe still : ay, but who and where ? 
 King Bomba's lazzaroni foster yet 
 The sacred flame, so Antonelli writes ; 
 But even of these, what ragamuffin-saint 
 JBelieves God watches him continually, 
 As he believes in fire that it will burn, 
 Or rain that it will drench him ? Break fire's law. 
 Sin against rain, although the penalty 
 Be just a singe or soaking ? No, he smiles ; 
 Those laws are laws that can enforce themselves. 
 
 The sum of all is — yes, my doubt is great, 
 My faith 's the greater — then my faith 's enough. 
 I have read much, thought much, experienced much, 
 Yet would die rather than avow my fear 
 The Naples' Uquefaction may be false, 
 When set to happen by the palace-clock 
 According to the clouds or dinner-time. 
 I hear you recommend, I might at least 
 Eliminate, decrassify my faith 
 Since I adopt it ; keeping what I must 
 And leaving what I can — such points as this 1 
 I won't — that is, I can't throw one away. 
 Supposing there 's no truth in what I said 
 About the need of trials to man's faith, 
 Still, when you bid me purify the same, 
 To such a process I discern no end, 
 Clearing off one excrescence to see two ; 
 There 's ever a next in size, now grown as big, 
 
BISHOP BLOUGRAM's APOLOGY. 173 
 
 That meets the knife— I cut and cut again ! 
 First cut the Liquefaction, what comes last 
 But Fichte's clever cut at God himself ? 
 Experimentalize on sacred things ? 
 I trust nor hand nor eye nor heart nor brain 
 To stop betimes : they all get drunk ahke. 
 The first step, I am master not t o take . 
 
 You 'd find the cutting-process to your taste 
 As much as leaving growths of lies unpruned, 
 Nor see more danger in it, you retort. 
 Your taste 's worth mine ; but my taste proves more wise 
 When we consider that the steadfast hold 
 On the extreme end of the chain of faith 
 Gives all the advantage, makes the difference, 
 With the rough purblind mass we seek to rule 
 We are their lords, or they are free of us 
 Just as we tighten or relax that hold. 
 So, other matters equal, we '11 revert 
 To the first problem — which if solved my way 
 And thrown into the balance turns the scale — 
 _How j^e may lead a comfortable life, 
 How suit ou r lugg age to the cabin's size. 
 
 Of course you are remarking all this time 
 How narrowly and grossly I view life, 
 Respect the creature-comforts, care to rule 
 The masses, and regard complacently 
 ^ The cabin," in our old phrase ! Well, I do. 
 
 / 
 
 / 
 
 3^/ 
 
 / 
 
174 BISHOP blougram's apology. 
 
 I act for, talk for, live for this world now, 
 As this world calls for action, life and talk r~ 
 No prejudice to what next world may prove, 
 Whose new laws and requirements my best pledge 
 To observe then, is that I observe these now, 
 Doing hereafter what I do meanwhile. 
 Let us concede (gratuitously though) 
 Next life relieves the soul of body, yields 
 Pure spiritual enjoyments : well, my friend, 
 Wiiy lose this life© the mean time, since its use 
 May be to make the next life more intense ? 
 
 Do you know, I have often had a dream 
 (Work it up in your next month's article) 
 Of man's poor spirit in its progress still 
 Losing true life forever and a day 
 Through ever trying to be and ever being -^' 
 In the evolution of successive spheres. 
 Before its actual sphere and place of life, 
 Half-way into the next, which having reached, 
 It shoots with corresponding foolery 
 Half-way into the next still, on and off ! 
 As when a traveller, bound from north to south, 
 Scouts fur in Russia — what 's its use in France ? 
 In France spurns flannel— -where 's its need in Spain ? 
 In Spain drops cloth — too cumbrous for Algiers ! 
 Linen goes next, and last the skin itself, 
 A superfluity at Timbuctoo. 
 When, through his journey, was the fool at ease ? 
 
BISHOP BLOUGRAM's APOLOGY. 175 
 
 I *ni at ease now, friend — worldly in this world 
 
 I take and like its way of life ; I think 
 
 My brothers who administer the means 
 
 Live better for my comfort — that 's good too ; 
 
 And God, if he pronounce upon it all. 
 
 Approves my service, which is better still. 
 
 If He keep silence, — why for you or me 
 
 Or that brute-beast puUed-up in to-day's " Times," 
 
 What odds is 't, save to ourselves, what life we lead ? 
 
 You meet me at this issue — you declare, 
 All special-pleading done with, truth is truth, 
 And justifies itself by undreamed ways. 
 You don't fear but it 's better, if we doubt, 
 To say so, acting up to our truth perceived 
 However feebly. Do then, — act away ! 
 *Tis there I 'm on the watch for you ! How one acts 
 Is, both of us agree, ourchief _concern : 
 And how you '11 act is what I fain would see 
 If, like the candid person you appear, 
 You dare to make the most of your life's scheme 
 As I of mine, live up to its full law 
 Since there 's no higher law that counterchecks. 
 Put natural rehgion to the test 
 You've just demolished the revealed with — quick, 
 Down to the root of all that checks your will. 
 All prohibition to lie, kill, and thieve 
 Or even to be an atheistic priest ! 
 Buppose a pricking to incontinence — 
 
176 BISHOP blougram's apology. 
 
 Philosophers deduce you chastity 
 
 Or shame, from just the fact that at the first 
 
 Whoso embraced a woman in the plain, 
 
 Threw club down, and forewent his brains beside. 
 
 So stood a ready victim in the reach 
 
 Of any brother-savage club in hand — 
 
 Hence saw the use of going out of sight 
 
 In wood or cave to prosecute his loves — 
 
 I read this in a French book t'other day. 
 
 Does law so analyzed coerce you much ? 
 
 Oh, men spin clouds of fuzz where matters end, 
 
 But you who reach where the first thread begins, 
 
 You '11 soon cut that ! — which means you can, but wun*l 
 
 Through certain instincts, blind, unreasoned-out, 
 
 You dare not set aside, you can't tell why. 
 
 But there they are, and so you let them rule. 
 
 Then, friend, you seem as much a slave as I, 
 
 A liar, conscious coward and hypocrite. 
 
 Without the good the slave expects to get, 
 
 Suppose he has a master after all ! 
 
 You own your instincts — why what else do I, 
 
 Who want, am ma,cle for, and must have a God 
 
 jtf re I can be aught, do aught ? — no me re name 
 
 Want, but the true thing with what proves its truth, 
 
 To wit, a relationfrom that thing to me, 
 
 Touching from head to foot — which touch I feel> 
 
 And with it take the rest, this life of ours ! 
 
 t live my life here ; yours you dare not live. 
 
 Not as I state it, who (you please subjoin) 
 
BISHOP BLOUGRAM's APOLOGY. 177 
 
 Disfigure such a life and call it names, 
 While, in your mind, remains another way 
 For simple men : knowledge and power have rights, 
 But ignorance and weakness have rights too. 
 There needs no crucial effort to find truth 
 If here or there or anywhere about — 
 We ought to turn each side, try hard and see, 
 And if we can't, be glad we 've earned at least 
 The right, by one laborious proof the more, 
 To graze in peace eqjrth's pleasant pasturage. 
 Men are not gods, but, properly, are brutes. 
 So mething we may see, a ll we cannot see — 
 What need of lying ? I say, I see all, 
 And swear to each detail the most minute 
 In what I think a man's face — you, mere cloud : 
 I swear I hear him speak and see him wink, 
 For fear, if once I drop the emphasis. 
 Mankind may doubt if there 's a cloud at alL 
 You take the simpler life — ready to see. 
 Willing to see — for no cloud 's worth a face — 
 And leaving quiet what no strength can move, 
 And which, who bids you move ? who has the ri^ht ? 
 I bid you ; but you are Grod's sheep, not mine — 
 " Pastor est tui Dominus^^ You find 
 In these the pleasant pastures of this life 
 Much you may eat without the least offence. 
 Much you don't eat because your maw objects. 
 Much you would eat but that your fellow-flock 
 Open great eyes at you and even butt, 
 12 
 
178 BISHOP blougram's apology. 
 
 And thereupon you like your friends so much 
 You cannot please yourself, offending them — 
 Though when they seem exorbitantly sheep, 
 You weigh your pleasure with their butts and kicks 
 And strike the balance. Sometimes certain fears 
 Restrain you — real checks since you find them so — 
 Sometimes you please yourself and nothing checks ; 
 And thus you graze through life with not one lie, 
 And like it best. 
 
 But do you, in truth's name ? 
 If so, you beat — which means — you are not I — 
 Who needs must make earth mine and feed my fill 
 Not simply unbutted at, unbickered with, 
 But motioned to the velvet of the sward 
 By those obsequious whethers' very selves. 
 Look at me, sir ; my age is double yours.) 
 At yours, I knew beforehand, so enjoyed. 
 What now I should be — as, permit the word, 
 I pretty well imagine your whole range 
 And stretch of tether twenty years to come. 
 We both have minds and bodies much alike. 
 In truth's name, don't you want my bishopric, 
 My daily bread, my influence and my state ? 
 You 're young, I 'm old, you must be old one day ; 
 Will you find then, as I do hour by hour, 
 Women their lovers kneel to, that cut curls 
 From your fat lapdog's ears to grace a brooch — 
 Dukes, that petition just to kiss your ring — 
 
BISHOP blougram's apologt. 179 
 
 With much beside you know or may conceive ? 
 
 Suppose we die to-night : well, here am I, 
 
 Such were my gains, life bore this fruit to me. 
 
 While writing all the same my articles 
 
 On music, poetry, the fictile vase 
 
 Found at Albano, or Anacreon's Greek. 
 
 But you — the highest honour in your life. 
 
 The thing you '11 crown yourself with, all your days, 
 
 Is — dining here and drinking this last glass 
 
 I pour you out in sign of amity 
 
 Before we part forever. Of your power 
 
 And social influence, worldly worth in short, 
 
 Judge what 's my estimation by the fact — 
 
 I do not condescend to enjoin, beseech. 
 
 Hint secrecy on one of all these words ! 
 
 You 're shrewd and know that should you publish it 
 
 The world would brand the lie — my enemies first, 
 
 -1^ Who 'd sneer — ^ the bishop 's an arch-hypocrite, 
 
 And knave perhaps, but not so frank a fool." 
 
 Whereas I should not dare for both my ears 
 
 Breathe one such syllable, smile one such smile, 
 
 Before my chaplain who reflects myself — 
 
 My shade 's so much more potent than your flesh. 
 
 What 's your reward, self-abnegating friend ? 
 
 Stood you confessed of those exceptional 
 
 And privileged great natures that dwarf mine — 
 
 A zealot with a mad ideal in reach, 
 
 A poet just about to print his ode, 
 
 A statesman with a scheme to stop this war, 
 
180 BISHOP blougram's apology. 
 
 I An artist whose religion is his art, 
 I I should have nothing to object ! such men 
 I Carry the fire, all things grow warm to them, 
 I Their drugget 's worth my purple, they beat me. 
 But you, — you 're just as little those as I — 
 You, Gigadibs, who, thirty years of age, 
 Write statedly for Blackwood's Magazine, 
 Believe you see two points in Hamlet's soul 
 Unseized by the Germans yet — which view you'll print- 
 Meantime the best you have to show being still 
 That lively lightsome article we took 
 Almost for the true Dickens, — what 's the name ? 
 " The Slum and Cellar — or Whitechapel life 
 Limned after dark ! " it made me laugh, I know, 
 And pleased a month and brought you in ten pounds 
 — Success I recognize and compliment. 
 And therefore give you, if you please, three words 
 (The card and pencil-scratch is quite enough) 
 Which whether here, in Dublin, or New York, 
 Will get you, prompt as at my eyebrow's wink, 
 Such terms as never you aspired to get 
 In all our own reviews and some not ours. 
 Go write your lively sketches — be the first 
 " Blougram, or The Eccentric Confidence " — 
 Or better simply say, " The Outward-bound." 
 Why, men as soon would throw it in my teeth 
 As copy and quote the infamy chalked broad 
 About me on the church-door opposite. 
 You will not wait for that experience though, 
 
BISHOP BLOUGRAM's APOLOGY. 18'J 
 
 I fancy, howsoever you decide, 
 To discontinue — not detesting, not 
 Defaming, but at least — despising me ! 
 
 Over his wine so smiled and talked his hour 
 Sylvester Blougram, styled in partibus 
 Episcopus, nee non — (the deuce knows what 
 It 's changed to by our novel hierarchy) 
 With Gigadibs the literary man, 
 Who played with spoons, explored his plate's design 
 And ranged the olive stones about its edge. 
 While the great bishop rolled him out his mind. 
 
 For Blougram, he believed, say, half he spoke. 
 The other portion, as he shaped it thus 
 For argumentatory purposes, 
 He felt his foe was foolish to dispute. 
 Some arbitrary accidental thoughts 
 That crossed his mind, amusing because new, 
 He chose to represent as fixtures there, 
 Invariable convictions (such they seemed 
 Beside his interlocutor's loose cards 
 Flung daily down, and not the same way twice) 
 While certain hell-deep instincts, man's weak tongo 
 Is never bold to utter in their truth 
 Because styled hell-deep (it is an old mistake 
 To place hell at the bottom of the earth) 
 He ignore J tnese, — not having in readiness 
 
182 BISHOP blougram's apology. 
 
 Their nomenclature and philosophy : 
 
 He said true things, but called them by wrong names. 
 
 " On the whole," he thought, " I justify myself 
 
 On every point where cavillers like this 
 
 Oppugn my life : he tries one kind of fence — 
 
 I close — he's worsted, that's enough for him; 
 
 He 's on the ground ! if the ground should break away 
 
 I take my stand on, there 's a firmer yet 
 
 Beneath it, both of us may sink and reach. 
 
 His ground was over mine and broke the first. 
 
 So let him sit with me this many a year ! " 
 
 He did not sit five minutes. Just a week 
 Sufficed his sudden healthy vehemence. 
 (Something had struck him in the " Outward-bound** 
 Another way than Blougram's purpose was) 
 And having bought, not cabin-furniture 
 But settler's-implements (enough for three) 
 And started for Australia — there, I hope. 
 By this time he has tested his first plough, 
 And studied his last chapter of St. John. 
 
ftCEMORABILIA. 
 
 Ah, did you once see Shelley plain, 
 And did he stop and speak to you ? 
 
 And did you speak to him again ? 
 How strange it seems, and new ! 
 
 2. 
 
 But you were living before that. 
 And you ai*e living after, 
 [. And the memory I started at — 
 
 l My starting moves your laught«*r ! 
 
 f 
 
 I 
 
 I I crossed a moor with a name of its own 
 
 > And a use in the world no doubt, 
 
 \ Yet a hand's-breadth of it shines alone 
 
 ■ 'Mid the blank miles round about — 
 
 4. 
 
 For there I picked up on the heather 
 
 And there I put inside my breast 
 A moulted feather, an eagle-feather — 
 Well, I forget the rest 
 
ANDREA DEL SARTO. 
 (called "the faultless paintek.") 
 
 But do not let us quarrel any more, 
 No, my Lucrezia ; bear with me for once : 
 Sit down and all shall happen as you wish. 
 You turn your face, but does it bring your heart ? 
 I '11 work then for your friend's friend, never fear, 
 Treat his own subject after his own way, 
 Fix his own time, accept too his own price, 
 And shut the money into this small hand ^ 
 When next it takes mine. Will it ? tenderly ? 
 Oh, I '11 content him, — but to-morrow. Love ! 
 I often am much wearier than you think. 
 This evening more than usual, and it seems 
 As if — forgive now — should you let me sit 
 Here by the window with your hand in mine 
 And look a half hour forth on Fiesole, 
 Both of one mind, as married people use, 
 Quietly, quietly, the evening through, 
 I might get up to-morrow to my work 
 Cheerful and fresh as ever. Let us try. 
 To-morrow how you shall be glad for this I 
 
ANDREA DEL SARTO. 185 
 
 Your soft hand is a woman of itself, 
 And mine the man's bared breast she curls inside. 
 Don't count the time lost, either ; you must serve 
 For each of the five pictures we require — 
 It saves a model. So ! keep looking so — 
 My serpentining beauty, rounds on rounds ! 
 
 — How could you ever prick those perfect ears, 
 Even to put the pearl there ! oh, so sweet -^ 
 My face, my moon, my everybody's moon, 
 Which everybody looks on and calls his, 
 
 And, I suppose, is looked on by in turn, 
 While she looks — no one's : very dear, no less I 
 You smile ? why, there 's my picture ready made. 
 There 's what we painters call our harmony ! 
 A common grayness silvers every thing, — 
 All in a twilight, you and I alike 
 
 — You, at the point of your first pride in me 
 (That 's gone you know,) — but I, at every point ; 
 My youth, my hope, my art, being all toned down 
 To yonder sober pleasant Fiesole. 
 
 There 's the bell clinking from the chapel-top ; 
 That length of convent-wall across the way ''' 
 Holds the trees safer, huddled more inside ; 
 The last monk leaves the garden ; days decrease 
 And autumn grows, autumn in every thing. 
 Eh ? the whole seems to fall into a shape 
 As if I saw alike my work and self 
 And all that I was born to be and do, 
 A twilight-piece. Love, we are in God's hand. 
 
186 ANDREA DEL SARTO. 
 
 How strange now, looks the life he makes us lead \ 
 
 So free we seem, so fettered fast we are : 
 
 I feel he laid the fetter : let it lie ! 
 
 This chamber for example — turn your head — 
 
 All that 's behind us ! you don't understand 
 
 Nor care to understand about my art. 
 
 But you can hear at least when people speak ; 
 
 And that cartoon, the second from the door 
 
 -— It is the thing, Love ! so such things should be— 
 
 Behold Madonna, I am bold to say. 
 
 I can do with my pencil what I know. 
 
 What I see, what at bottom of my heart 
 
 I wish for, if I ever wish so deep — 
 
 Do easily, too — when I say perfectly 
 
 I do not boast, perhaps : yourself are judge 
 
 Who Ustened to the Legate's talk last week, 
 
 And just as much they used to say in France. 
 
 At any rate 'tis easy, all of it. 
 
 No sketches first, no studies, that 's long past — 
 
 I do what many dream of all their lives 
 
 — Dream ? strive to do, and agonize to do. 
 
 And fail in doing. I could count twenty such 
 
 On twice your fingers, and not leave this town, 
 
 Who strive — you don't know how the others strive 
 
 To paint a little thing like that you smeared 
 
 Carelessly passing with your robes afloat, 
 
 Yet do much less, so much less, some one says, 
 
 (I know his name, no matter) so much less I 
 
 Well, less is more, Lucrezia ! I am judged. 
 
ANDREA DEL SARTO. IdV 
 
 There burns a truer light of God in them, 
 
 In their vexed, beating, stuffed and stopped-ujj brain. 
 
 Heart, or whate'er else, than goes on to prompt 
 
 This low-pulsed forthright craftsman's hand of mine. 
 
 Their works drop ground ward, but themselves, I know, 
 
 Reach many a time a heaven that 's shut to me, 
 
 Enter and take their place there sure enough, 
 
 Though they come back and cannot tell the world. 
 
 My works are nearer heaven, but I sit here. 
 
 The sudden blood of these men ! at a word — 
 
 Praise them, it boils, or blame them, it boils too. 
 
 I, painting from myself and to myself, 
 
 Ejiow what I do, am unmoved by men's blame 
 
 Or their praise either. Somebody remarks 
 
 MoreUo's outline there is wrongly traced, 
 
 His hue mistaken — what of that ? or else. 
 
 Rightly traced and well ordered — what of that ? 
 
 Ah, but a man 's reach sh oul(l e xceed his j ^ rasp; 
 
 Or what's a Heaven for? all is silver-gray 
 
 Placid and perfect with my art — the worse ! 
 
 1 know both what I want and what might gain — 
 
 And yet how profitless to know, to sigh 
 
 " Had I been two, another and myself. 
 
 Our head would have o'erlooked the world ! " No 
 
 doubt. 
 Yonder 's a work, now, of that famous youth 
 The Urbinate who died five years ago. . 
 ('Tis copied, George Vasari sent it me.) 
 Well, I can fancy how he did it all. 
 
188 ANDREA DEL SARTO. 
 
 Pouring his soul, with kings and popes to see, 
 Reaching, that Heaven might so replenish him. 
 Above and through his art — for it gives waj ; 
 That arm is wrongly put — and there again — 
 A fault to pardon in the drawing's lines, 
 Its body, so to speak ! its soul is right, 
 He means right — that, a child may understand. 
 Still, what an arm ! and I could alter it. 
 But all the play, the insight and the stretch — 
 Out of me ! out of me ! And wherefore out ? 
 Had you enjoined them on me, given me soul. 
 We might have risen to Rafael, I and you. 
 Nay, Love, you did give all I asked, I think — 
 More than I merit, yes, by many times. 
 But had you — oh, with the same perfect brow, 
 I And perfect eyes, and more than perfect mouth, 
 1 And the low voice my soul hears, as a bird 
 
 The fowler's pipe, and follows to the snare — 
 ■ Had you, with these the same, but brought a mind 1 
 Some women do so. Had the mouth there urged 
 " God and the glory ! never care for gain. 
 The present by the future, what is that ? 
 Live for fame, side by side with Angelo — 
 Rafael is waiting. Up to God all three ! " 
 I might have done it for you. So it seems — 
 Perhaps not. All is as God overrules. 
 Beside, incentives come from the soul's self; 
 The rest avail not. Why do I need you ? 
 What wife had Rafael, or has Angelo ? 
 
ANDEEA DEL SARTO. 189 
 
 la this world, who can do a thing, will not — 
 
 And who would do it, cannot, I perceive : 
 
 Yet the will 's somewhat — somewhat, too, the power — • 
 
 And thus we half-men struggle. At the end, 
 
 God, I conclude, compensates, punishes. 
 
 Tis safer for me, if the award be strict, 
 
 That I am something underrated here. 
 
 Poor this long while, despised, to speak the truth. 
 
 I dared not, do you know, leave home all day, 
 
 For fear of chancing on the Paris lords. 
 
 The best is when they pass and look aside ; 
 
 But they speak sometimes ; I must bear it all. 
 
 "Well may they speak ! That Francis, that first time, 
 
 And that long festal year at Fontainebleau ! 
 
 I surely then could sometimes leave the ground, 
 
 Put on the glory, Rafael's daily wear, 
 
 In that humane great monarch's golden look, — 
 
 One finger on his beard or twisted curl 
 
 Over his mouth's good mark that made the smile. 
 
 One arm about my shoulder, round my neck, 
 
 The jingle of his gold chain in my ear. 
 
 You painting proudly with his breath on me. 
 
 All his court round him, seeing with his eyes, 
 
 Such frank French eyes, and such a fire of souls 
 
 Profuse, my hand kept plying by those hearts, — 
 
 And, best of all, this, this, this face beyond, 
 
 This in the background, waiting on my work, 
 
 To crown the issue with a last reward ! 
 
 A good time, was it not, my kingly days ? 
 
190 
 
 ANDREA DEL SARTO. 
 
 And had you not grown restless — but I know — 
 
 *Tis done and past ; 'twas right, my instinct said ; 
 
 Too live the life grew, golden and not gray — 
 
 And I *m the weak-eyed bat no sun should tempt 
 
 Out of the grange whose four walls make his world. 
 
 How could it end in any other way ? 
 
 You called me, and I came home to your heart. 
 
 The triumph was to have ended there — then if 
 
 I reached it ere the triumph, what is lost ? 
 
 Let my hands frame your face in your hair's gold, 
 
 Tou beautiful Lucrezia that are mine ! 
 
 " Eafael did this, Andrea painted that — 
 
 The Roman's is the better when you pray, 
 
 But still the other's Virgin was his wife — " 
 
 Men will excuse me. I am glad to judge 
 
 Both pictures in your presence ; clearer grows 
 
 My better fortune, I resolve to think. 
 
 For, do you know, Lucrezia, as God lives, 
 
 Said one day Angelo, his very self. 
 
 To Rafael ... I have known it all these years . . . 
 
 (When the young man was flaming out his thoughts 
 
 Upon a palace-wall for Rome to see, 
 
 Too lifted up in heart because of it) 
 
 " Friend, there 's a certain sorry little scrub 
 
 Goes up and down our Florence, none cares how, 
 
 Who, were he set to plan and execute 
 
 As you are pricked on by your popes and kings. 
 
 Would bring the sweat into that brow of yours ! * 
 
 To Rafael's ! — And indeed the arm is wrong. 
 
ANDREA DEL 3ARTO. 191 
 
 I hardly dare — yet, only you to see, 
 
 Give the chalk here — quick, thus the line should go I 
 
 Ay, but the soul ! he 's Rafael ! rub it out ! 
 
 Still, all I care for, if he spoke the truth, 
 
 (What he ? why, who but Michael Angelo ? 
 
 Do you forget already words like those ?) 
 
 If really there was such a chance, so lost, 
 
 Is, whether you 're — not grateful — but more pleased. 
 
 "Well, let me think so. And you smile indeed ! 
 
 This hour has been an hour ! Another smile ? 
 
 If you would sit thus by me every night 
 
 I should work better, do you comprehend ? 
 
 I mean that I should earn more, give you more 
 
 See, it is settled dusk now ; there 's a star ; 
 
 Morello 's gone, the watch-lights show the wall, 
 
 The cue-owls speak the name we call them by. 
 
 Come from the window. Love, — come in, at last. 
 
 Inside the melancholy little house 
 
 We built to be so gay with. God is just. 
 
 King Francis may forgive me. Oft at nights 
 
 When I look up from painting, eyes tired out, 
 
 The walls become illumined, brick from brick 
 
 Distinct, instead of mortar fierce bright gold, 
 
 That gold of his I did cement them with ! 
 
 Let us but love each other. Must you go ? 
 
 That Cousin here again ? he waits outside ? 
 
 Must see you — you, and not with me ? Those loans ' 
 
 More gaming debts to pay ? you smiled for that ? 
 
 Well, let smiles buy me ! have you more to spend ? 
 
192 ANDREA DEL SARTO. 
 
 While hand and eye and something of a heart 
 
 Are left me, work 's my ware, and what 's it worth? 
 
 I '11 pay my fancy. Only let me sit 
 
 The gray remainder of the evening out, 
 
 Idle, you call it, and muse perfectly 
 
 How I could paint were I but back in France, 
 
 One picture, just one more — the Virgin's face, 
 
 Not your's this time ! I want you at my side 
 
 To hear them — that is, Michael Angelo — 
 
 Judge all I do and tell you of its worth. 
 
 "Will you ? To-morrow, satisfy your friend. 
 
 1 take the subjects for his corridor. 
 
 Finish the portrait out of hand — there, there, 
 
 And throw him in another thing or two 
 
 If he demurs ; the whole should prove enough 
 
 To pay for this same Cousin's freak. Beside, 
 
 What 's better and what 's all I care about, 
 
 Get you the thirteen scudi for the ruff. 
 
 Love, does that please you ? Ah, but what does he, 
 
 The Cousin ! what does he to please you more ? 
 
 I am grown peaceful as old age to-night. 
 I regret little, I would change still less. 
 Sinc« there my past life lies, why alter it ? 
 The very wrong to Francis ! it is true 
 1 took his coin, was tempted and complied, 
 And built this house and sinned, and all is said. 
 My father and my mother died of want. 
 Well, had I riches of my own ? you see 
 
ANDREA DEL 8ARTO. 193 
 
 How one gets rich ! Let each one bear his lot. 
 They were bom poor, lived poor, and poor they died : 
 And I have laboured somewhat in my time 
 And not been paid profusely. Some good son 
 Paint my two hundred pictures — let him try ! 
 No doubt, there 's something strikes a balance. Yes, 
 You loved me quite enough, it seems to-night. 
 This must suffice me here. What would one have ? 
 In heaven, perhaps, new chances, one more chance — 
 Four great walls in the New Jerusalem 
 Meted on each side by the angel's reed, 
 For Leonard, Rafael, Angelo and me 
 To cover — the three first without a wife. 
 While I have mine I So — still they overcome 
 Because there 's still Lucrezia, — as I choose. 
 
 Again the Cousin's whistle I Gro, my Love. 
 
BEFORE. 
 
 Let them fight it out, friend ! things have gone too far 
 God must judge the couple ! leave them as they are 
 — Whichever one 's the guiltless, to his glory. 
 And whichever one the guilt 's with, to my story. 
 
 Why, you would not bid men, sunk in such a slough, 
 Strike no arm out further, stick and stink as now, 
 Leaving right and wrong to settle the embroilment. 
 Heaven with snaky Hell, in torture and entoilment ? 
 
 Which of them *s the culprit, how must he conceive 
 God 's the queen he caps to, laughing in his sleeve ! 
 *Tis but decent to profess one's self beneath her. 
 Still, one must not be too much in earnest either. 
 
 4. 
 
 Better sin the whole sin, sure that God observes, 
 Then go live his life out ! life will try his nerves, 
 When the sky which noticed all, makes no disclosure 
 And the earth keeps up her terrible composure. 
 
BEFORE. 195 
 
 5. 
 
 Let him pace at pleasure, past the walls of rose, 
 Pluck their fruits when grape-trees graze him as he goes 
 For he 'gins to guess the purpose of the garden, 
 With the sly mute thing beside there for a warden. 
 
 6. 
 
 What's the leopard-dog-thing, constant to his side, 
 A leer and lie in every eye on its obsequious hide ? 
 When will come an end of all the mock obeisance, 
 And the price appear that pays for the misfeasance ? 
 
 ,A 
 
 7. 
 
 So much for the culprit. Who 's the martyred man ? 
 Let him bear one stroke more, for be sure he can. 
 He that strove thus evil's lump with good to leaven, 
 Let him give his blood at last and get his heaven. 
 
 All or nothing, stake it ! trusts he God or no ? 
 Thus far and no further ? further ? be it so. 
 Now, enough of your chicane of prudent pauses, 
 Sage provisos, sub-intents, and saving-clauses. 
 
 9. 
 
 Ah, " forgive " you bid him ? While God's champion 
 
 lives. 
 Wrong shall be resisted : dead, why he forgives. 
 But you must not end my friend ere you begin him ; 
 Evil stands not crowned on earth, while breath is in nim 
 
196 
 
 BEFORE. 
 
 10. 
 
 Once more — Will the wronger, at this last of all, 
 Dare to say " I did wrong," rising in his fall ? 
 No ? — Let go, then — both the fighters to their places— 
 WTiile I count three, step you back as many paces. 
 
AFTER. 
 
 Take the cloak from his face, and at first 
 Let the corpse do its worst. 
 
 How he lies in his rights of a man I 
 
 Death has done all death can. 
 And absorbed in the new life he leads, 
 
 He recks not, he heeds 
 Nor his wrong nor my vengeance — both strike 
 
 On his senses alike, 
 And are lost in the solemn and strange 
 
 Surprise of the change. 
 Ha, what avails death to erase 
 
 His offencej iny disgrace ? 
 I would we were boys as of old 
 
 In the field, by the fold — 
 His outrage, God's patience, man's scorn 
 
 Were so easily borne. 
 
 1 stand here now, he lies in his place — 
 Cover the face. 
 
fN THREE DAYS. 
 
 1. 
 
 So, I shall see her in tnree days 
 And just one night, but nights are short, 
 Then two long hours, and that is morn. 
 See how I come, unchanged, unworn — 
 Feel, where mj life broke off fum thine, 
 How fresh the splinters keep and fine,— 
 Only a touch and we combine ! 
 
 2. 
 
 Too long, this tune of year, the days ! 
 But nights — at least the nights are short. 
 As night shows where her one moon is, 
 A hand's-breadth of pure Hght and bhss. 
 So, life's night gives my lady birth 
 And my eyes hold her ! what is worth 
 The rest of heaven, the rest of earth ? 
 
 3. 
 
 O I'xaded curls, release your store 
 Of warmth and scent as once before 
 
\ 
 
 IN THREE DATS. 199 
 
 The tingling hair did, lights and darks 
 Out-breaking into fairy sparks 
 When under curl and curl I pried 
 After the warmth and scent inside 
 Thro* lights and darks how manifold — 
 The dark inspired, the light controlled ! 
 As early Art embrowned the gold. 
 
 What great fear — should one say, "Three days 
 
 That change the world, might change as well 
 
 Your fortune ; and if joy delays. 
 
 Be happy that no worse befell." 
 
 What small fear — if another says, 
 
 ** Three days and one short night beside 
 
 May throw no shadow on your ways ; 
 
 But years must teem with change untried, 
 
 With chance not easily defied. 
 
 With an end somewhere undescried." 
 
 No fear ! — or if a fear be born 
 
 This minute, it dies out in scorn. 
 
 Fear ? I shall see her in three days 
 
 And one night, now the nights are short, 
 
 Then just two hours, and that is mom. 
 
IN A YEA3. 
 
 1. 
 
 Never any more 
 
 While I live, 
 Need I hope to see his face 
 
 As before. 
 Once his love grown chill, 
 
 Mine may strive — 
 Bitterly we re-embrace. 
 
 Single stilL 
 
 2. 
 
 Was it something said, 
 
 Something done. 
 Vexed him ? was it touch of hand, 
 
 Turn of head ? 
 Strange ! that very way 
 
 Love begun. 
 I as little understand 
 
 Love's decay. 
 
IN A TEAR. 201 
 
 WTien I sewed or drew, 
 
 I recall 
 How he looked as if I sang, 
 
 — Sweetly too. 
 If I spoke a word, 
 
 First of all 
 Up his cheek the color sprang, 
 
 Then he heard. 
 
 Sitting by my side, 
 
 At my feet, 
 So he breathed the air I breathed, 
 
 Satisfied ! 
 I, too, at love's brim 
 
 Touched the sweet : 
 I would die if death bequeathed 
 
 Sweet to him. 
 
 5. 
 
 •* Speak, I love thee best ! " 
 
 He exclaimed. 
 " Let thy love my own foretell, — ' 
 
 I confessed : 
 ** Clasp my heart on thine 
 
 Now unblamed. 
 Since upon thy soul as well 
 
 Hangeth mine I '* 
 
202 IN A TEAR. 
 
 6. 
 
 Was it wrong to own, 
 
 Being truth ? 
 Why should all the giving prove 
 
 His alone ? 
 I had wealth and ease, 
 
 Beauty, youth — 
 Since my lover gave me love, 
 
 I gave these. 
 
 That was all I meant, 
 
 — To be just, 
 
 And the passion I had raised 
 
 To content. 
 Since he chose to change 
 
 Gold for dust. 
 If I gave him what he praised 
 
 Was it strange ? 
 
 8. 
 
 Would he loved me yet, 
 
 On and on. 
 While I found some way undreamed 
 
 — Paid my debt ! 
 Gave more life and more, 
 
 Till, all gone, 
 He should smile " She never seemed 
 Mine before. 
 
IN A TEAR. 203 
 
 9. 
 
 ** What — she felt the while, 
 
 Must I think? 
 Love 's so different with us men/' 
 
 He should smile. 
 " Dying for my sake — 
 
 White and pink ! 
 Can't we touch these bubbles then 
 
 But they break ? ** 
 
 10. 
 
 Dear, the pang is brief. 
 
 Do thy part, 
 Have thy pleasure. How perplext 
 
 Grows belief! 
 Well, this cold clay clod 
 
 Was man's heart. 
 Crumble it — and what comes next ? 
 
 Is it God? 
 
OLD PICTURES IN FLORENCE. 
 
 1. 
 
 The morn when first it thunders in March, 
 
 The eel in the pond gives a leap, they say. 
 As I leaned and looked over the aloed arch 
 
 Of the villa-gate, this warm March day, 
 No Hash snapt, no dum thunder rolled 
 
 In the valley beneath, where, white and wide, 
 Washed by the morning's water-gold, 
 
 Florence lay out on the mountain-side. 
 
 2. 
 
 River and bridge and street and square 
 
 Lay mine, as much at my beck and call, 
 Through the live translucent bath of air. 
 
 As the sights in a magic crystal ball. 
 And of all I saw and of all I praised. 
 
 The most to praise and the best to see. 
 Was the startling bell-tower Giotto raised : 
 
 But why did it more than startle me ? 
 
OLD PICTURES IN FLORENCE. 205 
 
 Giotto, how, with that soul of yours. 
 
 Could you play me false who loved you sc 
 Some slights if a certain heart endures 
 
 It feels, I would have your fellows know I 
 'Faith — I perceive not why I should care 
 
 To break a silence that suits them best, 
 But the thing grows somewhat hard to bear 
 
 When I find a Giotto join the rest 
 
 4. 
 
 On the arch where olives overhead 
 
 Print the blue sky with twig and leaf, 
 (That sharp-curled leaf they never shed) 
 
 'Twixt the aloes I used to lean in chief, 
 And mark through the winter afternoons, 
 
 By a gift God grants me now and then, 
 In the mild decline of those suns like moons, 
 
 Who walked in Florence, besides her men. 
 
 They might chirp and chaffer, come and go 
 
 For pleasure or profit, her men alive — 
 My business was hardly with them, I trow, 
 
 But with empty cells of the human hive ; 
 — With the chapter-room, the cloister-porch, 
 
 The church's apsis, aisle or nave. 
 Its crypt, one fingers along with a torch — 
 
 Its face, set full for the sun to shave. 
 
206 OLD PICTURES IN FLORENCE. 
 
 Wlierever a fresco peels and drops, 
 
 TVherever an outline weakens and wanes 
 Till the latest life in the painting stops, 
 
 Stands One whom each fainter pulse-tick pains I 
 One, wishful each scrap should clutch its brick, 
 
 Each tinge not wholly escape the plaster, 
 — A lion who dies of an ass's kick. 
 
 The wronged great soul of an ancient Master. 
 
 7. 
 
 For oh, this world and the wrong it does ! 
 
 They are safe in heaven with their backs to' it. 
 The Michaels and Rafaels, you hum and buzz 
 
 Round the works of, you of the little wit ; 
 Do their eyes contract to the earth's old scope, 
 
 Now that they see God face to face. 
 And have all attained to be poets, I hope ? 
 
 'Tis their holiday now, in any case. 
 
 8. 
 
 Much they reck of your praise and you ! 
 
 But the wronged great souls — can they be quit 
 Of a world where all their work is to do. 
 
 Where you style them, you of the little wit, 
 Old Master this and Early the other. 
 
 Not dreaming that Old and New are fellows, 
 That a younger succeeds to an elder brother, 
 
 Da Vincis derive in good time from Dellos. 
 
OLD PICTURES IN FLORENCE. 207 
 
 9. 
 
 And here where your praise would yield returns 
 
 And a handsome word or two give help, 
 Here, after your kind, the mastiff girns 
 
 And the puppy pack of poodles yelp. 
 What, not a word for Stefano there 
 
 — Of brow once prominent and starry, 
 Called Nature's ape and the world's despair 
 
 For his peerless painting (see Vasari ? 
 
 10. 
 
 There he stands now. Study, my friends, 
 
 What a man's work comes to ! so he plans it, 
 Performs it, perfects it, makes amends 
 
 For the toiling and moiling, and there 's its transit I 
 Happier the thrifty blind-folk labour, 
 
 With upturned eye while the hand is busy. 
 Not sidling a glance at the coin of their neighbour ! 
 
 'Tis looking downward makes one dizzy. 
 
 11. 
 
 If you knew their work you would deal your dole. 
 
 May I take upon me to instruct you ? 
 When Greek Art ran and reached the goal. 
 
 Thus much had the world to boast in fructu — 
 The truth of Man, as by Grod first spoken 
 
 Which the actual generations garble 
 Was re-uttered, — and Soul (which Limbs betoken) 
 
 And Limbs (Soul informs) were made new in marble. 
 
208 OLD PICTURES IN FLORENCE. 
 
 12. 
 
 So you saw yourself as you wished you were, 
 
 As you might have been, as you cannot be ; 
 And bringing your own shortcomings there, 
 
 You grew content in your poor degree 
 With your little power, by those statues' godhead, 
 
 And your little scope, by their eyes' full sway, 
 And your little grace, by their grace embodied. 
 
 And your little date, by their forms that stay. 
 
 13. 
 
 You would fain be kinglier, say than I am ? 
 
 Even so, you will not sit like Theseus. 
 You'd fain be a model? the Son of Priam 
 
 Has yet the advantage in arms' and knees' use. 
 You 're wroth — can you slay your snake like Apollo 
 
 You 're grieved — still Niobe 's the grander .' 
 You live — there 's the Racers' frieze to follow — 
 
 You die — there 's the dying Alexander. 
 
 14. 
 
 So, testing your weakness by their strength, 
 
 Your meagre charms by their rounded beauty. 
 Measured by Art in your breadth and length, 
 
 You learn — to submit is the worsted's duty. 
 — When I say " you " 'tis the common soul, 
 
 The collective, I mean — the race of Man 
 That receives life in parts to live in a whole, 
 
 And grow here according to God's own plan. 
 
OLD PICTURES IN FLORENCE. 209 
 
 15. 
 
 Growth came when, looking your last on them all, 
 
 You turned your eyes inwardly one fine day, 
 And cried with a start — What if we so small 
 
 Are greater, ay, greater the while than they ! 
 Are they perfect of lineament, perfect of stature ? 
 
 In both, of such lower types are we 
 Precisely because of our wider nature 1 
 
 For time, theirs — ours, for eternity. 
 
 16. 
 
 To-day's brief passion limits their range. 
 
 It seethes with the morrow for us and more. 
 Chey are perfect — how else ? they shall never change : 
 
 "We are faulty — why not ? we have time in store. 
 The Artificer's hand is not arrested 
 
 With us — we are rough-hewn, nowise polished : 
 They stand for our copy, and, once invested 
 
 With all they can teach, we shall see them abolished. 
 
 17. 
 
 Tis a life-long toil till our lump be leaven — 
 
 The better ! what 's come to perfection perishes. 
 Things learned on earth, we shall practise in heaven. 
 
 Works done least rapidly. Art most cherishes. 
 Thyself shall afford the example, Giotto ! 
 
 Thy one work, not to decrease or diminish. 
 Done at a stroke, was just (was it not ?) " O ! '* 
 
 Thy great Campanile is still to finish. 
 14 
 
•10 OLD PICTURES IN FLORENCE. 
 
 18. 
 
 la it true, we are now, and shall be hereafter, 
 
 And what — is depending on life's one minute ? 
 Hails heavenly cheer or infernal laughter 
 
 Our first step out of the gulf or in it ? 
 And Man, this step within his endeavour, 
 
 His face, have no more play and action 
 Than joy which is crystallized forever, 
 
 Or grief, an eternal petrifaction ! 
 
 19. 
 
 On which I conclude, that the early painters, 
 
 To cries of " Greek Art and what more wish you ?"— 
 Replied, " Become now self-acquainters. 
 
 And paint man, man, — whatever the issue ! 
 Make the hopes shine through the flesh they fray, 
 
 New fears aggrandize the rags and tatters. 
 So bring the invisible full into play. 
 
 Let the visible go to the dogs — what matters ? " 
 
 20. 
 
 Give these, I say, full honour and glory 
 
 For daring so much, before they well did it. 
 The first of the new, in our race's story. 
 
 Beats the last of the old, 'tis no idle quiddit. 
 The worthies began a revolution 
 
 Which if on the earth we intend to acknowledge 
 Honour them now — (ends my allocution) 
 
 Nor confer our degree when the folks leave college 
 
OLD PICTURES IN FLORENCE. 211 
 
 21. 
 
 There *s a fancy some lean to and others hate — 
 
 That, when this life is ended, begins 
 New work for the soul in another state, 
 
 Where it strives and gets weary, loses and wins — 
 Where the strong and the weak, this world's congeries, 
 
 Repeat in large what they practised in small, 
 Through life after life in unlimited series ; 
 
 Only the scale 's to be changed, that 's all. 
 
 22. 
 
 Yet I hardly know. When a soul has seen 
 
 By the means of Evil that Good is best, [serene,— 
 And through earth and its noise, what is heaven*a 
 
 When its faith in the same has stood the test — 
 Why, the child grown man, you burn the rod, 
 
 The uses of labour are surely done. 
 There remaineth a rest for the people of God, 
 
 And I have had troubles enough for one. 
 
 23. 
 
 But at any rate I have loved the season 
 
 Of Art's spring-birth so dim and dewy, 
 My sculptor is Nicolo the Pisan ; 
 
 My painter — who but Cimabue ? 
 Nor ever was man of them all indeed. 
 
 From these to Ghiberti and Ghirlandajo, 
 Could say that he missed my critic-meed. 
 
 So now to my special grievance — heigh ho I 
 
12 OLD PICTURES IN FLORENCE. 
 
 24. 
 
 Their ghosts now stand, as I said before, 
 
 Watching each fresco flaked and rasped, 
 Blocked out, knocked out, or whitewashed o'er 
 
 — No getting again what the church has grasped ! 
 The works on the wall must take their chance, 
 
 " Works never conceded to England's thick clime ! " 
 (I hope they prefer their inheritance 
 
 Of a bucketful of Italian quicklime.) 
 
 25. 
 
 When they go at length, with such a shaking 
 
 Of heads o'er the old delusions, sadly 
 Each master his way through the black streets taking 
 
 Where many a lost work breathes though badly — 
 Why don't they bethink them of who has merited ? 
 
 Why not reveal, while their pictures dree 
 Such doom, that a captive 's to be out-ferreted ? 
 
 Why do they never remember me ? 
 
 26. 
 
 Not that I expect the great Bigordi 
 
 Nor Sandro to hear me, chivalric, bellicose ; 
 Nor wronged Lippino — and not a word I 
 
 Say of a scrap of Fra Angelico's. 
 But are you too fine, Taddeo Gaddi, 
 
 To grant me a taste of your intonaco — 
 Some Jerome that seeks the heaven with a sad eye r 
 
 No churlish saint, Lorenzo Monaco ? 
 
OLD PICTCRES IN FLORENCE. 213 
 
 27. 
 
 Could not the ghost with the close red cap, 
 
 My Pollajolo, the twice a craftsman, 
 Save me a sample, give me the hap 
 
 Of a muscular Christ that shows the draughtsman j? 
 No Virgin by him, the somewhat petty, 
 
 Of finical touch and tempera crumbly — 
 Could not Alesso Baldovinetti 
 
 Contribute so much, I ask him humbly ? 
 
 28. 
 
 Margheritone of Arezzo, 
 
 With the grave-clothes garb and swaddling barret, 
 (Why purse up mouth and beak in a pet so, 
 
 You bald, saturnine, poll-clawed parrot ?) 
 No poor glimmering Crucifixion, 
 
 Where in the foreground kneels the donor ? 
 tf such remain, as is my conviction. 
 
 The hoarding does you but little honour. 
 
 29. 
 
 rhey pass : for them the panels may thrill, 
 
 The tempera grow alive and tinglish — 
 Rot or are left to the mercies still 
 
 Of dealers and stealers, Jews and the English I 
 Seeing mere money's worth in their prize. 
 
 Who sell it to some one calm as Zeno 
 At naked Art, and in ecstacies 
 
 Before some clay-cold, vile Carlino I ^ 
 
814 OLD PICTURES IN FLORENCE. 
 
 30. 
 No matter for these ! But Giotto, you, 
 
 Have you allowed, as the town-tongues babble it 
 Never ! it shall not be counted true — 
 
 That a certain precious little tablet 
 Which Buonarroti eyed like a lover, — 
 
 Buried so long in oblivion's womb, 
 Was left for another than I to discover, — 
 
 Turns up at last, and to whom ? — to whom ? 
 
 31. 
 
 I, that have haunted the dim San Spirito, 
 
 (Or was it rather the Ognissanti ?) 
 Stood on the altar-steps, patient and weary too I 
 
 Nay, I shall have it yet, detur amanti ! 
 My Koh-i-noor — or (if that's a platitude) 
 
 Jewel of Giamschid, the Persian Sofi's eye I 
 So, in anticipative gratitude, 
 
 What if I take up my hope and prophesy ? 
 
 32. 
 
 When the hour is ripe, and a certain dotard 
 
 Pitched, no parcel that needs invoicing. 
 To the worse side of the Mont St. Gothard, 
 
 Have, to begin by way of rejoicing. 
 None of that shooting the sky (blank cartridge) 
 
 No civic guards, all plumes and lacquer, 
 Hunting Radetzky's soul like a partridge 
 
 Over Morello with squib and cracker. 
 
OLD PICTURES IN FLORENCE. 215 
 
 33. 
 
 We'll shoot this time better game and bag 'em hot — 
 
 No display at the stone of Dante, 
 But a kind of Witan-agemot 
 
 (" Casa Guidi," quod videas ante) 
 To ponder Freedom restored to Florence, 
 
 How Art may return that departed with her. 
 Go, hated house, go each trace of the Loraine's I 
 
 And bring us the days of Orgagna hither. 
 
 34. 
 
 How we shall prologuize, how we shall perorate, 
 
 Say fit things upon art and history — 
 Set truth at blood-heat and the false at a zero rate, 
 
 Make of the want of the age no mystery I 
 Contrast the fructuous and sterile eras. 
 
 Show, monarchy its uncouth cub licks 
 Out of the bear's shape to the chimaera's — • 
 
 Pure Art's birth being still the republic's ! 
 
 35. 
 
 Then one shall propose (in a speech, curt Tuscan, 
 
 Sober, expurgate, spare of an "issimo,") 
 Ending our half-told tale of Cambuscan, 
 
 Turning the Bell-tower's altaltissimo. 
 And fine as the beak of a young beccaccia 
 
 The Campanile, the Duomo's fit ally, 
 Soars up in gold its full fifty braccia, 
 
 Completing Florence, as Florence, Italy. 
 
216 OLD PICTURES IN FLORENCE. 
 
 86. 
 
 Shall I be alive that morning the scaffold 
 
 Is broken away, and the long-pent fire 
 Like the golden hope of the world unbaffled 
 
 Springs from its sleep, and up goes the spire - 
 As, " God and the People " plain for its motto, 
 
 Thence the new tricolor flaps at the sky ? 
 Foreseeing the day that vindicates Giotto 
 
 And Florence together, the first am 1 1 
 
IN A BALCO:Ny. 
 
 FIRST PART. 
 Constance and Nobbbbt. 
 
 NORBEKT. 
 
 Now. 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Not now. 
 
 NOBBEBT. 
 
 Give me them again, those hands — 
 Put them upon my forehead, how it throbs ! 
 Press them before my eyes, the fire comes through. 
 You cruellest, you dearest in the world. 
 Let me ! the Queen must grant whate'er I ask — 
 How can I gain you and not ask the Queen ? 
 There she stays waitmg for me, here stand you. 
 Some time or other this was to be asked, 
 
218 IN A BALCONY. 
 
 Now is the one time — what I ask, I gain — • 
 Let me ask now, Love ! 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Do, and ruin us. 
 
 NORBERT. 
 
 Let it be now, Love ! All my soul breaks forth. 
 How I do love you ! give my love its way ! 
 A man can have but one life and one death, 
 One heaven, one hell. Let me fulfil my fate — 
 Grant me my heaven now. Let me know you mine, 
 I'rove you mine, write my name upon your brow, 
 Hold you and have you, anc? then die away 
 If Grod please, with completion in my soul. 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 I am not yours then ? how content this man ? 
 I am not his, who change into himself. 
 Have passed into his heart and beat its beats, 
 Who give my hands to him, my eyes, my hair, 
 Give all that was of me away to him 
 So well, that now, my spirit turned his own, 
 Takes part with him against the woman here, 
 Bids him not stumble at so mere a straw 
 As caring that the world be cognizant 
 How he loves her and how she worships him. 
 You have this woman, not as yet that world. 
 Go on, I bid, nor stop to care for me 
 
IN A BALCONY. 219 
 
 By saving w^hai I cease to care about, 
 The courtlj name and pride of circumstance — 
 The name jou '11 pick up and be cumbered with 
 Just for the poor parade's sake, nothing more ; 
 Jusl that the world may slip from under you — 
 Just that the world may cry " So much for him ^ 
 The man predestined to the heap of crowns ! 
 There goes his chance of winning one, at least" 
 
 NORBERT. 
 
 The world! 
 
 OOKSTAKCB. 
 
 You love it. Love me quite as well, 
 And see if I shall- pray for this in vain ! 
 Why must you ponder what it knows or thinks ? 
 
 NORBERT, 
 
 You pray for — what, in vain ? 
 
 OONSTAKCB. 
 
 Oh my heart's heart, 
 How I do love you, Norbert ! — that is right ! 
 But listen, or I take my hands away. 
 You say, " let it be now " — you would go now 
 And tell the Queen, perhaps six steps from us, 
 You love me — so you do, thank God ! 
 
 NORBERT. 
 
 Thank God 
 
220 IN A BALCONY. 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Yes, Norbert, — but you fain would tell your love, 
 
 And, what succeeds the telling, ask of her 
 
 My hand. Now take this rose and look at it. 
 
 Listening to me. You are the minister, 
 
 The Queen's first favourite, nor without a cause. 
 
 To-night completes your wonderful year's-work 
 
 (This palace-feast is held to celebrate) 
 
 Made memorable by her life's success, 
 
 That junction of two crowns on her sole head 
 
 Her house had only dreamed of anciently. 
 
 That this mere dream is grown a stable truth 
 
 To-night's feast makes authentic. Whose the praise ? 
 
 Whose genius, patience, energy, achieved 
 
 What turned the many heads and broke the hearts ? 
 
 You are the fate — your minute 's in the heaven. 
 
 Next comes the Queen's turn. Name your own reward 
 
 With leave to clench the past, chain the to-come. 
 
 Put out an arm and touch and take the sun 
 
 And fix it ever full-faced on your earth, 
 
 Possess yourself supremely of her life. 
 
 You choose the single thing she will not grant — 
 
 The very declaration of which choice 
 
 Will turn the scale and neutralize your work. 
 
 At best she will forgive you, if she can. 
 
 You think I '11 let you choose — her cousin's hand ? 
 
 NORBERT. 
 
 Wait. First, do you retain your old belief 
 The Queen is generous — nay, is just ? 
 
IN A BALCONY. 221 
 
 CONST AKCB. 
 
 There, there 
 So men make women love them, while they know 
 No more of women's hearts than . . . look you here, 
 You that are just and generous beside, 
 Make it your own case. For example now, 
 I'll say — I let you kiss me and hold my hands — 
 Why ? do you know why ? I '11 instruct you, then — 
 The kiss, because you have a name at court. 
 This hand and this, that you may shut in each 
 A jewel, if you please to pick up such. 
 That 's horrible ! Apply it to the Queen — 
 Suppose, I am the Queen to whom you speak. 
 " I was a nameless man : you needed me : 
 Why did I proffer you my aid ? there stood 
 A certain pretty Cousin at your side. 
 Why did I make such common cause with you ? 
 Access to her had not been easy else. 
 You give my labours here abundant praise : 
 'Faith, labour, while she overlooked, grew play. 
 How shall your gratitude discharge itself? 
 Give me her hand ! " 
 
 NORBEKT. 
 
 And still I urge the same. 
 Is the Queen just ? just — generous or no ! 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Yes, just. You love a rose — no harm in that — 
 
222 IN A BALCONf 
 
 But was it for the rose's sake or mine 
 You put it in your bosom ? mine, you said — 
 Then mine you still must say or else be false. 
 You told the Queen you served her for herself : 
 If so, to serve her was to serve yourself 
 She tliinks, for all your unbelieving face ! 
 I know her. In the hall, six steps from us. 
 One sees the twenty pictures — there 's a life 
 Better than life — and yet no life at all ; 
 Conceive her born in such a magic dome, 
 Pictures all round her ! why, she sees the world, 
 Can recognize its given things and facts. 
 The fight of giants or the feast of gods, 
 Sages in senate, beauties at the bath, 
 Chaces and battles, the whole earth's display, 
 Landscape and sea-piece, down to flowers and fruit- 
 And who shall question that she knows them all 
 In better semblance than the things outside '^ 
 Yet bring into the silent gallery 
 Some Uve thing to contrast in breath and blood, 
 Some lion with the painted lion there — 
 You think she '11 understand composedly ? 
 • — Say, " that 's his fellow in the hunting-piece 
 Yonder, I 've turned to praise a hundred times ? " 
 Not so. Her knowledge of our actual earth, 
 Its hopes and fears, concerns and sympathies, 
 Must be too far, too mediate, too unreal. 
 The real exists for us outside, not her — 
 / How should it, with that life in these four walls, 
 
IN A BALCONY. 223 
 
 / That fatlier and that mother, first to last 
 No father and no mother — friends, a heap, 
 1 Lovers, no lack — a husband in due time, 
 I And every one of them alike a lie I 
 ThingTpainted by a Rubens out of nought 
 Into what kindness, friendship, love s hould be ; 
 All better, all more grandiose than life, 
 Onl y no life ; mere cloth and surface-paint 
 ^?ou feel while you admire. How should she feel ? 
 And now that she has stood thus fifty years 
 The sole spectator in that gallery. 
 You think to bring this warm real struggling love 
 In to her of a sudden, and suppose 
 She '11 keep her state untroubled ? Here 's the truth — 
 She '11 apprehend its value at a glance. 
 Prefer it to the pictured loyalty ! 
 You only have to say " so men are made, 
 For this they act, the thing has many names 
 But this the right one — and now. Queen, be just ! ** 
 And life slips back — you lose her at the word — 
 You do not even for amends gain me. 
 He will not understand oh, Norbert, Norbert, 
 Do you not understand ? 
 
 NOBBERT. 
 
 The Queen 's the Queen, 
 I am myself — no picture, but alive 
 In every nerve and every muscle, here 
 At the palace-window or in the people's street, 
 As she in the gallery where the pictures glow. 
 
224 IN A BALCONY. 
 
 The good of life is precious to us both. 
 
 She cannot love — what do I want with rule ? 
 
 When first I saw your face a year ago 
 
 I knew my hfe 's good — my soul heard one voice 
 
 " The woman yonder, there 's no use of life 
 
 But just to obtain her ! heap earth's woes in one 
 
 And bear them — make a pile of all earth's joys 
 
 And spurn them, as they help or help not here ; 
 
 Only, obtain her ' " — How was it to be ? 
 
 I found she was the cousin of the Queen ; 
 
 I must then serve the Queen to get to her — 
 
 No other way. Suppose there had been one, 
 
 And I by saying prayers to some white star 
 
 With promise of my body and my soul 
 
 Might gain you, — should I pray the star or no ? 
 
 Instead, there was the Queen to serve ! I served, 
 
 And did what other servants failed to do. 
 
 Neither she sought nor I declared my end. 
 
 Her good is hers, my recompense be mine, 
 
 And let me name you as that recompense. 
 
 She dreamed that such a thing could never be ? 
 
 Let her wake now. She thinks there was some cause 
 
 The love of power, of fame, pure loyalty ? 
 
 — Perhaps she fancies men wear out their lives 
 
 Chasing such shades. Then I 've a fancy too. 
 
 I worked because I want you with my soul — 
 
 t therefore ask your hand. Let it be now. 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Had I not loved you from the very first, 
 
IN A BALCONY. 225 
 
 Were I not yours, could we not steal out thus 
 So wickedly, so wildly, and so well, 
 You might be thus impatient. What 's conceived 
 Of us without here, by the folks within ? 
 Where are you now ? immersed in cares of state — 
 Where am I now ? — intent on festal robes — 
 We two, embracing under death's spread hand ! 
 What was this thought for, what this scruple of yours 
 Which broke the council up, to bring about 
 One minute's meeting in the corridor ? 
 And then the sudden sleights, long secresies, 
 The plots inscrutable, deep telegraphs, 
 Long-planned chance-meetings, hazards of a look, 
 " Does she know ? does she not know? saved or lost?" 
 A year of this compassion's ecstasy 
 All goes for nothing ? you would give this up 
 For the old way, the open way, the world's. 
 His way who beats, and his who sells his wife ? 
 What tempts you ? their notorious happiness. 
 That you 're ashamed of ours ? The best you '11 get 
 Will be, the Queen grants all that you require, 
 Concedes the cousin, and gets rid of you 
 And her at once, and gives us ample leave 
 To live as our five hundred happy friends. 
 The world will show us with officious hand 
 Our chamber-entry and stand sentinel, 
 When we so oft have stolen across her traps ! 
 Get the world's warrant, ring the falcon's foot. 
 And make it duty to be bold and swift, 
 15 
 
226 IN A BALCONY. 
 
 When long ago 'twas nature. Have it so ! 
 He never hawked by rights till flung from fist ? 
 Oh, the man's thought ! — no woman 's such a fool. 
 
 NORBEKT. 
 
 Yes, the man's thought and my thought, which is more-— 
 
 One made to love you, let the world take note. 
 
 Have I done worthy work ? be love's the praise. 
 
 Though hampered by restrictions, barred against 
 
 By set forms, blinded by forced secresies. 
 
 Set free my love, and see what love will do 
 
 Shown in my life — what work will spring from that 
 
 The world is used to have its business done 
 
 On other grounds, find great effects produced 
 
 For power's sake, fame's sake, motives you have named. 
 
 So good. But let my low ground shame their high. 
 
 Truth is the strong thing. Let man's hfe be true ! 
 
 And love 's the truth of mine. Time prove the rest ! 
 
 I choose to have you stamped all over me, 
 
 Your name upon my forehead and my breast, 
 
 You, from the sword's blade to the ribbon's edge, 
 
 That men may see, all over, you in me — 
 
 That pale loves may die out of their pretence 
 
 In face of mine, shames thrown on love fall off — 
 
 Permit this, Constance ! Love has been so long 
 
 Subdued in me, eating me through and through, 
 
 That now it 's all of me and must have way. 
 
 Think of my work, that chaos of intrigues, 
 
 Those hopes and fears, surprises and delays, 
 
IN A BALCONr. 227 
 
 That long endeavour, earnest, patient, slow, 
 
 Trembling at last to its assured result - — 
 
 Then think of this revulsion. I resume 
 
 Life, after death, (it is no less than life 
 
 After such long unlovely labouring days) 
 
 And liberate to beauty life's great need 
 
 Of the beautiful, which, while it prompted work, 
 
 Supprest itself erewhile. This eve 's the time — 
 
 This eve intense with yon first trembling star 
 
 We seem to pant and reach ; scarce aught between 
 
 The earth that rises and the heaven that bends — 
 
 All nature self-abandoned — every tree 
 
 Flung as it will, pursuing its own thoughts 
 
 And fixed so, every flower and every weed, 
 
 No pride, no shame, no victory, no defeat : 
 
 All under God, each measured by itself! 
 
 These statues round us, each abrupt, distinct, 
 
 The strong in strength, the weak in weakness fixed. 
 
 The Muse forever wedded to her lyre. 
 
 The Nymph to her fawn, the Silence to her rose, 
 
 And Grod's approval on his universe ! 
 
 Let us do so — aspire to live as these 
 
 In harmony with truth, ourselves being true. 
 
 Take the first way, and let the second come. 
 
 My first is to possess myself of you ; 
 
 The music sets the march-step — forward then ! 
 
 And there 's the Queen, I go to claim you of, 
 
 The world to witness, wonder and applaud. 
 
 Our flower of life breaks open. No delay ! 
 
228 IN A BALCONY. 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 And so shall we be ruined, both of us. 
 
 Norbert, I know her to the skin and bone — 
 
 You do not know her, were not born to it, 
 
 To feel what she can see or cannot see. 
 
 Love, she is generous, — ay, despite your smile. 
 
 Generous as you are. For, in that thin frame 
 
 Pain-twisted, punctured through and through with cares, 
 
 There lived a lavish soul until it starved 
 
 Debarred all healthy food. Look to the soul — 
 
 Pity that, stoop to that, ere you begin 
 
 (The true man's way) on justice and your rights, 
 
 Exactions and acquittance of the past 
 
 Begin so — see what justice she will deal ! 
 
 We women hate a debt as men a gift. 
 
 Suppose her some poor keeper of a school 
 
 Whose business is to sit thro' summer-months 
 
 And dole out children's leave to go and play, 
 
 Herself superior to such lightness — she 
 
 Li the arm-chair's state and paedagogic pomp. 
 
 To the life, the laughter, sun and youth outside -~ 
 
 We wonder such an one looks black on us ? 
 
 I do not bid you wake her tenderness, 
 
 — That were vain truly — none is left to wake — 
 
 But, let her think her justice is engaged 
 
 To take the shape of tenderness, and mark 
 
 If she '11 not coldly do its warmest deed ! 
 
 Does she love me, I ask you ? not a whit. 
 
 Y"et, thinking that her justice was engaged 
 
IN A BALCONY. 229 
 
 To help a kinswoman, she took me up — 
 
 Did more on that bare ground than other loveft 
 
 Would do on greater argument. For me, 
 
 I have no equivalent of that cold kind 
 
 To pay her with ; my love alone to give 
 
 If I give any thing. I give her love. 
 
 I feel I ought to help her, and I will. 
 
 So for her sake, as yours, I tell you twice 
 
 That women hate a iebt as men a gift. 
 
 If I were you, I could obtain this grace — 
 
 Would lay the whole I did to love's account, 
 
 Nor yet be very false as courtiers go — 
 
 Declare that my success was recompense ; 
 
 It would be so, in fact : what were it else ? 
 
 And then, once loosed her generosity 
 
 As you will mai'k it — then, — were I but yon 
 
 To turn it, let it seem to move itself, 
 
 And make it give the thing I really take. 
 
 Accepting so, in the poor cousin's hand, 
 
 AU value as the next thing to the queen — 
 
 Since none loves her directly, none dares that I 
 
 A shadow of a thing, a name's mere echo 
 
 Suffices those who miss the name and thing ; 
 
 You pick up just a ribbon she has worn 
 
 To keep in proof how near her breath you came. 
 
 Say I 'm so near I seem a piece of her — 
 
 Ask for me that way — (oh, you understand) 
 
 And find the same gift yielded with a grace, 
 
 Wliich if you make the least show to extort 
 
230 IN A BALCONY. 
 
 — You '11 see ! and when you have ruined both of us, 
 Disertate on the Queen's ingratitude ! 
 
 NORBEBT. 
 
 Then, if I turn it that way, you consent ? 
 'Tis not my way ; I have more hope in truth. 
 Still, if you won't have truth — why, this indeed, 
 Is scarcely false, I '11 so express the sense. 
 Will you remain here ? 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 O best heart of mine, 
 How I have loved you ! then, you take my way ? 
 Are mine as you have been her minister, 
 "Work out my thought, give it effect for me. 
 Paint plain my poor conceit and make it serve ? 
 I owe that withered woman every thing — 
 Life, fortune, you, remember ! Take my part — 
 Help me to pay her ! Stand upon your rights ? 
 You, with my rose, my hands, my heart on you ? 
 Your rights are mine — you have no rights but mine. 
 
 NORBERT. 
 
 Remain here. How you know me ! 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Ah, but still — • 
 {^He breaks from her : she remains. Dance-muni 
 from within. 
 
SECOND fART. 
 
 Enter the Queen. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Constance .! — She is here as he said. Speak ! quick 1 
 Is it so ? is it true — or false ? One word ! 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 True. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Mercifullest Mother, thanks to thee ! 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Madam ! 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 I love you, Constance, from my souU 
 Now say once more, with any words you wiU, 
 *Tis true — all true — as true as that I speak. 
 
232 IN A BALCONY. 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Why should you doubt it ? 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Ah, why doubt ? why doubt r 
 Dear, make ine see it. Do you see it so ? 
 None see themselves — another sees them best. 
 You say " why doubt it ? " — you see him and me. 
 It is because the Mother has such grace 
 That if we had but faith — wherein we fail — 
 Whate'er we yearn for would be granted us ; 
 Howbeit we let our whims prescribe despair, 
 Our very fancies thwart and cramp our will, 
 And so accepting life, abjure ourselves I 
 Constance, I had abjured the hope of lovr» 
 And of being loved, as truly as yon palm 
 The hope of seeing Egypt from that turf. 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Heaven ! 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 But it was so, Constance, it was so. 
 Men say — or do men say it ? fancies say — 
 " Stop here, your life is set, you are grown old. 
 Too late — no love for you, too late for love — 
 Leave love to girls. Be queen — let Constance love ! 
 One takes the hint — half meets it like a child. 
 Ashamed at any feelings that oppose. 
 
IN A BALCONY. 233 
 
 •' Oh, love, true, never think of love agsun ! 
 I am a queen — I rule, not love, indeed." 
 So it goes on ; so a face grows like this. 
 Hair like this hair, poor arms as lean as these, 
 Till, — nay, it does not end so, I thank Grod 1 
 
 CONSTANCB. 
 
 I cannot understand 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 The happier you ! 
 Constance, I know not how it is with men. 
 For women, (I am a woman now like you) 
 There is no good of life but love — but love I 
 What else looks good, is some shade flung from love — 
 Love gilds it, gives it worth. Be warned by me. 
 Never you cheat yourself one instant. Love, 
 Give love, ask only love, and leave the rest ! 
 
 Constance, how I love you ! 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 I love you. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 1 do believe that all is come through you. 
 I took you to my heart to keep it warm 
 
 When the last chance of love seemed dead in me ; 
 I thought your fresh youth warmed my withered h' 
 
234 IN A BALCONY. 
 
 Oh, I am very old now, am I not ? 
 Not so ! it is true and it shall be true ! 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Tell it me ! let me judge if true or false. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 All, but I fear you — you will look at me 
 And say " she 's old, she 's grown unlovely quite 
 "Who ne'er was beauteous ! men want beauty still.** 
 "Well, so I feared — the curse ! so I felt sure. 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Be calm. And now you feel not sure, you say ? 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Constance, he came, the coming was not strange — 
 Do not I stand and see men come and go ? 
 I turned a half-look from my pedestal 
 Where I grow marble — " one young man the more 
 He will love some one, — that is nought to me — 
 What would he with my marble stateliness ? " 
 Yet this seemed somewhat worse than heretofore ; 
 The man more gracious, youthful, like a god, 
 And I still older, with less flesh to change — 
 We two those dear extremes that long to touch. 
 It seemed still harder when he first began 
 Absorbed to labour at the state-affairs 
 
IN A BALCONY. 235 
 
 rhe old way for the (3ld end, interest. 
 
 Oh, to live with a thousand beating hearts 
 
 Around you, swift eyes, serviceable hands. 
 
 Professing they 've no care but for your cause, 
 
 Thought but to help you, love but for yourself, 
 
 And you the marble statue all the time 
 
 They praise and point at as preferred to life, 
 
 Yet leave for the first breathing woman's cheek, 
 
 First dancer's, gypsy's, or street baladine's ! 
 
 Why, how I have ground my teeth to hear men*fi speech 
 
 Stifled for fear it should alarm my ear, 
 
 Their gait subdued lest step should startle me, 
 
 Their eyes declined, such queendom to respect. 
 
 Their hands alert, such treasure to preserve. 
 
 While not a man of these broke rank and spoke, 
 
 Or wrote me a vulgar letter all of love. 
 
 Or caught my hand and pressed it like a hand. 
 
 There have been moments, if the sentinel 
 
 Lowering his halbert to salute the queen. 
 
 Had flung it brutally and clasped my knees, 
 
 I would have stooped and kissed him with my soul. 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Who could have comprehended ! 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Ay, who — who ? 
 Why, no one, Constance, but this one who did. 
 Not they, not you, not I. Even now perhaps 
 It comes too late — would you but tell the truth. 
 
236 IN A BALCONY. 
 
 CONSTANOB 
 
 I wait to tell rt. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Well, you see, he came, 
 Outfaced the others, did a work this- year 
 Exceeds in value all was ever done 
 You know — it is not I who say it — all 
 Say it. And so (a second pang and worse) 
 I grew aware not only of what he did. 
 But why so wondrously. Oh, never work 
 Like his was done for work's ignoble sake — 
 It must have finer aims to spur it on ! 
 I felt, I saw he loved — loved somebody.. 
 And Constance, my dear Constance, do you knoWj 
 I did believe this while 'twas you he loved. 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 ]Me, madam ? 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 It did seem to me your face 
 Met him where'er he looked : and whom but you 
 "Was such a man to love ? it seemed to me 
 You saw he loved you, and approved the love, 
 And that you both were in intelligence. 
 You could not loiter in the garden, step 
 Into this balcony, but I straight was stung 
 And forced to understand. It seemed so true. 
 
IN A BALCONY. 23) 
 
 So right, so beautiful, so like you both 
 
 That all this work should have been done by him 
 
 Not for the vulgar hope of recompense. 
 
 But that at last — suppose some night like this — 
 
 Borne on to claim his due reward of me 
 
 He might say, " Give her hand and pay me so." 
 
 And I (O Constance, you shall love me now) 
 
 I thought, surmounting all the bitterness, 
 
 — " And he shall have it. I will make her blest. 
 
 My flower of youth, my woman's self that was, 
 
 My happiest woman's self that might have been ! 
 
 These two shall have their joy and leave me here.** 
 
 Yes — yes — 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Thanks ! 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 And the word was on my lips 
 When he burst in upon me. I looked to hear 
 A mere calm statement of his just desire 
 In payment of his labour. When, O Heaven, 
 How can I tell you ? cloud was on my eyes 
 And thunder in my ears at that first word 
 Which told 'twas love of me, of me, did all — 
 He loved me — from the first step to the last, 
 Loved me ! 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 You did not hear . . . you thought he spoke 
 Of love ? what if you should mistake ? 
 
238 IN A BALCONY. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 No, no — 
 No mistake ! Ha, there shall be no mistake ! 
 He had not dared to hint the love he felt — 
 You were my reflex — how I understood ! 
 He said you were the ribbon I had worn, 
 He kissed my hand, he looked into my eyes, 
 And love, love was the end of every phrase. 
 Love is begun — this much is come to pass, 
 The rest is easy. Constance, I am yours — 
 I will learn, I will place my life on you, 
 But teach me how to keep what I have won. 
 Am I so old ? this hair was early gray ; 
 But joy ere now has brought hair brown again, 
 And joy will bring the cheek's red back, I feel. 
 I could sing once too ; that was in my youth. 
 Still, when men paint me, they declare me . . . yes, 
 Beautiful — for the last French painter did ! 
 \ know they flatter somewhat ; you are frank — 
 I trust you. How I loved you from the first ! 
 Some queens would hardly seek a cousin out 
 And set her by their side to take the eye : 
 I must have felt that good would come from you. 
 I am not generous — like him — like you ! 
 But he is not your lover after all — 
 It was not you he looked at. Saw you him ? 
 You have not been mistaking words or looks ? 
 He said you were the reflex of myself — 
 And yet he is not such a paragon 
 To you, to younger women who may choose 
 
IN A BALCONY. 239 
 
 i^oug a thousand Norberts. Speak the truth ! 
 You know you never named his name to me — 
 You know, I cannot give him up — ah God. 
 Not up now, even to you ' 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Then cahn yourself. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 See, I am old — look here, you happy girl, 
 I wiU not play the fool, deceive myself ; 
 'Tis all gone — put your cheek beside my cheek — 
 Ah, what a contrast does the moon behold ! 
 But then I set my life upon one chance, 
 The last chance and the best — am I not left, 
 My soul, myself ? All women love great men 
 If young or old — it is in all the tales — 
 Young beauties love old poets who can love — 
 Why should not he the poems in my soul. 
 The love, the passionate faith, the Sacrifice, 
 The constancy ? I throw them at his feet. 
 Who cares to see the fountain's very shape 
 And whether it be a Triton's or a Nymph's 
 That pours the foam, makes rainbows all around ? 
 You could not praise indeed the empty conch ; 
 But I '11 pour floods of love and hide myself. 
 How I will love him ! cannot men love love ^ 
 Who was a queen and loved a poet once 
 Humpbacked, a dwarf.'* ah, women can do that I 
 
240 
 
 IN A BALCONY. 
 
 Well, but men too ! at least, they tell you so. 
 They love so many women in their youth. 
 And even in age they all love whom they please ? 
 And yet the best of them confide to friends 
 That 'tis not beauty makes the lasting love — 
 They spend a day with such and tire the next ; 
 They like soul, — well then, they like phantasy, 
 Novelty even. Let us confess the truth 
 Horrible though it be — that prejudice. 
 Prescription . . . Curses ! they will love a queen. 
 They will — they do. And will not, does not — he ? 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 How can he ? You are wedded — 'tis a name 
 "We know, but still a bond. Your rank remams, 
 His rank remains. How can he, nobly souled 
 As you believe and I incline to think, 
 Aspire to be your favourite, shame and all ? 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Hear her ! there, there now — could she love like me ? 
 
 What did I say of smooth-cheeked youth and grace ? 
 
 See all it does or could do ! so, youth loves ! 
 
 Oh, tell him, Constance, you could never do 
 
 What I will — you, it was not born in ! I 
 
 Will drive these difficulties far and fast 
 
 As yonder mists curdling before the moon. 
 
 I '11 use my light too, gloriously retrieve 
 
 My youth from its enforced calamity, 
 
IN A BALCONY. 241 
 
 Dissolve that hateful marriage, and be his, 
 His own in the eyes alike of God and man. 
 
 CONST ANCB. 
 
 You win do — dare do — Pause on what you say I 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Hear her ! I thank you, Sweet, for that surprise. 
 You have the fair face : for the soul, see mine ! 
 I have the strong soul : let me teach you, here. 
 I think I have borne enough and long enough, 
 And patiently enough, the world remarks. 
 To have my own way now, unblamed by alL 
 It does so happen, I rejoice for it. 
 This most unhoped-for issue cuts the knot. 
 There 's not a better way of settling claims 
 Than this ; God sends the accident express ; 
 And were it for my subjects' good, no more, 
 *Twere best thus ordered. I am thankful now, 
 Mute, passive, acquiescent. I receive. 
 And bless God simply, or should almost fear 
 To walk so smoothly to my ends at last. 
 Why, how I baffle obstacles, spurn fate ! 
 How strong I am ! could Norbert see me now I 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Let me consider. It is all too strange. 
 16 
 
242 IN A BALCONY. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 You, Constance, learn of me ; do you, like me. 
 You are young, beautiful : my own, best girl, 
 You will have many lovers, and love one — 
 Light hair, not hair like Norbert's, to suit yoursy 
 And taller than he is, for you are tall. 
 Love him like me ! give all away to him ; 
 Think never of yourself; throw by your pride, 
 Hope, fear, — your own good as you saw it once. 
 And love him simply for his very self. 
 Remember, I (and what am I to you ?) 
 Would give up all for one, leave throne, lose life, 
 Do all but just unlove him ! he loves me. 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 He shall. 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 You, step inside my inmost heart. 
 Give me your own heart — let us have one heart — 
 I '11 come to you for counsel ; " This he says. 
 This he does, what should this amount to, pray ? 
 Beseech you, change it into current coin. 
 Is that worth kisses ? shall I please him there ? " 
 And then we '11 speak in turn of you — what else ? 
 Your love (according to your beauty's worth) 
 For you shall have some noble love, all gold — 
 VVTiom choose you ? we will get him at your choice. 
 
IN A BALCONY. 243 
 
 ^— Constance, I leave you. Just a minute since 
 
 I felt as I must die or be alone 
 
 Breathing my soul into an ear like yours. 
 
 Now, I would face the world with my new life, 
 
 With my new crown. I '11 walk around the rooms, 
 
 And then come back and tell you how it feels. 
 
 How soon a smile of God can change the world ! 
 
 How we are all made for happiness — how work 
 
 Grows play, adversity a winning fight ! 
 
 True, I have lost so many years. What then ? 
 
 Many remain — God has been very good. 
 
 You, stay here. 'Tis as different from dreams, — 
 
 From the mind's cold calm estunate of bliss. 
 
 As these stone statues from the flesh and blood. 
 
 The comfort thou hast caused mankind, God's moon I 
 
 [She goes out. Dance-music from witUn 
 
PART THIKD. 
 
 NoEBERT enters. 
 
 NOEBEET. 
 
 Well ! we have but one minute and one word — 
 
 CONSTANCB. 
 
 I am yours, Norbert I 
 
 NOEBERT. 
 
 Yes, mine. 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Not til] now 
 You were mine. Now I give myself to you. 
 
 Constance ! 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Your own ! I know the thriftier way 
 01 giving — haply, 'tis the wiser way. 
 
m A BALCONY. 24i 
 
 Meaning to give a treasure, I might dole 
 
 Coin after coin out (each, as that were all, 
 
 With a new largess still at each despair) 
 
 And force you keep in sight the deed, reserve 
 
 Exhaustless till the end my part and yours. 
 
 My giving and your taking, both our joys 
 
 Dying together. Is it the wiser way ? 
 
 I choose the simpler ; I give all at once. 
 
 Know what you have to trust to, trade upon. 
 
 Use it, abuse it, — any thing but say 
 
 Hereafter, " Had I known she loved me so. 
 
 And what my means, I might have thriven with it.** 
 
 This is your means. I give you all myself. 
 
 NOKBBET. 
 
 I take you and thank God, 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Look on through years I 
 We cannot kiss a second day like this, 
 Else were this earth, no earth. 
 / 
 
 NOBBEBT. 
 
 With this da/s hetf 
 We shall go on fhrough years of cold. 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 So best, 
 I try to see those years — I think I see. 
 
246 IN A BALCONY. 
 
 You walk quick and new warmth comes ; you look back 
 
 And lay all to the first glow — not sit down 
 
 Forever brooding on a day like this 
 
 While seeing the embers whiten and love die. 
 
 Yes, love lives best in its effect ; and mine, 
 
 Full in its own life, yearns to live in yours. 
 
 NOKBEBT. 
 
 Just SO. I take and know you all at once. 
 
 Your soul is disengaged so easily, 
 
 Your face is there, I know you ; give me time, 
 
 Let me be proud and think you shall know me. 
 
 My soul is slower : in a life I roll 
 
 The minute out in which you condense yours — 
 
 The whole slow circle round you I must move. 
 
 To be just you. I look to a long life 
 
 To decompose this minute, prove "its worth. 
 
 *Tis the sparks' long succession one by one 
 
 Shall show you in the end what fire was crammed 
 
 In that mere stone you struck : you could not know, 
 
 K it lay ever unproved in your sight. 
 
 As now my heart lies ? your own warmth would hide 
 
 Its coldness, were it cold. 
 
 - -ih(, iff; 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 But how prove, how ? 
 
 NORBERT. 
 
 Prove in my life, you ask ? 
 
IN A BALCONY. 247 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Quick, Norbert — how ? 
 
 NOBBERT. 
 
 That 's easy told. I^count life just a stuff 
 
 Totry the sour s streng th on, educe the man. 
 
 WhQ^ keeps ope end in view makes all thittgs setxg. 
 
 As with the body — he who hurls a lance 
 
 Or heaps up stone on stone, shows strength alike, 
 
 So I will seize and use all means to prove 
 
 And show this soul of mine you crown as yours, 
 
 And justify us both. 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Could you write books. 
 Paint pictures ! one sits down in poverty 
 And writes or paints, with pity for the rich. 
 
 NOBBEKT. 
 
 And loves one's painting and one's writing too, 
 And not one's mistress ! All is best, believe. 
 And we best as no other than we are. 
 We live, and they experiment on life 
 Those poets, painters, all who stand aloof 
 To overlook the farther. Let us be 
 The thing they look at ! I might take that face 
 And write of it and paint it — to what end ? 
 For whom ? what pale dictatress in the air 
 Feeds, smiling sadly, her fine ghost-like form 
 
^4^ iN A BALCONY. 
 
 With earth's real blood and breath, the beauteous life 
 She makes despised forever ? You are mine, 
 Made for me, not for others in the world. 
 Nor yet for that which I should call my art. 
 That cold calm power to see how fair you look. 
 I come to you — I leave you not, to write 
 Or paint. You are, I am. Let Rubens there 
 Paint us. 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 So best ! 
 
 NORBERT. 
 
 I understand your souL 
 You live, and rightly sympathize with life, 
 With action, power, success : this way is straight. 
 And days were short beside, to let me change 
 The craft my childhood learnt ; my craft shall serve. 
 Men set me here to subjugate, inclose. 
 Manure their barren lives and force the fruit 
 First for themselves, and afterward for me 
 In the due tithe ; the task of some one man, 
 By ways of work appointed by themselves. 
 I am not bid create, they see no star 
 Transfiguring my brow to warrant that — 
 But bind in one and carry out their wills. 
 So I began : to-night sees how I end. 
 What if it see, too, my first outbreak here 
 Amid the warmth, surprise and sympathy, 
 
IN A BALCONY. ^40 
 
 The instincts of the heart that teach the head ? 
 
 What if the people have discerned in me 
 
 The dawn of the next nature, the new man 
 
 Wliose will they venture in the place of theira 
 
 And whom they trust to find them out new wajps 
 
 To the new heights which yet he only sees ? 
 
 I felt it when you kissed me. See this Queen, 
 
 This people — in our phrase, this mass of men — 
 
 See how the mass lies passive to my hand 
 
 And how my hand is plastic, and you by 
 
 To make the muscles iron ! Oh, an end 
 
 Shall crown this issue as this crowns the first. 
 
 My will be on this people ! then, the strain. 
 
 The grappling of the potter with his clay, 
 
 The long uncertain struggle, — the success 
 
 In that uprising of the spirit-work, 
 
 The vase shaped to the curl of the god*s lip, 
 
 While rounded fair for lower men to see 
 
 The Graces in a dance they recognize 
 
 With turbulent applause and laughs of heart ! 
 
 So triumph ever shall renew itself ; 
 
 Ever to end in efforts higher yet, 
 
 Ever begun 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 1 over helping? 
 
 NORBERT. 
 
 Thus ! 
 [As he embraces her, enter the QuBSn. 
 
250 IN A BALCONY. 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Hist, madam — so I have performed my part> 
 Yoa see your gratitude's true decency, 
 Norbert ? a little slow in seeing it ! 
 Begun to end the sooner. What 's a kiss ? 
 
 NOEBEET. 
 
 Constance I 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Why, must I teach it you again r 
 iou want a witness to your dulness, sir ? 
 What was I saying these ten minutes long ? 
 Then I repeat — when some young handsome man 
 Like you has acted out a part like yours. 
 Is pleased to fall in love with one beyond. 
 So very far beyond him, as he says — 
 So hopelessly in love, that but to speak 
 Would prove him mad, he thinks judiciously, 
 And makes some insignificant good soul 
 Like me, his friend, adviser, confidant 
 And very stalking-horse to cover him 
 In following after what he dares not face — 
 When his end 's gained — (sir, do you understand ?) 
 When she, he dares not face, has loved him first, 
 — May I not say so, madam ? — tops his hope, 
 And overpasses so his wildest dream, 
 With glad consent of all, and most of her 
 The confidant who brought the same about — 
 
IN A BALCONY. 25j 
 
 Whjy in the momiint when such joy explodes, 
 I do say that the merest gentleman 
 Will not start rudely from the stalking-horse, 
 Dismiss it with a " There, enough of you ! " 
 Forget it, show his back unmannerly ; 
 But like a liberal heart will rather turn 
 And say, " A tingling time of hope was ours — 
 Betwixt the fears and faulterings — we two lived 
 A chanceful time in waiting for the prize. 
 The confidant, the Constance, served not ill ; 
 And though I shall forget her in due time, 
 Her use being answered now, as reason bids. 
 Nay as herself bids from her heart of hearts, 
 Still, she has rights, the first thanks go to her. 
 The first good praise goes to the prosperous tool. 
 And the first — which is the last — thankful kiss." 
 
 NORBEKT. 
 
 «— Constance ? it is a dream — ah see you smile I 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 So, now his part being properly performed, 
 
 Madam, I turn to you and finish mine 
 
 As duly — I do justice in my turn. 
 
 Yes, madam, he has loved you — long and well — 
 
 He could not hope to tell you so — 'twas I 
 
 Who served to prove your soul accessible. 
 
 I led his thoughts on, drew them to their place, 
 
 When oft they had wandered out into despair. 
 
Z055 IN A BALCONY. 
 
 And kept love constant toward its natural aim. 
 Enough — my part is played ; you stoop lialf-way 
 And meet us royally and spare our fears — 
 'Tis like yourself — he thanks you, so do I 
 Take him — with my full heart ! my work Is praised 
 By what comes of it. Be you happy, both ! 
 Yourself — the only one on earth who can — 
 Do all for him, much more than a mere heart 
 Which though warm is not useful in its warmth 
 As the silk vesture of a queen ! fold that 
 Around him gently, tenderly. For him — 
 For him, — he knows his own part. 
 
 NOEBERT. 
 
 Have you done ? 
 I take the jest at last. Should I speak now ? 
 Was yours the wager, Constance, foolish child, 
 Or did you but accept it ? Well — at least, 
 You lose by it. 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Now madam, 'tis your turn. 
 Restrain him still from speech a little more 
 And make him happier and more confident ! 
 Pity him, madam, he is timid yet. 
 Mark, Norbert ! do not shrink now ! Here I yield 
 My whole right in you to the Queen, observe ! 
 With her go put in practice the great schemes 
 Vou teem with, follow the career else closed — 
 
 \ 
 
IN A BALCONY. ' 253 
 
 Be all you cannot be except by her ! 
 Behold her. — Madam, say for pity's sake 
 Any thing — frankly say you love him. Else 
 He *11 not believe it : there 's more earnest in 
 His fear than you conceive — I know the man. 
 
 NORBERT. 
 
 I know the woman somewhat, and confess 
 I thought she had jested better — she begins 
 To overcharge her part. I gravely wait 
 Your pleasure, madam : where is my reward ? 
 
 QUEEN. 
 
 Norbert, this wild girl (whom I recognize 
 
 Scarce more than you do, in her fancy-fit, 
 
 Eccentric speech and variable mirth, 
 
 Not very wise perhaps and somewhat bold 
 
 Yet suitable, the whole night's work being strange) 
 
 — May still be right : I may do well to speak 
 
 And make authentic what appears a dream 
 
 To even myself. For, what she says, is true — 
 
 Yes, Norbert — what you spoke but now of love, 
 
 Devotion, stirred no novel sense in me. 
 
 But justified a warmth felt long before. 
 
 Yes, from the first — I loved you, I shall say, — 
 
 Strange ! but I do grow stronger, now 'tis said. 
 
 Your courage helps mine : you did well to speak 
 
 To-night, the night that crowns your twelvemonths' toil— 
 
 But still I had not waited to discern 
 
254 ' IN A BALCONY. 
 
 Your heart so long, believe me ! From tlie first 
 The pource of so much zeal was almost plain, 
 In absence even of your own words just now 
 Which opened out the truth. Tis very strange, 
 But takes a happy ending — in your love 
 Which mine meets : be it so — as you choose mej 
 So I choose you. 
 
 NOKBERT. 
 
 And worthily you choose I 
 I will not be unworthy your esteem. 
 No, madam. I do love you ; I will meet 
 Your nature, now I know it ; this was well, 
 I see, — you dare and you are justified : 
 But none had ventured such experiment, 
 Less versed than you in nobleness of heart, 
 Less confident of finding it in me. 
 I like that thus you test me ere you grant 
 The dearest, richest, beauteousest and best 
 Of women to my arms ! 'tis like yourself ! 
 So — back again into my part's set words — 
 Devotion to the uttermost is yours, 
 But no, you cannot, madam, even you, 
 Create in me the love our Constance does. 
 Or — something truer to the tragic phrase — 
 Not yon magnolia-bell superb with scent 
 Livites a certain insect — that's myself — 
 But the small eye-flower nearer to the ground : 
 r take this lady ! * . 
 
IN A BALCONY. 255 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Stay — not her's, the trap — 
 Stay, Norbert — that mistake were worst of all. 
 (He is too cunning, madam !) it was I, 
 [, Norbert, who . . . 
 
 KOSBERT. X 
 
 You, was it, Constance ? l*heii, 
 But for the grace of this divinest hour 
 Which gives me you, I should not pardon here. 
 I am the Queen's : she only knows my brain — 
 She may experiment therefore on my heart 
 And I instruct her too by the result ; 
 But you, sweet, you who know me, who so long 
 Have told my heart-beats over, held my life 
 In those white hands of youre, — it is not well! 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Tush ! I have said it, did I not say it all ? 
 
 The life, for her — the heart-beats, for her sake ! 
 
 NOKBERT. 
 
 Enough ! my cheek grows red, I think. Your test 
 There 's not the meanest woman in the world, 
 Not she I least could love in all the world, 
 Whom, did she love me, did love prove itself, 
 I dared insult as you insult me now. 
 Constance, I could say, if it must be said, 
 " Take back the soul you offer — I keep mine * 
 
256 IN A BALCONY. 
 
 But — " Take the soul still quivering on jour hand. 
 
 The soul so offered, which I cannot use, 
 
 And, please you, give it to some friend of mine, 
 
 For — what 's the trifle he requites me with ? " 
 
 I, tempt a woman, to amuse a man. 
 
 That two may mock her heart if it succumb ? 
 
 No ! fearing God and standing *neath his heaven, 
 
 I would not dare insult a woman so. 
 
 Where she the meanest woman in the world, 
 
 And he, I cared to please, ten emperors I 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Norbert I 
 
 NORBERT. 
 
 I love once as I live but once. 
 What case is this to think or talk about ? 
 I love you. Would it mend the case at all 
 Should such a step as this kill love in me ? 
 Your part were done : account to God for it. 
 But mine — could murdered love get up again, 
 And kneel to whom you pleased to designate 
 And make you mirth ? It is too horrible. 
 You did not know this, Constance ? now you know 
 That body and soul have each one life, but one : 
 And here 's my love, here, living, at your feet. 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 See the Queen ! Norbert — this one more last word 
 
IN A BALCONY. 25' 
 
 If thus you have taken jest for earnest — thus 
 Loved me in earnest . . . 
 
 NOKBEBT. 
 
 Ah, no jest holds here ! 
 WLtjre is the laughter in which jests break up ? 
 And what this horror that grows palpable ? 
 Madam — why grasp you thus the balcony ? 
 Have I done ill ? Have I not spoken the truth ? 
 How could I other? Was it not your test, 
 To. try me, and what my love for Constance meant ? 
 Madam, your royal soul itself approves. 
 The first, that I should choose thus ! so one takes 
 A beggar — asks him what would buy his child. 
 And then approves the expected laugh of scorn 
 Keturned as something noble from the rags. 
 Speak, Constance, I 'm the beggar ! Ha, what 's this ? 
 You two glare each at each like panthers now. 
 Constance — the world fades ; only you stand there I 
 You did not in to-night's wild whirl of things 
 Sell me — your soul of souls, for any price ? 
 No — no — 'tis easy to believe in you. 
 Was it your love's mad trial to o'ertop 
 Mine by this vain self-sacrifice ? well, still — 
 Though I should curse, I love you. I am love 
 And cannot change ! love's self is at your feet. 
 
 rOrEEN goes out. 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Feel my heart ; let it die against your own. 
 17 
 
258 IN A BALCONY. 
 
 NOBBEBT. 
 
 Against my own ! explain not ; let this be. 
 This is life's height. 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Yours 1 Yours I Yours I 
 
 NOEBEET. 
 
 You and I — 
 Why care by what meanders we are here 
 In the centre of the labyrinth ? men have died 
 Trying to find this place out, which we have found. 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Found, found I 
 
 NOEBEET. 
 
 Sweet, never fear what she can do — 
 "We are past harm now. 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 On the breast of God. 
 I thought of men — as if you were a man. 
 Tempting him with a crown I 
 
 NOSBEBT. 
 
 This must end here — 
 It is too perfect I 
 
IN A BALCONY. 259 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 There 's the music stopped. 
 What measured heavy tread ? it is one blaze 
 About me and within me. 
 
 NOEBERT. 
 
 Oh, some death 
 Will run its sudden finger round this spark, 
 And sever us from the rest — 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 And so do welL 
 Now the doors open — 
 
 NORBEET 
 
 Tis the guard comes. 
 
 OOHITANCB. 
 
 Kiss 
 
JU \J ^^A^t^'i^ 
 
 SAUL. 
 
 c/ 
 
 1. 
 
 Said Abner, " At last tnou 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 counte- 
 nance sent, 
 
 Neither drunken nor eaten nave 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 or 
 
 of praise. 
 
 To betoken that Saul and the Spirit have ended theii 
 
 iT] 
 
 '-// strife, 
 
 {f>A^*-^ > /V - ^^^i 'k 
 
SAUL. 261 
 
 And that, faint in his triumph, the monarch sinks back 
 
 upon life. 
 
 2. 
 
 Yet now my heart leaps, 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 I " 
 
 S. 
 
 Then I, as was meet, 
 Knelt down to the Grod of my fathers, and rose on my 
 
 feet. 
 And ran o'er the sand burnt to ppwder. The tent was 
 
 imlooped ; 
 I pulled up the spear that obstructed, and under I 
 
 stooped ; 
 Hands and knees on the slippery grass-patch, ail 
 
 withered and gone. 
 That extends to the second inclosure, I groped my 
 
 way on 
 Till I felt where the foldskirts fly open. Then once 
 
 more I prayed, 
 And ope ned the fold skirts and entered^ and was ncrf 
 
 afraic 
 
?62 SAUL. 
 
 But spoke, " Here is David, thy servant ! " And no 
 
 voice replied. 
 At the first I saw nought but the blackness ; but soon I 
 
 descried 
 A something more black than the blac kness — 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. 
 
 4. 
 
 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 deliverance 
 
 come 
 With the spring-time, — so ag onized Saul, dr ear and 
 
 stark, blind and dumb. 
 
 5. 
 
 -, Then T tuned my harp, — took off the lilies we twine 
 
 round its chords 
 
 ,./ilW;i^jUl>R^^«"lf" 
 
SAUL. 263 
 
 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 untom 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 foll ovs 
 
 star 
 Into eve and the blue far above us, — so blue and so far I 
 
 6. 
 
 — Then the tune, for which quails on the comland 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 ! — 
 GU)d made all the creatures and gave them our lov e an^ 
 
 our fear, 
 To give sign, we and they are his children, one familj 
 
 _^ , - - . ■ « . ■ »W — <lfcH^^ Mill Ml I all— ^ 
 
 here. 
 
264 
 
 SAUL. 
 
 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 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 dwelhng. — And then, 
 
 the great march 
 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 enthroned . . 
 But I stopped here — for here in the darkness, Saul 
 
 groaned. 
 
 And I paused, held my breath in such silence, and 
 listened apart ; 
 
SAUL. 265 
 
 AJid 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, — 
 
 " Oh, our manhood's prime vigour ! no 
 spirit feels waste, 
 
 Not a muscle is stopped in its playing, nor sinew un- 
 braced. 
 
 Oh, the wild joys of Hving ! 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's-flesh steeped in the pitcher ; the full 
 
 draught of wine, 
 
266 SAUL. 
 
 And the sleep in tlie dried river-channel where bull* 
 
 rushes tell 
 
 Thac the water was wont to go warbling so softly and 
 
 well. 
 
 How good is man's life, the mere living ! how fit to em- 
 ploy 
 
 All the heart and the soul and the senses, forever in 
 
 joy J 
 
 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 heard 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 workiiig 
 
 whence grew 
 Such result as from seething grape-bundles, the spirit 
 
 strained true ! 
 And the friends of thy boyhood — that boyhood of won- 
 der and hope, 
 Present promise, and_wealth ofthe future beyond the 
 
 eye's scope, — 
 
SAUL. 267 
 
 Till lo, thou art grown to a monarch ; a people iB 
 
 thine ; 
 
 And all gifts which the world offers sin^Jj^ o n 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 ambi tion and dp.^ ^ a which Riirpfli^s it. fame crown- 
 
 ing it, — -all ^ 
 Brought to bl aze on the head of nnf> or^^{\iypt — Kin^ 
 
 ^Saul!" 
 
 10. 
 
 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 through 
 
 its array, 
 And upsoareth the cherubim-chariot — " Saul ! " cried I, 
 
 and stopped. 
 And waited the thin g that should follow. Then Saul, 
 
 who hung propt 
 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, 
 
268 SAUL. 
 
 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 — 
 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 its 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 standmg befc^eme^^ released_ and_ 
 
 aw^ e. 
 What was gone, what rem ained ? all to traverse 'twixt 
 
 hope and despair — 
 Death was past, life n ot come — so he waited. Awhile 
 
 his right hand 
 
SAUL. 269 
 
 Heli 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 stem silence, o'erlap and 
 
 entwine 
 Base with base to knit strength more intense : so, arm , 
 
 folded in arm 
 O'er the chest whose slow heavings subsided. ^ 
 
 11. 
 
 " What sp gll or wha t charm , 
 (For, awhile there was trouble within me) what ne^ 
 
 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 ? 
 
270 SAUL. 
 
 He saith, " It is good ; " still he drinks not — he lets me 
 
 praise life, 
 Gives assent, yet would die for his own part. 
 
 12. 
 
 Then fancies gr ew rife 
 Which had coine long ago on the pastures, when round 
 
 me the slieep 
 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, though I saw but the strip 'twixt the 
 
 hiQ 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 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 oiic« 
 
 more the string 
 Of my harp made response to my spirit, as thus — 
 
SAUL. 271 
 
 13. 
 
 " Yea, my king," 
 I began — " thou dost well in rejecting mere comforta 
 
 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. 
 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 mindedst when 
 
 these too, in turn 
 Broke a-bloom and the palm-tree seemed perfect; yet 
 
 more was to learn, 
 Ev'n the good that comes in with the palm-fruit. Our 
 
 dates shaU 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 t he fate it was fi t for ! thespirit be thine 
 By" the sp irit, when age shall o'e rcome thee, thou 8tiU_^ 
 
 shalt enjoy 
 
272 SAUL. 
 
 More indeed, than at first when i nconsciou s, the life of a 
 
 Crush that life, and behold its wme 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, 
 C an find nothing his own deed produced not, must every- 
 
 where 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 
 With the radiance thy deed was the germ of. Carouse 
 
 in the past. 
 But the license of age has its limit ; Jthgu^ diest at las t. 
 As the lion when age dims his eye-ball, the rose at her 
 
 height, 
 jo with m an — so his power and hi s beauty f orever 
 
 tak e fligh t. 
 No ! again a long draught of my soul-wine ! look forth 
 
 o'er the years — 
 Thou hast done no w with eyes for the actual ;_ be gin 
 
 with the seer's ! 
 
SAUL. 273 
 
 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 sKesT""^ 
 Let it mark where the g reat First King slumbers^;;— 
 
 whose fame would ye know ? 
 Up above see the rock ^s nak ed face, wh ere the record 
 ■"""'' ^ shall go_ 
 
 In great characters cut b y the scrib e, — Such was Saul, 
 
 " so he did ; 
 
 With the sages directing the work, by the populace 
 
 chid, — 
 For not half, they 'U 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 states- 
 man's great word 
 Side by side with the poet's sweet comment The river^s 
 
 a-wave_ 
 With smooth paper-reeds grazing each other^ wheo. 
 •^ - jprophe t winds rave : 
 
 So the pen gives unborn genera tions thei r due and thejju. 
 
 part 
 
 rn thy b^mprt Th en, first of t he mightyp t hank 
 
 that thou art"* 
 18 
 
274 SAUL. 
 
 14. 
 And behold while I sang . . But 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 
 
 endeavour 
 And scaling the highest man's thoug ht could, gaze d hope- 
 
 less"as ever 
 On the new stretch of Heaven above me — till. Mighty 
 * «»«-.- ^^ 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 that 
 
 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 up- 
 heaves 
 
 The dawn struggling with night on his shoulder and 
 
 Kidron retrieves 
 
 Slow the damage of yesterday's sunshine. 
 
SAUL. 275 
 
 15. 
 
 I say then, — my song 
 Wliile 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 coun- 
 tenance 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 stiH, 
 
 though much spent 
 Be the life and the bearing that front you, the same, God 
 
 did choose. 
 To receive what a man may waste, desecrate, never 
 
 quite lose. 
 So sank he along by the tent-prop, till, stayed by the 
 
 pile 
 Of his armour and war-cloak and garments, he leaned 
 
 there awhile, 
 And so sat out my singing, — one arm round the tent- 
 prop, to raise 
 
276 
 
 SAUL. 
 
 His bent head, and the other hung slack — till I toiichecl 
 
 on the praise 
 
 I foresaw from all men in all times, 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, hke 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, 
 
 Thus held he me there with his great eyes that scruti- 
 nized mine — 
 
 And oh, all my heart how it loved him ! but where was 
 
 the sign ? 
 
 r yearned — " Could I help thee, my father, inventing a 
 
 bliss, 
 
 I would add to that life of the past, both the future and 
 . this. 
 
SAUL. 277 
 
 I would give thee -new life altogether, as good, ages 
 
 hence, 
 Aa this moment, — had love hut the warrant, love's 
 
 heart to dispense ! " 
 
 16. 
 
 Then the truth came upon me. No harp more — no 
 
 song more ! outbroke — 
 
 17. 
 
 **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 
 
 mj 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 ma y of God 's work-— al l's lov e, y^ 
 
 all 's law ! 
 Now I lay down the judgeship he lent me. Each 
 
 faculty tasked 
 To perceive him, has gained an abyss, where a dew-drop 
 
 was asked. 
 Have I knowledge ? confounaed it shi-ivels at wisdom _ 
 
 laid bare. 
 Have I fo rethought ? h ow purblind , h ow blank, t o the 
 
 Infi nite care. ! 
 Do I task any faculty highest, to image success ? 
 I but open my eyes, — and perfection, no more and no less 
 
278 SAUL. 
 
 In the kiud I imagined, full-fronts me, and God is seen 
 
 ^od 
 In the star, in the stone, in the flesh, in the soul and the 
 
 And thus looking within and around me, I ever rengjv^ 
 (With that stoop of the soul which in bending upraises 
 
 it too) 
 The submission of Man's nothin g-perfe ct to God's All- 
 
 jOompletej 
 
 As by each new obeisance in spirit, I climb to his feet I 
 ,Yet with all this abound ing experience, t Ms Deity 
 
 known, 
 I shall dare to discover some province, some gift of my 
 
 own. 
 There 's one faculty pleasant to exercise, hard to hood- 
 wink, 
 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 'er. 
 
 take 
 God's own speed in the one way of love : I abstain, for 
 
 love's sake ! 
 f What, my s oul? see thus far and no farther.'^ when 
 
 doors great and small, 
 Nine-and-ninety flew ope at our touch, should the hun 
 
 dredth appall ? 
 
SAUL. 279 
 
 In the least things, have faith, yet distrust in the greatest 
 
 of aU? 
 Do 1 find love so f ull in my natur e, God^s ultimate gift, 
 That I doubt his own love can compet e with it ? here, 
 
 ~*^ ~ the parts shift ? 
 
 Here, the c reature surpass t he 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 yel 
 
 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 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, th<». mis- 
 take. 
 
280 SAUL. 
 
 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 intensified 
 
 bliss, 
 And the next world's reward and repose, by the struggle 
 
 in this. 
 
 18. 
 
 " I believe it ! 'tis Thou , God, tha t ^i ve st, 't is I who 
 
 receive : 
 In the first is th e last, in thy will is my power to believ e. 
 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 ! and why am I 
 
 loth 
 To look that, even that in the face too ? why is it J 
 
 dare 
 
SADL. 281 
 
 Think but lightly of such impuissance ? "what stops my 
 
 despair ? 
 This ; — 'tis not w hat 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 — know- 
 ing which, 
 I know that my service is perfect — Oh, speak through 
 
 me now ! 
 Would I suffer for him that I love ? So wilt Thou — so 
 " ""^kThou! 
 
 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 be- 
 loved ! 
 He who did most, shall bear most ; the strongest shall 
 
 stand the most weak. 
 Tis the weakness in strength that I cry for ! my fiesh, 
 
 that I seel' 
 
Z»Z SAUL. 
 
 In the Godhead ! I seek and I find it. O Saul, w 
 
 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!" 
 
 19. 
 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 
 All the tumult, and quenched it with quiet, and holy 
 
 behest, 
 
SAUL. 283 
 
 Till the rapture was shut m 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 daj's tender 
 
 bu-th ; 
 In the gathered intensity brought to the gray of the 
 
 hills; 
 In the shuddering forests' new awe ; in the sudden wind 
 
 thrills; 
 In the startled wild beasts that bore off, each with ey« 
 
 sidling still 
 Tho' averted, in wonder and dread ; and 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 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 sol 
 
 it is 80. 
 
 ^//s /iue f- a/'/'s ■^<'^- 
 
«DE GUSTIBUS— '* 
 
 1. 
 
 YonR ghost will walk, you lover of trees, 
 
 (If loves remain) 
 
 In 9n English lane, 
 By a cornfield-side a-flutter with poppies. 
 Hark, those two in the hazel coppice — 
 A boy and a girl, if the good fates please, 
 
 Making love, say, — 
 
 The happier they ! 
 Draw yourself up from the light of the moon, 
 And let them pass, as they will too soon, 
 
 With the beanflowers' boon, 
 
 And the blackbird's tune. 
 
 And May, and June ! 
 
 2. 
 
 What I love best in all the world, 
 
 Is, a castle, precipice-encurled, 
 
 In a gash of the wind-grieved Apennine. 
 
 Or look for me, old fellow of mine. 
 
"de gustibus — ** 285 
 
 (If I get my head from out the mouth 
 O* the grave, and loose my spirit's bands, 
 And come again to the land of lands) — 
 In a sea-side house to the farther south, 
 Where the baked cicalas die of drouth. 
 And one sharp tree ('tis a cypress) stands, 
 By the many hundred years red-rusted, 
 Rough iron-spiked, ripe fruit-o'ercrusted, 
 My sentinel to guard the sands 
 To the water's edge. For, what expands 
 Without the house, but the great opaque 
 Blue breadth of sea, and not a break ? 
 While, in the house, forever crumbles 
 Some fragment of the frescoed walls, 
 From blisters where a scorpion sprawls. 
 A girl bare-footed brings and tumbles 
 Down on the pavement, green-flesh melons. 
 And says there 's news to-day — the king 
 Was shot at, touched in the liver-wing. 
 Goes with his Bourbon arm in a sling. 
 — She hopes they have not caught the felons. 
 
 Italy, my Italy ! 
 Queen Mary's saying serves for me — 
 
 (When fortune's malice 
 
 Lost her, Calais.) 
 Open my heart and you will see 
 Graved inside of it, " Italy." 
 Such lovers old are I and she ; 
 So it always was, so it still shall be I 
 
WOMEN AND ROSES. 
 
 1. 
 
 I DREAM of a red-rose tree. 
 And which of its roses three 
 Is the dearest rose to me ? 
 
 Round and round, like a dance of snow 
 In a dazzling drift, as its guardians, go 
 Floating the women faded for ages, 
 Sculptured in stone, on the poet's pages. 
 Then follow the women fresh and gay. 
 Living and loving and loved to-day. 
 Last, in the rear, flee the multitude of maidenflj 
 Beauties unborn. And all, to one cadence, 
 They circle their rose on my rose tree. 
 
 3. 
 
 Dear rose, thy term is reached, 
 Thy leaf hangs loose and bleached : 
 Bees pass it unimpeached. 
 
 4. 
 
 Stay then, stoop, since I cannot climb, 
 You, great shapes of the antique time I 
 
WOMEN AND ROSES. 287 
 
 How shall I fix you, fire you, freeze you, 
 Break my heart at your feet to please you ? 
 Oh ! to possess, and be possessed ! 
 Hearts that beat 'neath each pallid breast ! 
 But once of love, the poesy, the passion, 
 Drink once and die ! — In vain, the same fashion, 
 They circle their rose on my rose tree. 
 
 5. 
 
 Dear rose, thy joy's undinmied; 
 
 Thy cup is ruby-rimmed. 
 
 Thy cup's heart nectar-brimmed. 
 
 Deep as drops from a statue's plinth 
 The bee sucked in by the hyacinth, 
 So will I bury me while burning, 
 Quench like him at a plunge my yearning, 
 Eyes in your eyes, lips on your lips ! 
 Fold me fast where the cincture slips. 
 Prison all my soul in eternities of pleasure ! 
 Girdle me once ! But no — in their old measure 
 They circle their rose on my rose tree. 
 
 7. 
 
 Dear rose without a thorn. 
 Thy bud 's the babe unborn. 
 First streak of a new mom 
 
WOMEN AND ROSES. 
 8. 
 
 Wings, lend wings for the cold, the clear I 
 
 What 's far conquers what is near. 
 
 Roses will bloom nor want beholders, 
 
 Sprung from the dust where our o^vn flesh moulders. 
 
 What shall arrive with the cycle's change ? 
 
 A novel grace and a beauty strange. 
 
 I will make an Eve, be the artist that began her, 
 
 Shaped her to his mind ! — Alas ! in like manner 
 
 They circle their rose on my rose tree. 
 
PROXUS, 
 
 Among these latter busts we count by scorftSf 
 
 Half-emperors and quarter-emperors, 
 
 Each with his bay-leaf fillet, loose-thonged Ye%U 
 
 Loric and low-browed Grorgon on the breast. 
 
 One loves a baby face, with violets there, 
 
 Violets instead of laurel in the hair. 
 
 As those were all the little locks could bear. 
 
 Now read here. " Protus ends a period 
 Of empery beginning with a god : 
 Bom in the porphyry chamber at Byzant ; 
 Queens by his cradle, proud and ministrant. 
 And if he quickened breath there, 'twould like fire 
 Pantingly through the dim vast realm transpire. 
 A fame that he was missing, spread afar — 
 The world, from its four corners, rose in war, 
 Till he was borne out on a balcony 
 To pacify the world when it should see.* 
 The captains ranged before him, one, his hand 
 Made baby points at, gained the chief command. 
 19 
 
2^0 PROTUS. 
 
 And day by day more beautiful he grew 
 
 Tn shape, all said, in feature and in hue. 
 
 While young Greek sculptors gazing on the I'Jiild 
 
 Were, so, with old Greek sculpture, reconciled. 
 
 Already sages laboured to condense 
 
 In easy tones a life's experience : 
 
 And artists took grave counsel to impart 
 
 In one breath and one hand-sweep, all their art — 
 
 To make his graces prompt as blossoming 
 
 Of plentifully-watered palms in spring : 
 
 Since well beseems it, whoso mounts the throne, 
 
 For beauty, knowledge, strength, should stand alone, 
 
 And mortals love the letters of his name." 
 
 — Stop ! Have you turned two pages ? StiU the sama 
 
 New reign, same date. The scribe goes on to say 
 
 How that same year, on such a month and day. 
 
 " John the Pannonian, groundedly believed 
 
 A blacksmith's bastard, whose hard hand reprieved 
 
 The Empire from its fate the year before, — 
 
 Came, had a mind to take the crown, and wore 
 
 The same for six years, (during which the Huns 
 
 Kept off their fingers from us) till his sons 
 
 Put something in his liquor " — and so forth. 
 
 Then a new reign. Stay — " Take at its just worth 
 
 (Subjoins an annotator) " what I give 
 
 As hearsay. Some tliink John let Protus live 
 
 And slip away. 'Tis said, he reached man's age 
 
 At some blind northern court ; made first a page, 
 
PROTUS. 29' 
 
 Then, tutor io the children — last, of use 
 
 About the hunting-stables. I deduce 
 
 He wrote the little tract ' On wormiug dogs/ 
 
 Whereof the name in sundry catalogues 
 
 Is extant yet A Protus of the Race 
 
 Is rumoured to have died a monk in Thrace, — 
 
 And if the same, he reached senility." 
 
 Here 's John the Smith's rough-hammered head. Great 
 
 eye 
 Gross jaw and griped lips do what granite can 
 To give you the crown-grasper. What a man I 
 
HOLY-CROSS DAY. 
 
 OK WHICH THE JEWS WEBE FORCED TO ATTEND AN ANNUAL 
 CHRISTIAN SERMON IN ROME. 
 
 [" Now was come about Holy-Cross Day, and now must my lord 
 preach his first sermon to the Jews : as it was of old cared for in 
 the merciful bowels of the Church, that, so to speak, a crumb at 
 least from her conspicuous table here in Rome, should be, though 
 but once yearly, cast to the famishing dogs, under-trampled and 
 bespitten-upon beneath the feet of the guests. And a moving 
 sight in truth, this, of so many of the besotted, blind, restive, and 
 ready-to-perish Hebrews ! now paternally brought — nay, (for He 
 saith, ' Compel them to come in,') haled, as it were, by the head 
 and hair, and against their obstinate hearts, to partake of the 
 heavenly grace. What awakening, what striving with tears, what 
 working of a yeasty conscience ! Nor was my lord wanting to 
 himself on so apt an occasion ; witness the abundance of conver- 
 sions which did incontinently reward him : though not to my lord 
 be altogether the glory." — Diary by the Bishop's Secretary, 1 600.] 
 
 Though what the Jews really said, on thus being driven to 
 church, was rather to this effect : 
 
 1. 
 
 Fee, faw, fum ! bubble and squeak ! 
 Blessedest Thursday 's the fat of the week. 
 Rumble and tumble, sleek and rough, 
 
HOLT-CROSS DAT. 293 
 
 Stinking and savoury, smug and gruff, 
 
 Take the church-road, for the bell's due chime 
 
 Gives us the summons — *tis sermon-time. 
 
 2. 
 
 Boh, here *s Barnabas ! Job, that 's you ? 
 
 Up stumps Solomon — bustling too ? 
 
 Shame, man ! greedy beyond your years 
 
 To handsel the bishop's shaving-shears ? 
 
 Fair play 's a jewel ! leave friends in the lurch ? 
 
 Stand on a line ere you start for the church 
 
 3. 
 
 Higgledy piggledy, packed we lie, 
 Rats in a hamper, swine in a stye, 
 Wasps in a bottle, frogs in a sieve. 
 Worms in a carcase, fleas in a sleeve. 
 Hist ! square shoulders, settle your thumbs 
 And buzz for tl*e bishop — here he comes. 
 
 4. 
 
 Bow, wow, wow — a bone for the dog ! 
 
 I liken his Grace to an acomed hog. 
 
 What, a boy at his side, with the bloom of a lass, 
 
 To help and handle my lord's hour-glass ! 
 
 Didst ever behold so lithe a chine ? 
 
 His cheek hath laps like a fresh-singed swine. 
 
294 HOLT-CROSS DAT. 
 
 5. 
 
 Aaron 's asleep — shove hip to haunch, 
 
 Or somebody deal hun a dig in the paunch ! 
 
 Look at the purse with the tassel and knob, 
 
 And the gown with the angel and thingumbob. 
 
 What 's he at, quotha ? reading his text ! 
 
 Now you Ve his curtsey — and what comes next ? 
 
 6. 
 
 See to our converts — you doomed black dozen — 
 
 No stealing away — nor cog nor cozen ! 
 
 You five that were thieves, deserve it fairly ; 
 
 You seven that were beggars, will live less sparely. 
 
 You took your turn and dipped in the hat. 
 
 Got fortune — and fortune gets you ; mind that ! 
 
 Give your first groan — compunction 's at work ; 
 
 And soft ! from a Jew you mount to a Turk. 
 
 Lo, IVIicah, — the selfsame beard on chin 
 
 He was four times already converted in ! 
 
 Here *s a knife, clip quick — it 's a sign of grace — 
 
 Or he ruins us all with his hanging-face. 
 
 8. 
 "Whom now is the bishop a-leering at ? 
 I know a point where his text falls pat. 
 
HOLY-CROSS DAY. 295 
 
 1 '11 tell him to-morrow, a word just now 
 Went to my heart and made me vow 
 I meddle no more with the worst of trades — 
 Let somebody else pay his serenades. 
 
 Groan all together now, whee — hee — hee I 
 
 It 's a- work, it 's a- work, ah, woe is me ! 
 
 It began, when a herd of us, picked and placed. 
 
 Were spurred through the Corso, stripped to the waist 
 
 Jew-brutes, with sweat and blood well spent 
 
 To usher in worthily Christian Lent. 
 
 10. 
 
 It grew, when the hangman entered our bounds. 
 
 Yelled, pricked us out to this church like hounds. 
 
 It got to a pitch, when the hand indeed 
 
 Which gutted my purse, would throttle my creed. 
 
 And it overflows, when, to even the odd. 
 
 Men I helped to their sins, help me to their Grod. 
 
 11. 
 
 But now, while the scapegoats leave our flock, 
 And the rest sit silent and count the clock. 
 Since forced to muse the appointed time 
 On these precious facts and truths sublime, — 
 Let us fitly employ it, under our breath. 
 In saying Ben Ezra's Song of Death. 
 
296 HOLY-CROSS D^T. 
 
 12. 
 
 For Rabbi Ben Ezra, the night he died, 
 
 Called sons and sons' sons to his side, 
 
 And spoke, " This world has been harsh and strange, 
 
 Something is wrong, there needeth a change. 
 
 But what, or where ? at the last, or first ? 
 
 In one point only we sinned, at worst. 
 
 13. 
 
 " The Lord will have mercy on Jacob yet, 
 And again in his border see Israel set. 
 When Judah beholds Jerusalem, 
 The stranger-seed shall be joined to them : 
 To Jacob's House shall the Gentiles cleave. 
 So the Prophet saith and his sons believe. 
 
 14. 
 
 " Ay, the children of the chosen race 
 Shall carry and bring them to their place : 
 In the land of the Lord shall lead the same^ 
 Bondsmen and handmaids. Who shall blame, 
 When the slaves enslave, the oppressed ones o'er 
 The oppressor triumph for evermore ? 
 
 15. 
 
 " God spoke, and gave us the word to keep : 
 
 Bade never fold the hands nor sleep 
 
 *Mid a faithless world, — at watch and ward, 
 
HOLT-CROSS DAT. 297 
 
 Till the Christ at the end relieve our guard. 
 By his servant Moses the watch was set ; 
 Though near upon cock-crow — we keep it yet 
 
 16. 
 
 " Thou ! if thou wast He, who at mid-watch came. 
 
 By the starlight naming a dubious Name I 
 
 And if we were too heavy with sleep — too rash 
 
 With fear — O Thou, if that martyr-gash 
 
 Fell on thee coming to take thine own, 
 
 And we gave the Cross, when we owed the Throne — * 
 
 17. 
 
 " Thou art the Judge. We are bruised thus. 
 But, the judgment over, join sides with us ! 
 Thine too is the cause ! and not more thine 
 Than ours, is the work of these dogs and swine. 
 Whose life laughs through and spits at their creed. 
 Who maintain thee in word, and defy thee in deed I 
 
 18. 
 
 " We withstood Christ then ? be mindful how 
 
 At least we withstand Barabbas now ! 
 
 Was our outrage sore ? but the worst we spared. 
 
 To have called these — Christians, — had we dared \ 
 
 Let defiance to them, pay mistrust of thee. 
 
 And Rome make amends for Calvary ! 
 
298 HOLT-CROSS DAY. 
 
 19. 
 
 " By tlie torture, prolonged from age to age. 
 By the infamy, Israel's heritage. 
 By the Ghetto's plague, by the garb's disgrace, 
 By the badge of shame, by the felon's place, 
 By the branding-tool, the bloody whip. 
 And the summons to Christian fellowship, 
 
 20. 
 
 " We boast our proofs, that at least the Jew 
 Would wrest Christ's name from the Devil's crew. 
 Thy face took never so deep a shade 
 But we fought them in it, God our aid ! 
 A trophy to bear, as we march, a band 
 South, east, and on to the Pleasant Land ! " 
 
 [TJte present Pope abolished this bcul business of tkB 
 sermon. — R. B.] 
 
y 
 
 THE GUARDIAN-ANGEL J 
 
 A PICTURE AT FANO. 
 
 Deab and great Angel, wouldst thou only leave 
 That child, when thou hast done with him, for me I 
 
 Let me sit all the day here, that when eve 
 Shall find performed thy special ministry 
 
 And time come for departure, thou, suspending 
 
 Thy flight, mayst see another child for tending, 
 Another still, to quiet and retrieve. 
 
 Then I shall feel thee step one step, no more. 
 From where thou standest now, to where I gaze. 
 
 And suddenly my head be covered o'er 
 
 With those wings, white above the child who prays 
 
 Now on that tomb — and I shall feel thee guarding 
 Me, out of all the world ; for me, discarding 
 
 Yon heaven thy home, that waits and opes its door I 
 
 3. 
 
 1 would not look up thither past thy head 
 
 Because the door opes, like that child, I know, 
 
300 THE GUARDIAN-ANGEL. 
 
 For I should have thy gracious face instead, 
 
 Thou bird of God ! And wilt thou bend me low 
 Like him, and lay, like his, my hands together, 
 And lift them up to pray, and gently tether 
 
 Me, as thy lamb there, with thy garment's spread ? 
 
 4. 
 
 If this was ever granted, I would rest 
 
 My head beneath thine, while thy healing hands 
 
 Close-covered both my eyes beside thy breast. 
 
 Pressing the brain, which too much thought expands^ 
 
 Back to its proper size again, and smoothing 
 
 Distortion down till every nerve had soothing, 
 And all lay quiet, happy and supprest 
 
 5. 
 
 How soon all worldly wrong would be repaired I 
 I think how I should view the earth and skies 
 
 And sea, when once again my brow was bared 
 After thy healing, with such different eyes. 
 
 0, world, as Grod has made it ! all is beauty : 
 
 And knowing this, is love, and love is duty. 
 What further may be sought for or declared ? 
 
 6. 
 
 Guercino drew this angel I saw teach 
 
 (Alfred, dear friend) — that little child to pray, 
 
 Holding the little hands up, each to each 
 
 Pressed gently, — with his own head turned away 
 
THE GUARDIAN-ANGEL, 301 
 
 Over the earth where so much lay before him 
 Of work to do, though heaven was opening o'er him, 
 And he was left at Fano by the beach. 
 
 7. 
 
 We were at Fano, and three times we went 
 To sit and see him in his chapel there, 
 
 And drink his beauty to our soul's content 
 — My angel with me too : and since I care 
 
 For dear Guercino's fame, (to which in power 
 
 And glory comes this picture for a dower, 
 Fraught with a pathos so magnificent) 
 
 And since he did not work so earnestly 
 
 At all times, and has else endured some wrong, — 
 I took one thought his picture struck from me, 
 
 And spread it out, translating it to song. 
 My Love is here. Where are you, dear old friend ? 
 How rolls the Wairoa at your world's far end ? 
 
 This is Ancona, yonder is the sea. 
 
" As certain also of your own poets have said"— 
 
 Cleon the poet, (from the sprinkled isles, 
 
 Lily on lily, that o'erlace the sea, 
 
 And laugh their pride when the light wave lisps 
 
 "Greece") — 
 To Protos in his Tyranny : much health I 
 
 They give thy letter to me, even now : 
 I read and seem as if I heard thee speak. 
 The master of thy galley still unlades 
 Gift after gift ; they block my court at last 
 And pile themselves along its portico 
 Royal with sunset, like a thought of thee : 
 And one white she-slave from the group dispersed 
 Of black and white slaves, (like the chequer-work 
 Pavement, at once my nation's work and gift, 
 Now covered with this settle-down of doves) 
 One lyric woman, in her crocus vest 
 Woven of sea-wools, with her two white hands 
 Commends to me the strainer and the cup 
 Thy lip hath bettered ere it blesses mine. 
 
CLEON. SOH 
 
 Well-counselled, king, in thy munificence I 
 For so shall men remark, in such an act 
 Of love for him whose song gives life its joj, 
 Thy recognition of the use of life ; 
 Nor call thy spirit barely adequate 
 To help on life in straight ways, broad enough 
 For vulgar souls, by ruling and the rest. 
 Thou, in the daily building of thy tower, 
 Whether in fierce and sudden spasms of toil, 
 Or through dim lulls of unapparent growth. 
 Or when the general work ' mid good acclaim 
 Climbed with the eye to cheer the architect, 
 Didst ne'er engage in work for mere work's sake -• 
 Hadst eve^ in thy heart the luring hope 
 Of some eventual rest a-top of it. 
 Whence, all the tumult of the building hushed. 
 Thou first of men mightst look out to the east. 
 The vulgar saw thy tower ; thou sawest the sun. 
 For this, I promise on thy festival 
 To pour libation, looking o'er the sea, 
 Making this slave narrate thy fortunes, speak 
 Thy great words, and describe thy royal face — 
 Wishing thee wholly where Zeus lives the most 
 Within the eventual element of calm. 
 
 Thy letter's first requirement meets me here^ 
 It is as thou hast heard : in one short life 
 I, Cleon, have effected all those things 
 Thou wonderingly dost enumerate. 
 
304 CLEON. 
 
 That epos on thy hundred plates of gold 
 Is mine, — and also mine the little chaunt, 
 So sure to rise from every fishing-bark 
 When, lights at prow, the seamen haul thei" uets. 
 The image of the sun-god on the phare 
 Men turn from the sun's self to see, is mine ; 
 The Poecile, o'er-storied its whole length, 
 As thou didst hear, with painting, is mine too. 
 I know the true proportions of a man 
 And woman also, not observed before ; 
 And I have written three books on the soul, 
 Proving absurd all written hitherto, 
 And putting us to ignorance again. 
 For music, — why, I have combined the moods, 
 Inventing one. In brief, all arts are mine ; 
 Thus much the people know and recognize, 
 Throughout our seventeen islands. Marvel not. 
 "We of tnese latter days, with greater mind 
 Than our forerunners, since more composite, 
 Look not so great (beside their simple way) 
 To a judge who only sees one way at once, 
 One mind-point, and no other at a time, — 
 Compares the small part of a man of us 
 With some whole man of the heroic age. 
 Great in his way, — not ours, nor meant for our^ 
 And ours is greater, had we skill to know. 
 Yet, what we call this life of men on earth, 
 This sequence of the soul's achievements here, 
 Being, as I find much reason to conceive, 
 
CLEON. 
 
 305 
 
 Intended to be vieAved eventually 
 As a great whole, not analyzed to parts, 
 But each part having reference to all, — 
 How shall a certain part, pronounced complete, 
 Endure effacement by another part ? 
 Was the thing done ? — Then what 's to do again ? 
 See, in the chequered pavement opposite, 
 Suppose the artist made a perfect rhomb, 
 And next a lozenge, then a trapezoid — 
 He did not overlay them, superimpose 
 The new upon the old and blot it out. 
 But laid them on a level in his work, 
 Making at last a picture ; there it lies. 
 So, first the perfect separate forms were made, 
 The portions of mankind — and after, so. 
 Occurred the combination of the same. 
 Or where had been a progress, otherwise ? 
 Mankind, made up of all the single men, — 
 In such a synthesis the labour ends. 
 Now, mark me — those divine men of old time 
 Have reached, thou sayest well, each at one point 
 The outside verge that rounds our faculty ; 
 And where they reached, who can do more than retvch ? 
 It takes but little water just to touch 
 At some one point the inside of a sphere. 
 And, as we turn the sphere, touch all the rest 
 In due succession : but the finer air 
 Which not so palpably nor obviously, 
 Though no less universally, can touch 
 20 
 
306 CLEON. 
 
 The whole circumference of that emptied sphere, 
 Fills it more fully than the water did ; 
 Holds thrice the weight of water in itself 
 Resolved into a subtler element. 
 And yet the vulgar call the sphere first full 
 Up to the visible height — and after, void ; 
 Not knowing air's more hidden properties. 
 And thus our soul, misknown, cries out to Zeus 
 To vindicate his purpose in its life — 
 Why stay we on the earth unless to grow ? 
 Long since, I imaged, wrote the fiction out, 
 That he or other God, descended here 
 And, once for all, showed simultaneously 
 What, in its nature, never can be shown 
 Piecemeal or in succession ; — showed, I say, 
 The worth both absolute and relative 
 Of all His children from the birth of time. 
 His instruments for all appointed work. 
 I now go on to image, — might we hear 
 The judgment which should give the due to each, 
 Show where the labour lay and where the ease, 
 And prove Zeus' self, the latent, everywhere ! 
 This is a dream. But no dream, let us hope. 
 That years and days, the summers and the springs 
 Follow each other with unwaning powers — 
 The grapes which dye thy wine, are richer far 
 Through culture, than the wild wealth of the rock ; 
 The suave plum than the savage-tasted drupe ; 
 The pastured honey-bee drops choicer sweet ; 
 
CLEON. 307 
 
 The flowers turn double, and the leaves turn flowers ; 
 
 That young and tender crescent-moon, thy slave, 
 
 Sleeping upon her robe as if on clouds. 
 
 Refines upon the women of my youth. 
 
 What, and the soul alone deteriorates ? 
 
 I have not chanted verse like Homer's, no — 
 
 Nor swept string like Terpander, no — nor carved 
 
 And painted men like Phidias and his friend : 
 
 I am not great as they are, point by point : 
 
 But I have entered into sympathy 
 
 With these four, running these into one soul, 
 
 Who, separate, ignored each others' arts. 
 
 Say, is it nothing that I know them all ? 
 
 The wild flower was the larger — I have dashed 
 
 E-ose-blood upon its petals, pricked its cup's 
 
 Honey with wine, and driven its seed to fruit, 
 
 And show a better flower if not- so large. 
 
 I stand, myself. Refer this to the gods 
 
 Whose gift alone it is ! which, shall I dare 
 
 (All pride apart) upon the absurd pretext 
 
 That such a gift by chance lay in my hand, 
 
 Discourse of hghtly or depreciate ? 
 
 It might have fallen to another's hand — what then 1 
 
 I pass too surely — let at least truth stay ! 
 
 And next, of what thou foUowest on to ask. 
 This being with me as I declare, O king. 
 My works, in all these varicoloured kinds, 
 So done by me, accepted so by men — 
 
308 CLEON. 
 
 Thou askest if (my soul thus in men's hearts) 
 
 I must not be accounted to attain 
 
 The very crown and proper end of Hfe. 
 
 Inquiring thence how, now life closeth up, 
 
 I face death with success in my right hand : 
 
 Whether I fear death less than dost thyself 
 
 The fortunate of men. " For " (writest thou) 
 
 " Thou leavest much behind, while I leave nought : 
 
 Thy life stays in the poems men shall sing, 
 
 The pictures men shall study ; while my life, 
 
 Complete and whole now in its power and joy. 
 
 Dies altogether with my brain and arm, 
 
 Is lost indeed ; since, — what survives myself? 
 
 The brazen statue that o'erlooks my grave, 
 
 Set on the promontory which I named. 
 
 And that — some supple courtier of my heir 
 
 Shall use its robed and sceptred araif perhaps, 
 
 To fix the rope to, which best drags it down. 
 
 I go, then : triumph thou, who dost not go ! " 
 
 Nay, thou art worthy of hearing my whole mind. 
 Is this apparent, when thou turn'st to muse 
 Upon the scheme of earth and man in chief, 
 That admiration grows as knowledge grows ? 
 That imperfection means perfection hid. 
 Reserved in part, to grace the after-time ? 
 If, in the morning of philosophy, 
 Ere aught had been recorded, aught perceived, 
 Thou, with the light now in thee, couldst have looked 
 
CLEON. 309 
 
 On all earth's tenantry, from worm to bird, 
 
 Ere man had yet appeared upon the stage — 
 
 Thou wouldst have seen them perfect, and dedaced 
 
 The perfectness of others yet unseen. 
 
 Conceding which, — had Zeus then questioned thee 
 
 *" Wilt thou go on a step, improve on this, 
 
 Do more for visible creatures than is done ? " 
 
 Thou wouldst have answered, " Ay, by making each 
 
 Grow conscious in himself — by that alone. 
 
 All 's perfect else : the shell sucks fast the rock, 
 
 The fish strikes through the sea, the snake both swims 
 
 And slides ; the birds take flight, forth range the beasts 
 
 Till life's mechanics can no further go — 
 
 And all this joy in natural life, is put, 
 
 Like fire from otf Thy finger into each. 
 
 So exquisitely perfect is the same. 
 
 But 'tis pure fire — and they mere matter are ; 
 
 It has them, not they it : and so I choose, 
 
 For man, Thy last premeditated work 
 
 (If I might add a glory to this scheme) 
 
 That a third thing should stand apart from both, 
 
 A quality arise within the soul, 
 
 Wliich, intro-active, made to supervise 
 
 And feel the force it has, may view itself, 
 
 And so be happy." Man might live at first 
 
 The animal life : but is there nothing more ? 
 
 Fn due time, let him critically learn. 
 
 How he lives ; and, the more he gets to know 
 
 Of his own life's adaptabilities, 
 
510 CLEON. 
 
 The more joy-giving will his life become. 
 The man who hath this quality, is best. 
 
 But thou, king, hadst more reasonably said : 
 " Let progress end at once, — man make no ste]" 
 Beyond the natural man, the better beast. 
 Using his senses, not the sense of sense." 
 In man there 's failure, only since he left 
 The lower and inconscious forms of life. 
 "We called it an advance, the rendering plain 
 A spirit might grow conscious of that life, 
 And, by new lore so added to the old. 
 Take each step higher over the brute's head. 
 This grew the only life, the pleasure-house, 
 Watch-tower and treasure-fortress of the soul, 
 Which whole surrounding flats of natural life 
 Seemed only fit to yield subsistence to ; 
 A tower that crowns a country. But alas ! 
 The soul now climbs it just to perish there. 
 For thence we have discovered ('tis no dream — 
 We know this, which we had not else perceived) 
 That there 's a world of capability 
 For joy, spread round about us, meant for us, 
 Inviting us ; and still the soul craves all. 
 And still the flesh replies, " Take no jot more 
 Than ere you climbed the tower to look abroad ! 
 Nay, so much less, as that fatigue has brought 
 Deduction to it." We struggle — fain to enlaige 
 Our bounded physical recipiency. 
 
CLEON. 311 
 
 tncrease our power, supply fresh oil to life, 
 Repair the waste of age and sickness. No, 
 It skills not : life 's inadequate to joy. 
 As the soul sees joy, tempting life to take. 
 They praise a fountain in my garden here 
 Wlierein a Naiad sends the water-spurt 
 Thin from her tube ; she smiles to see it rise. 
 What if I told her, it is just a thread 
 From that great river which the hills shut up, 
 And mock her with my leave to take the same ? 
 The artificer has given her one small tube 
 Past power to widen or exchange — what boots 
 To know she might spout oceans if she could ? 
 She cannot lift beyond her first straight thread. 
 And so a man can use but a man's joy 
 While he sees God's. Is it, for Zeus to boast 
 " See, man, how happy I live, and despair — 
 That I may be still happier — for thy use ! " 
 If this were so, we could not thank our Lord, 
 As hearts beat on to doing : 'tis not so — 
 Malice it is not. Is it carelessness ? 
 Still, no. If care — where is the sign, I ask — 
 And get no answer : and agree in sum, 
 O king, with thy profound discouragement, 
 Who seest the wider but to sigh the more. 
 Most progress is most failure ! thou sayest well. 
 
 The last point now : — thou dost accept a case — 
 Holding joy not impossible to one 
 
512 CLEON. 
 
 With artist-gifts — to such a man as I — 
 
 Who leave behind me living works indeed ; 
 
 For, such a poem, such a painting lives. 
 
 What ? dost thou verily trip upon a word, 
 
 Confound the accurate view of what joy is 
 
 (Caught somewhat clearer by my eyes than thine) 
 
 With feeling joy ? confound the knowing how 
 
 And showing how to Uve (my faculty) 
 
 With actually living ? — Otherwise 
 
 Where is the artist's vantage o'er the king ? 
 
 Because in my great epos I display 
 
 How divers men young, strong, fair, wise, can act — 
 
 Is this as though I acted ? if I paint. 
 
 Carve the young Phoebus, am I therefore young ? 
 
 Methinks I 'm older that I bowed myself 
 
 The many years of pain that taught me art ! 
 
 Indeed, to know is something, and to prove 
 
 How all this beauty might be enjoyed, is more : 
 
 But, knowing nought, to enjoy is something too. 
 
 Yon rower with the moulded muscles there 
 
 Lowering the sail, is nearer it than I. 
 
 I can write love-odes — thy fair slave 's an ode. 
 
 I get to sing of love, when grown too gray 
 
 For being beloved : she turns to that young man 
 
 The muscles all a-ripple on his back. 
 
 I know the joy of kingship : well — thou art king ! 
 
 " But," sayest thou — (and I marvel, I repeat, 
 To find thee tripping od a mere word) " what 
 
CLEON. did 
 
 Thou writest, paintest, stays : that does not die : 
 
 Sappho survives, because we sing her songs, 
 
 And iEschylus, because we read his plays ! " 
 
 Why, if they live still, let them come and take 
 
 Thy slave in my despite — drink from thy cup — 
 
 Speak in my place. Thou diest while I survive ? 
 
 Say rather that my fate is deadlier still, — 
 
 In this, that every day my sense of joy 
 
 Grows more acute, my soul (intensified 
 
 In power and insight) more enlarged, more keen ; 
 
 While every day my hairs fall more and more, 
 
 My hand shakes, and the heavy years increase — - 
 
 The horror quickening still from year to year, 
 
 The consummation coming past escape 
 
 When I shall know most, and yet least enjoy -^ — 
 
 When all my works wherein I prove my worth, 
 
 Being present still to mock me in men's mouths, 
 
 Alive still, in the phrase of such as thou, 
 
 I, I, the feeling, thinking, acting man, 
 
 The man who loved his life so over much. 
 
 Shall sleep in my urn. It is so horrible, 
 
 I dare at times imagine to my need 
 
 Some future state revealed to us by Zeus, 
 
 Unlimited in capability 
 
 For joy, as this is in desire for joy, 
 
 To seek which, the joy-hunger forces us. 
 
 That, stung by straitness of our life, made strait 
 
 On purpose to make sweet the life at large — 
 
 Freed by the throbbing impulse we call death 
 
314 CLEON. 
 
 We burst there as the worm into the fly, 
 
 "Who, while a worm still, wants his wings.. But, no 
 
 Zeus has not yet revealed it ; and, alas ! 
 
 He must have done so — were it possible ! 
 
 Live long and happy, and in that thought die. 
 Glad for what was. Farewell. And for the rest, 
 I cannot tell thy messenger aright 
 Where to deliver what he bears of thine 
 To one called Paulus — we have heard his fame 
 Indeed, if Christus be not one with him — 
 I know not, nor am troubled much to know. 
 Thou canst not think a mere barbarian Jew, 
 As Paulus proves to be, one circumcised, 
 Hath access to a secret shut from us ? 
 Thou wrongest our philosophy, O king. 
 In stooping to inquire of such an one. 
 As if his answer could impose at all. 
 He writeth, doth he ? well, and he may write. 
 Oh, the Jew findeth scholars ! certain slaves 
 Who touched on this same isle, preached him and Christ, 
 And (as I gathered from a bystander) 
 Their doctrines could be held by no sane man. 
 
THE TWINS. 
 
 "Give" and " It-shall-be-given-unto-yoa.** 
 
 1. 
 Grand rough old Martin Luther 
 
 Bloomed fables — flowers on fiirze^ 
 The better the uncouther : 
 
 Do roses stick like burrs ? 
 
 2. 
 
 A beggar asked an alms 
 
 One day at an abbey-door, 
 Said Luther ; but, seized with qualms, 
 
 The Abbot repHed, " We 're poor ! *' 
 
 8. 
 
 •* Poor, who had plenty once, 
 " When gifts fell thick as rain : 
 
 ** But they give us nought, for the nonce, 
 " And how should we give again ? ** 
 
316 THE TWINS. 
 
 4. 
 Theu the beggar, " See your sins ! 
 
 " Of old, unless I err, 
 ** Ye had brothers for mmates, twins, 
 
 " Date and Dabitur." 
 
 5- 
 " While Date was in good case 
 
 " Dabitur flourished too : 
 " For Dabitur*s lenten face, 
 
 " No wonder if Date rue." 
 
 6. 
 
 " Would ye retrieve the one ? 
 
 " Try and make plump the other! 
 " When Date's penance is done, 
 
 " Dabitur helps his brother." 
 
 ** Only, beware relapse ! " 
 The Abbot hung his head. 
 
 This beggar might be, perhaps. 
 An angel, Luther said. 
 
POPULARITY. 
 
 1. 
 
 Stand still, true poet that you are, 
 I know you ; let me try and draw you. 
 
 Some night you '11 fail us. When afar 
 You rise, remember one man saw you, 
 
 Knew you, and named a star. 
 
 My star, God's glow-worm ! Why extend 
 That loving hand of His which leads you, 
 
 Yet locks you safe from end to end 
 
 Of this dark world, unless He neieds you — 
 
 Just saves your light to spend ? 
 
 3. 
 
 His clenched Hand shall unclose at last 
 I know, and let out all the beauty. 
 
 My poet holds the future fast. 
 Accepts the coming ages' duty, 
 
 Their present for this past. 
 
318 POPULARITY. 
 
 4. 
 
 That day, the earth's feast-master's brow 
 Shall clear, to God the chalice raismg ; 
 
 " Others give best at first, but Thou 
 Forever set'st our table praising, — 
 
 Keep'st the good wine till now." 
 
 6. 
 
 Meantime, I '11 draw you as you stand, 
 With few or none to watch and wonder, 
 
 I '11 say — a fisher (on the sand 
 
 By Tyre the Old) his ocean-plunder, 
 
 A netful, brought to land. 
 
 6. 
 
 Who has not heard how Tyrian shells 
 Enclosed the blue, that dye of dyes 
 
 Whereof one drop worked miracles, 
 And coloured like Astarte's eyes 
 
 Raw silk the merchant sells ? 
 
 And each bystander of them all 
 Could criticize, and quote tradition ; 
 
 How depths of blue sublimed some pall, 
 To get which, pricked a king's ambition ; 
 
 Worth sceptre, crown and ball. 
 
POPULARITY. 819 
 
 8. 
 
 Yet there 's the dye, — in that rough mesh, 
 The sea has only just o'er-whispered ! 
 
 Live whelks, the lip's-beard dripping fresh. 
 As if they still the water's lisp heard 
 
 Through foam the rock-weeds thresh. 
 
 9. 
 
 Enough to furnish Solomon 
 
 Such hangings for his cedar-house, 
 
 That when gold-robed he took the throne 
 In that abyss of blue, the Spouse 
 
 Might swear nis presence shone 
 
 10. 
 
 Most like the centre-spike of gold 
 
 Which burns deep in the blue-bell's womb, 
 What time, with ardours manifold, 
 
 The bee goes singing to her groom, 
 Drunken and overbold. 
 
 11. 
 
 Mere conchs ! not fit for warp or woof ! 
 
 Till art comes, — comes to pound and squeeze 
 And clarify, — refines to proof 
 
 The liquor filtered by degrees, 
 While the world stands aloof. 
 
820 POPULARITY. 
 
 12. 
 
 And there 's the extract, flasked and fine, 
 
 And priced, and salable at last ! 
 And Hobbs, Nobbs, Stokes and Nokes combiue 
 , To paint the future from the past, 
 
 Put blue into their line. 
 
 13. 
 
 Hobbs hints blue, — straight he turtle eats. 
 
 Nobbs prints blue, — claret crowns his cup. 
 Nokes outdares Stokes in azure feats, — 
 
 Both gorge. Who fished the murex up ? 
 What porridge had John Keats ? 
 
THE HERETIC'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 A MIDDLE-AGE INTESLUDB. 
 
 {In the original) hosa mundi ; seu, fulcitb me flobibus. a 
 
 CONCEIT OP MASTER GTSBRECHT, CANON-REGULAR OV 
 SAINT JODOCUS-BY-THE-BAR, TPRES CITY. CANTUQTJE, 
 
 Virgilius. and hath often been sung at hock-tidb 
 
 AND FESTIVALS. GAVISUS ERAM, Jessides. 
 
 (It would seem to be a glimpse from the bmiiing of Jacques da 
 Bourg-Molay, at Paris, A. D. 1314; as distorted by the refraction 
 from Elemish brain to brain, during the course of a couple of cen- 
 turies.— R. B.) 
 
 1. 
 
 PREADMONISHETH THE ABBOT DEODAET. 
 
 The Lord, we look to once for all, 
 
 Is the Lord we should look at, all at once : 
 
 He knows not to vary, saith St. Paul, 
 
 Nor the shadow of turning, for the nonce. 
 
 See Him no other than as he is ; 
 Give both the Infinites their due - - 
 21 
 
322 THE heretic's tragedy. 
 
 Infinite mercy, but, I wis, 
 As infinite a justice too. 
 
 As infinite a justice too. 
 
 [Organ: plagal-cadence, 
 
 ONE SINGETH. 
 
 John, Master of the Temple of God, 
 
 Falling to sin the Unknown Sin, 
 "What he bought of Emperor Aldabrod, 
 
 He sold it to Sultan Saladin — 
 Till, caught by Pope Clement, a-buzzing there, 
 
 Hornet-prince of the mad wasps' hive. 
 And dipt of his wings in Paris square, 
 
 They bring him now to be burned alire. 
 
 [And wanteth there grace of lute or clavicitheri. yt 
 shall say to confirm him who singeih — 
 
 We bring John now to be burned alive. 
 
 8. 
 
 In the midst is a goodly gallows built ; 
 
 'Twixt fork and fork, a stake is stuck ; 
 But first they set divers tumbrils a- tilt. 
 
 Make a trench all round with the city muck ; 
 Inside they pile log upon log, good store ; 
 
 Fagots not few, blocks great and small. 
 Reach a man's mid-thigh, no less, no more, — 
 
 For they mean he should roast in the sight of all. 
 
THE heretic's tragedy. 323 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 We mean he should roast in the sight of all. 
 
 4. 
 Good sappy bavins that kindle forthwith ; 
 
 Billets that blaze substantial and slow ; 
 Pine-stump split deftly, dry as pith ; 
 
 Larch-heart that chars to a chalk- white glow : 
 Then up they hoist me John in a chafe, 
 
 Sling him fast like a hog to scorch, 
 Spit in his face, then leap back safe, 
 
 Sing " Laudes " and bid clap-to the torch. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Laus Deo — who bids clap-to the torch. 
 
 John of the Temple, whose fame so bragged, 
 
 Is burning aUve in Paris square ! 
 How can he curse, if his mouth is gagged ? 
 
 Or wriggle his neck, with a collar there ? 
 Or heave his chest, while a band goes round ? 
 
 Or threat with his fist, since his arms are spliced ? 
 Or kick with his feet, now his legs are bound ? 
 
 — Thinks John — I will call upon Jesus Christ. 
 
 \^Here one crosseth himsdf. 
 
 Jesus Christ — John had bought and sold, 
 Jesus Christ — John had eaten and drunk 
 
324 THE heretic's tragedy. 
 
 To him, the Flesh meant silver and gold. 
 
 (Salvd reverentid.) 
 Now it was, " Saviour, bountiful lamb, 
 
 I have roasted thee Turks, though men roast me. 
 See thy servant, the plight wherein I am ! 
 
 Art thou a Saviour ? Save thou me ! " 
 
 CHOEUS. 
 
 'Tis John the mocker cries, Save thou me ! 
 
 7. 
 
 Who maketh God's menace an idle word ? 
 
 — Saith, it no more means what it proclaims, 
 Than a damsel's threat to her wanton bird ? — 
 
 For she too prattles of ugly names. 
 — Saith, he knoweth but one thing, — what he knows ? 
 
 That God is good and the rest is breath ; 
 Why else is the same styled, Sharon's rose ? 
 
 Once a rose, ever a rose, he saith. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 O, John shall yet find a rose, he saith ! 
 
 8. 
 Alack, there be roses and roses, John ! 
 
 Some honied of taste like your leman's tongue. 
 Some, bitter — for why ? (roast gayly on !) 
 
 Their tree struck root in devil's dung ! 
 When Paul once reasoned of righteousness 
 
 And of temperance and of judgment to come. 
 
THE heretic's TRAGEDY. 
 
 Good Felix trembled, he could no less — 
 John, snickering, crook'd his wicked thumb. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 What Cometh to John of the wicked thumb? 
 
 Ha ha, John plucks now at liis rose 
 
 To rid himself of a sorrow at heart ! 
 Lo, — petal on petal, fierce rays unclose ; 
 
 Anther on anther, sharp spikes outstart ; 
 And with blood for dew, the bosom boils; 
 
 And a gust of sulphur is all its smell ; 
 And lo, he is horribly in the toils 
 
 Of a coal-black giant flower of HeU ! 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 What maketh Heaven, that maketh Hell. 
 
 10. 
 So, as John called now, through the fire amain, 
 
 On the Name, he had cursed with, aU his life — 
 To the Person, he bought and sold again — 
 
 For the Face, with his daily buffets rife — 
 Feature by feature It took its place ! 
 
 And his voice like a mad dog's choking bark 
 At the steady Wliole of the Judge's Face — 
 
 Died. Forth John's soul flared into the dark. 
 
 SUBJOINETH THE ABBOT DEODAET. 
 
 God help all poor souis lost in the dark 1 
 
 325 
 
TWO IN THE CAMPAGNA. 
 
 1. 
 
 I WONDER do you feel to-day 
 
 As I have felt, since, hand in hand, 
 
 We sat down on the grass, to stray 
 In spirit better through the land, 
 
 This morn of Rome and May r 
 
 For me, I touched a thought, I know, 
 Has tantalized me many times, 
 
 (Like turns of thread the spiders throw 
 Mocking across our path) for rhymes 
 
 To catch at and let go. 
 
 S. 
 
 Help me to hold it : first it left 
 The yellowing fennel, run to seed 
 
 There, branching from the brickwork's cleft, 
 Some old tomb's ruin : yonder weed 
 
 Took up the floating weft, 
 
TWO IN THE CAMPAGNA. 327 
 
 4. 
 
 Where one small orange cup amassed 
 
 Five beetles, — blind and green they grope 
 
 Among the honey-meal, — and last 
 Everywhere on the grassy slope 
 
 I traced it. Hold it fast ! 
 
 5. 
 
 The champaign with its endless fleece 
 
 Of feathery grasses everywhere ! 
 Silence and passion, joy and peace, 
 
 An everlasting wash of air — 
 Rome's ghost since her decease. 
 
 6. 
 
 Such life there, through such lengths of houn. 
 
 Such miracles performed in play, i 
 
 Such primal naked forms of flowers, 
 
 Such letting Nature have her way 
 While Heaven looks from its towers. 
 
 How say you ? Let us, O my dove, 
 Let us be unashamed of soul. 
 
 As earth lies bare to heaven abovb. 
 How is it under our control. 
 
 To love or not to love ? 
 
328 TWO IN THE CA3IPAGNA. 
 
 8. 
 
 I would that jou were all to me, 
 
 You that are just so much, no more — 
 
 Nor yours, nor mine, — nor slave nor free ! 
 Where does the fault lie ? what the core 
 
 Of the wound, since wound must be ? 
 
 9. 
 
 I would I could adopt your will. 
 See with your eyes, and set my heart 
 
 Beating by yours, and drink my fill 
 
 At your soul's springs, — your part, my pari 
 
 In Hfe, for good and ill. 
 
 10. 
 
 No. I yearn upward — touch you close, 
 riicn stand away. I kiss your cheek. 
 
 Catch your soul's warmth, — I pluck the rose 
 And love it more than tongue can speak — 
 
 Then the good minute goes. 
 
 11. 
 
 Already how am I so far 
 
 Out of that minute ? Must I go 
 
 Still like the thistle-ball, no bar, 
 
 Onward, whenever light winds blow, 
 
 Fixed by no friendly star ? 
 
TWO IN THE CAMPAGNA. - S29 
 
 12. 
 
 Just when I seemed about to learn I 
 Where is the thread now ? Off again ! 
 
 The old trick I Only I discern — 
 Infinite passion and the pain 
 
 Of finite hearts that jearo. 
 
A GKAMMARIAN'S FUNERAL. 
 
 [ Time — Shortly after the revival of learning in Europe.] 
 
 Lei us begin and Carry up this corpse, 
 
 Singing together. 
 Leave we 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 's not the 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 ; 
 
A grammarian's funeral. 331 
 
 No, yonder sparkle is the citaders 
 
 Circling its summit ! 
 Thither our path lies — wind we up the heights — 
 
 Wait ye the warning ? 
 Our low life was the level's and the night's ; 
 
 He 's for the morning ! 
 Step to a tune, square chests, erect the head, 
 
 '"Ware the beholders ! 
 This is our master, famous, calm, and dead. 
 
 Borne on our shoulders. 
 
 Sleep, crop and herd ! Sleep, darkling thorpe and croflj 
 
 Safe from the weather ! 
 He, whom we convoy to his grave aloft. 
 
 Singing together. 
 He was a man bom with thy face and throat, 
 
 Lyric Apollo ! 
 Long he lived nameless : how should spring take note 
 
 Winter would follow ? 
 Till lo, the little touch, and youth was gone ! 
 
 Cramped and diminished, 
 Moaned he, " New measures, other feet anon ! 
 
 My dance is finished ? " 
 No, that 's the world's way ! (keep the mountain-side. 
 
 Make for the city.) 
 He knew the signal, and stepped on with pride 
 
 Over men's pity ; 
 Left play for work, and grappled with the world 
 
 Bent on escaping : 
 
332 A grammarian's funeral. 
 
 " What 'a in the scroll," quoth he, " thou keepest furled ? 
 
 Show me their shaping, 
 Theirs, who most studied man, the bard and sage, — 
 
 Give ! " — So he gowned him. 
 Straight got by heart that book to its last page : 
 
 Learned, we found him ! 
 Yea, but we found him bald too — eyes like lead, 
 
 Accents uncertain : 
 " Time to taste life," another would have said, 
 
 " Up with the curtain ! " 
 This man said rather, " Actual life comes next ? 
 
 Patience a moment ! 
 Grant I have mastered learning's crabbed text, 
 
 StiU, there 's the comment. 
 Let me know all. Prate not of most or least, 
 
 Painful or easy : 
 Even to the crumbs I 'd fain eat up the feast^ 
 
 Ay, nor feel queasy ! " 
 Oh, such a life as he resolved to live, 
 
 When he had learned it, 
 When he had gathered all books had to give ; 
 
 Sooner, he spurned it I 
 Image the whole, then execute the parts — 
 
 Fancy the fabric 
 Quite, ere you build, ere steel strike fire from quarta, 
 
 Ere mortar dab brick I 
 
 (Here 's the town-gate reached : there 's the market-place 
 Gaping before us.) 
 
A grammarian's funeral. 333 
 
 Yea, this in him was the peculiar grace 
 
 (Hearten our chorus) 
 Still 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 Now 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 Httle rest ! " — not he I 
 
 (Caution redoubled ! 
 Step two a-breast, the way winds narrowly.) 
 
 Not a whit troubled. 
 Back to his studies, fresher than at first, 
 
 Fierce as a dragon 
 He, (soul-hydroptic with a sacred thirst) 
 
 Sucked at the flagon. 
 Oh, if we draw a circle premature. 
 
 Heedless of far gain, 
 Greedy for quick returns of profit, sure, 
 
 Bad is our bargain ! 
 Was it not great ? did he not throw on God, 
 
 (He loves the burthen) — 
 God's task to make ihe heavenly period 
 
 Perfect the earthen ? 
 
334 A grammarian's funeral. 
 
 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, has the world here — should he need the next, 
 
 Let the world mind him ! 
 This, throws himself on God, and unperplext 
 
 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 Hoti^s business — let it be I — 
 
 Properly based Oun — 
 Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic Z)e, 
 
 Dead from the waist down. 
 Well, here 's the platform, here 's the prop(».r place. 
 
 Hail to your purlieus 
 
A grammarian's funeral. 335 
 
 All ye higlifliers of the feathered race, 
 
 Swallows and curlews ! 
 Here 's the top-peak ! the multitude below 
 
 Live, for they can there. 
 This man decided not to Live 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 storm — 
 
 Peace let the dew send ! 
 Lofty designs must close in like eflfects : 
 
 Loftily lying, 
 Leave him — still loftier than the world suspecu* 
 
 Living and dying. 
 
ONE WAY OF LOVE. 
 
 1. 
 
 All June I bound the rose in sheaves. 
 Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves. 
 And strew them where Pauline may pass. 
 She will not turn aside ? Alas ! 
 Let them lie. Suppose they die ? 
 The chance was they might take her eye. 
 
 2. 
 
 How many a month I strove to suit 
 These stubborn fingers to the lute ! 
 To-day I venture all I know. 
 She will not hear my music ? So ! 
 Break the string — fold music's wing. 
 Suppose Pauline had bade me sing ! 
 
 3. 
 
 My whole life long I learned to love. 
 
 This hour my utmost art I prove 
 
 And speak my passion. — Heaven or hell ? 
 
 She will not give me heaven ? 'Tis well I 
 
 Lose who may — I still can say, 
 
 Those who win heaven, blest are they. 
 
ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. 
 
 1. 
 
 June was not over, 
 
 Though past the full, 
 And the best of her roses 
 Had yet to blow, 
 When a man I know 
 (But shall not discover, 
 
 Smce ears are dull. 
 And time discloses) 
 Turned him and said with a man's true air. 
 Half sighing a smile in a yawn, as 'twere, — 
 " If I tire of your June, will she greatly careF'^ 
 
 Well, Dear, in-doors with you I 
 
 True, serene deadness 
 Tries a man's temper. 
 
 What 's in the blossom 
 
 June wears on her bosom? 
 Can it clear scores with you ? 
 
 Sweetness and redness, 
 
 Eadem serrvper I 
 Gro, let me care for it greatly or slightly 1 
 22 
 
338 ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. 
 
 If June mends her bowers now, your hand left unsightlj 
 By plucking their roses, — my June will do rightly. 
 
 3. 
 
 And afte»* ^op pastime, 
 If June be refulgent 
 With flowers in completeness, 
 All petals, no prickles, 
 Delicious as trickles 
 Of wine poured at mass-time, — 
 And choose One indulgent 
 To redness and sweetness : 
 Or if, with experience of man and of spider, 
 She use my June-lightning, *he strong insect-ridder. 
 To stop the fresh spinning, — why, June will consider. 
 
« TRANSCENDENTALISM : * 
 
 A POEM IN TWELVE BOOKS. 
 
 Stop playing, poet ! may a brother speak ? 
 
 'Tis you speak, tliat 's your error. Song 's our art : 
 
 Whereas you please to speak these naked thoughts 
 
 Instead of draping them in sights and sounds. 
 
 — True thoughts, good thoughts, thoughts fit to treasure 
 
 up ! 
 But why such long prolusion and display. 
 Such turniag and adjustment of the harp, 
 And taking it upon your breast at length, 
 Only to speak dry words across its strings ? 
 Stark-naked thought is in request enough — 
 Speak prose and holloa it till Europe hears ! 
 The six-foot Swiss tube, braced about with bark, 
 Which helps the hunter's voice from Alp to Alp — 
 Exchange our harp for that, — who hinders you ? 
 
 But here's your fault; grown men want thought, you 
 think; 
 'bought 's what they mean by verse, and seek in verso * 
 
340 TRANSCENDENTALISM. 
 
 Boys seek for images and melody, 
 
 Men must have reason — so you aim at men. 
 
 Quite otherwise ! Objects throng our youth, 'tis truei 
 
 "We see and liear and do not wonder much. 
 
 If you could tell us what they mean, indeed ! 
 
 As Swedish Boehme never cared for plants 
 
 Until it happed, a -walking in the fields, 
 
 He noticed all at once that plants could speak, 
 
 Nay, turned with loosened tongue to talk with him. 
 
 That day the daisy had an eye indeed — 
 
 CoUoquised with the cowslip on such themes I 
 
 We find them extant yet in Jacob's prose. 
 
 But by the time youth slips a stage or two 
 
 While reading prose in that tough book he wrote, 
 
 (Collating, and emendating the same 
 
 And settling on the sense most to our mind) 
 
 We shut the clasps and find life's summer past 
 
 Then, who helps more, pray, to repair our loss — 
 
 Another Boehme with a tougher book 
 
 And subtler meanings of what roses say, — 
 
 Or some stout Mage like him of Halberstadt, 
 
 John, who made things Boehme wrote thoughts about ? 
 
 He wdth a " look you ! " vents a brace of rhymes, 
 
 And in there breaks the sudden rose herself, 
 
 Over us, under, round us every side, 
 
 ISTay, in and out the tables and the chairs 
 
 And musty volumes, Boehme's book and all, — 
 
 Buries us with a glory, young once more. 
 
 Pouring heaven into this shut house of life. 
 
TRANSCENDENTALISM. 841 
 
 So come, the harp back to your heart again ! 
 You are a poem, though your poem 's naught. 
 The best of all you did before, believe, 
 Was your own boy*s-face o'er the finer chords 
 Bent, following the cherub at the top 
 That points to God with his paired half-moon wings 
 
MISCONCEPTIONS. 
 
 1. 
 
 This is a spray the Bird clung to, 
 
 Making it blossom with pleasure, 
 Ere the high tree-top she sprung to. 
 
 Fit for her nest and her treasure. 
 
 Oh, what a hope beyond measure 
 Was the poor spray's, which the flying feet hung to,— « 
 
 So to be singled out, built in, and sung to ! 
 
 2. 
 This is a heart the Queen leant on, 
 
 Thrilled in a minute erratic, 
 Ere the true bosom she bent on, 
 
 Meet for love's regal dalmatic. 
 
 Oh, what a fancy ecstatic 
 Was the poor heart's, ere the wanderer went on — 
 
 Love to be saved for it, proffered to, spent on I 
 
ONE WORD MORE. 
 
 TO E. B. B. 
 
 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. 
 
 2. 
 
 Rafael made a century of sonnets, 
 
 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. 
 
 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 ? 
 
344 ONE WORD MORE. 
 
 3. 
 
 You and I would rather read that volume, 
 (Taken to his beating bosom by it) 
 Lean and list the bosom-beats of Rafael, 
 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. 
 
 4. 
 
 You and I will never read that volume. 
 
 Guido Reni, like his own eye's apple 
 
 Guarded long the treasure-book and loved it. 
 
 Guido Reni dying, all Bologna 
 
 Cried, and the world with it, " Ours — the treasure ! " 
 
 Suddenly, as rare things will, it vanished. 
 
 6. 
 
 Dante once prepared to paint an angel : 
 Whom to please ? You whisper " Beatrice." 
 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, 
 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, 
 Let the wretch go festering thro' Florence) — 
 
ONE WORD MORE. 34^ 
 
 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. 
 Says he — " Certain people of importance ** 
 (Such he gave his daily, dreadful line iK>) 
 Entered and would seize, forsooth, the ^oet 
 Says the poet — " Then I stopped my pai»tmg '* 
 
 6. 
 
 You and I would rather see that angel, 
 Painted by the tenderness of Dante, 
 Would we not ? — than read a fresh Inferno 
 
 7. 
 
 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. 
 
 8. 
 What of Rafael's sonnets, Dante's picture ? 
 
 9. 
 
 This : no artist lives and loves that longs not 
 Once, and only once, and for One only, 
 (Ah, the prize ! ) to find his love a language 
 Fit and fair and simple and sufficient — 
 
M6 ONE WORD MORE. 
 
 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. 
 
 So to be the man and leave the artist, 
 
 Save the man's joy, miss the artist's sorrow. 
 
 • 10. 
 
 Wherefore ? Heaven's gift takes earth's abatemtint ! 
 
 He who smites the rock and spreads the water, 
 
 Bidding drink and live a crowd beneath him, 
 
 Even he, the minute makes immortal, 
 
 Proves, perchance, his 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. 
 
 When they stood and mocked — " Shall smiting help 
 
 us?" 
 When they drank and sneered — "A stroke is easy I ** 
 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 savours of disrelish ; 
 Thus achievement lacks a gracious somewhat ; 
 O'er-importuned brows becloud the mandate, 
 
ONE WORD MORE. 347 
 
 Carelessness or consciousness, the gesture. 
 
 For he bears an ancient wrong about him, 
 
 Sees and knows again those phalanxed faces, 
 
 Hears, yet one time more, the 'customed prelude — 
 
 " How should'st 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 ** 
 
 11. 
 
 Oh, the crowd must have emphatic warrant I 
 Theirs, the Sinai-forehead's cloven brilhance, 
 Right-arm's rod-sweep, tongue's imperial fiat. 
 Never dares the man put off the prophet. 
 
 12. 
 
 Did he love one face from out the thousands, 
 (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 ; 
 Ready in the desert to deliver 
 (Kneeling down to let his breast be opened) 
 Hoard and life together for his mistress. 
 
 13. 
 
 I shall never, in the years remaining. 
 
 Paint you pictures, no, nor carve you statues. 
 
 Make you music that should all-express me ; 
 
348 ONE WORD MORE. 
 
 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 1 
 
 14. 
 Yet a semblance of resource avails us — 
 Shade so finely touched, love's sense must seize iL 
 Take these lines, look lovingly and nearly, 
 Lines I write the first time and the last time. 
 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 thro' bronze, may breathe thro' silver, 
 Fitly serenade a slumbrous princess. 
 He who writes, ma,y write for once, as I do. 
 
 15. 
 
 Love, you saw me gather men and women, 
 Live or dead or fashioned by my fancy, 
 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, 
 FTarshook, Cleon, Norbert and the fifty. 
 
ONE WORD MORE. 349 
 
 jLiet me speak this once in my true person, 
 
 Not as Lippo, Roland or Andrea, 
 
 Though the fruit of speech be just this sentence — 
 
 Pray you, look on these my men and women, 
 
 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. 
 
 16. 
 
 Not but that you know me ! Lo, the moon's self I 
 Here in London, yonder late in Florence, 
 Still we find her face, the thrice-transfigured. 
 Curving on a sky imbrued with colour, 
 Drifted over Fiesole by twilight. 
 Came she, our new crescent of a hair's-breadth* 
 Full she flared it, lamping Samminiato, 
 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 houseroofs, 
 Hurries with unhandsome thrift of silver, 
 Goes dispiritedly, — glad to finish. 
 
 17. 
 
 What, there 's nothing in the moon note-worthy ? 
 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) 
 
350 ONE WORD MORE. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 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 ice-berg 
 
 Swimming full upon the ship it founders. 
 
 Hungry with huge teeth of splintered chrjstals i 
 
 Proves 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, 
 
 Stand upon the paved-work of a sapphire. 
 
 Like the bodied heaven in his clearness 
 
 Shone the stone, the sapphire of that paved-wor<. 
 
 When they ate and drank and saw God also ! 
 
 18. 
 
 AVhat were seen ? None knows, none ever shall know* 
 
 Only this is sure — the sight were other. 
 
 Not the moon's same side, bom 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, 
 
 Qjie to show a woman when he loves her. 
 
ONE WORD MORE. 351 
 
 19. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 20. 
 
 Oh, their Rafael of the dear Madonnas, 
 Oh, their Dante of the dread Inferno, 
 "Wrote one song — and in my brain I sing it, 
 Drew one angel — borne, see, on my bosom I 
 
SORDELLO. 
 
 1840. 
 
TO J. MILSAND, OF DIJON. 
 
 Dear Friend: — 
 Let this poem be introduced by your name, and so repay 
 all trouble it ever cost me. I wrote it twenty-five years ago 
 for only a few, counting even in these on somewhat more 
 care about its subject than they really had. My own faults 
 of expression were many ; but with care for a man or book 
 such would be surmounted, and without it what avails the 
 faultlessness of either ? I blame nobody, least of all myself, 
 I who did my best then and since ; for I lately gave time and 
 ' pains to turn my work into what the many might — instead 
 of what the few must — like : but after all, I imagined an- 
 other thing at first, and therefore leave as I find it. The 
 historical decoration was purposely of no more importance 
 than a background requires ; and my stress lay on the inci- 
 dents in the development of a soul : little els e is worth study . 
 I, at least, always thought so, — you, with many known and 
 unkno wn t o me, think so, — others may one day think so : 
 and whether my attempt remain for them or not, I trust, 
 though away and past it, to continue ever yours, 
 
 R. B. 
 London, June 9, 1863. 
 
SORDELLO 
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 
 
 A QUIXOTIC ATTEMPT. 
 
 Who will, may hear Sordello's story told : 
 His story ? Who believes me shall behold 
 The man, pursue his fortunes to the end, 
 Like me : for as the friendless-people's friend 
 Spied from his hill-top once, despite the din 
 And dust of multitudes, Pentapolin 
 Named o' the Naked Arm, I single out 
 Sordello, compassed murkily about 
 With ravage of six long sad hundred years. 
 Only believe me. Ye believe ? 
 
 Appears 
 Verona . . • Never, I should warn you first, 
 Of my own choice had this, if not the worst 
 Yet not the best expedient, served to tell 
 A story I could body forth so well 
 By making speak, myself kept out of view, 
 The very man as he was wont to do, 
 
4 WHY THE POET HIMSELF ADDRESSES 
 
 And leaving you to say the rest for him. 
 Since, though 1 might be proud to see the dim 
 Abysmal Past divide its hateful surge, 
 Letting of all men this one man emerge 
 Because it pleased me, yet, that moment past, 
 T should delight in watching first to last 
 His progress as you watch it, not a whit 
 More in the secret than yourselves who sit 
 Fresh-chapleted to listen. But it seems 
 Tour setters-forth of unexampled themes, 
 Makers of quite new men, producing them, 
 Would best chalk broadly on each vesture's hem, 
 The wearer's quality ; or take their stand, 
 Motley on back and pointing-pole in hand, 
 Beside him. So, for once I face ye,! friends, 
 /TSummoned together from the world's four ends, 
 
 Dropped down from heaven or cast up from hell, 
 , To hear the story I propose to tell. 
 Confess now, poets know the dragnet's trick. 
 Catching the dead, if fate denies the quick. 
 And shaming her; 'tis not for fate to choose 
 Silence or song because she can refuse 
 Real eyes to glisten more, real hearts to ache 
 Less oft, real brows turn smoother for our sake: 
 I have experienced something of her spite ; 
 But there 's a realm wherein she has no right 
 And I have many lovers. Say, but few 
 Friends fate accords me ? Here they are : now view 
 The host I muster ! Many a lighted face 
 
HIS AUDIENCE, FEW LIVING, MANY DEAD. 
 
 Foul with no vestige of the grave's disgrace ; 
 
 What else should tempt them back to taste our air 
 
 Except to see how their successors fare ? 
 
 My audience ! and they sit, each ghostly man 
 
 Striving to look as living as he can. 
 
 Brother by breathing brother ; thou art set, 
 
 Clear-witted critic, by . . . but I '11 not fret 
 
 A wondrous soul of them, nor move death's spleen 
 
 Who loves not to unlock them. Friends ! I mean 
 
 The living in good earnest — ye elect 
 
 Chiefly for love — suppose not I reject 
 
 Judicious praise, who contrary shall peep, 
 
 Some fit occasion, forth, for fear ye sleep, 
 
 To glean your bland approvals. Then, appear, 
 
 Verona ! stay — thou, spirit, come not near 
 
 Now — not this time desert thy cloudy place 
 
 To scare me, thus employed, with that pure face ! 
 
 I need not fear this audience, I make free 
 
 With them, but then this is no place for thee ! 
 
 The thunder-phrase of the Athenian, grown 
 
 Up out of memories of Marathon, 
 
 Would echo like his own sword's griding screech 
 
 Braying a Persian shield, — the silver speech 
 
 Of Sidney's self, the starry paladin. 
 
 Turn intense as a trumpet sounding in 
 
 The knights to tilt, — wert thou to hear ! What heart 
 
 Have I to play my puppets, bear my part 
 
 Before these worthies ? 
 
 Lo, the Past is hurled 
 
6 SHELLEY DEPARTING, VERONA APPEARS. 
 
 In twain : up-thrust, out-staggering on the world, 
 
 Subsiding into shape, a darkness reai'S 
 
 Its outline, kindles at the core, appears 
 
 Verona. 'T is six hundred years and more 
 
 Since an event. The Second Friedrich wore 
 
 The purple, and the Third Honorius filled 
 
 The holy chair. That autumn eve was stilled : 
 
 A last remains of sunset dimly burned 
 
 O'er the far forests, like a torch-flame turned 
 
 By the wind back upon its bearer's hand 
 
 In one long flare of crimson ; as a brand, 
 
 The woods beneath lay black. A single eye 
 
 From all Verona cared for the soft sky. 
 
 But, gathering in its ancient market-place. 
 
 Talked group with restless group ; and not a face 
 
 But wrath made livid, for among them were 
 
 Death's stanch purveyors, such as have in care 
 
 To feast him. Fear had long since taken root 
 
 In every breast, and now these crushed its fruit, 
 
 The ripe hate, like a wine : to note the way 
 
 It worked while each grew drunk ! men grave and gray 
 
 Stood, with shut eyelids, rocking to and fro, 
 
 Letting the silent luxury trickle slow 
 
 About the hollows where a heart should be ; 
 
 But the young gulped with a delirious glee 
 
 Some foretaste of their first debauch in blood 
 
 At the fierce news : for, be it understood, 
 
 Envoys apprised Verona that her prince 
 
 Count Richard of Saint Boniface, joined since 
 
HOW HER GUELFS ARE DISCOMFITED. 
 
 A year with Azzo, Este's Lord, to thrust 
 Taurello Salinguerra, prime in trust 
 With Ecelin Romano, from his seat 
 Ferrara, — over zealous in the feat 
 And stumbling on a peril unaware, 
 "Was captive, trammelled in his proper snare, 
 They phrase it, taken by his own intrigue. 
 Immediate succor from the Lombard League 
 Of fifteen cities that affect the Pope, 
 For Azzo, therefore, and his fellow-hope 
 Of the Guelf cause, a glory overcast ! 
 Men's faces, late agape, are now aghast. 
 " Prone is the purple pavis ; Este makes 
 Mirth for the devil when he undertakes 
 To play the Ecelin ; as if it cost 
 Merely your pushing-by to gain a post 
 Like his ! The patron tells ye, once for all, 
 There be sound reasons that preferment fall 
 On our beloved "... 
 
 " Duke o' the Rood, why not ? ' 
 Shouted an Estian, " grudge ye such a lot ? 
 The hill-cat boasts some cunning of her own. 
 Some stealthy trick to better beasts unknown. 
 That quick with prey enough her hunger blunts. 
 And feeds her fat while gaunt the lion hunts." 
 
 "Taurello," quoth an envoy, " as in wane 
 Dwelt at Ferrara. Like an osprey fain 
 To fly but forced the earth his couch to make 
 Far inland, till his friend the tempest wake, 
 
8 WHY THEY ENTREAT THE LOMBARD LEAGUE, 
 
 Waits he the Kaiser's coming ; and as yet 
 
 That fast friend sleeps, and he too sleeps: but let 
 
 Only the billow freshen, and he snuffs 
 
 The aroused hurricane ere it enroughs 
 
 The sea it means to cross because of him. 
 
 Sinketh the breeze ? His hope-sick eye grows dim ; 
 
 Creep closer on the creature ! Every day 
 
 Strengthens the Pontiff; Ecelin, they say, 
 
 Dozes now at Oliero, with dry lips 
 
 Telling upon his perished finger-tips 
 
 How many ancestors are to depose 
 
 Ere he be Satan's Viceroy when the doze 
 
 Deposits him in hell. So, Guelfs rebuilt 
 
 Their houses ; not a drop of blood was spilt 
 
 When Cino Bocchimpane chanced to meet 
 
 Buccio Virtu — God's wafer, and the street 
 
 Is narrow ! Tutti Santi, think, a-swarm 
 
 With Ghibellins, and yet he took no harm ! 
 
 This could not last. Off Salinguerra went 
 
 To Padua, Podesta, ' with pure intent,' 
 
 Said he, ' my presence, judged the single bar 
 
 To permanent tranquillity, may jar 
 
 No longer ' — so ! his back is fairly turned ? 
 
 The pair of goodly palaces are burned, 
 
 The gardens ravaged, and our Guelfs laugh, drunk 
 
 A week with joy. The next, their laughter sunk 
 
 In sobs of blood, for they found, some strange way, 
 
 Old Salinguerra back again — I say, 
 
 Old Salinguerra in the town once more 
 
IN THEIR CHANGED FORTUNE AT PERRARA : 
 
 Uprooting, overturning, flame before, 
 
 Blood fetlock-high beneath him. Azzo fled ; 
 
 Who scaped the carnage followed ; then the dead 
 
 Were pushed aside from Salinguerra's throne, 
 
 He ruled once more Ferrara, all alone. 
 
 Till Azzo, stunned awhile, revived, would pounce 
 
 Coupled with Boniface, like lynx and ounce, 
 
 On the gorged bird. The burghers ground their teeth 
 
 To see troop after troop encamp beneath 
 
 I' the standing corn thick o'er the scanty patch 
 
 It took so many patient months to snatch 
 
 Out of the marsh ; while just within their walls 
 
 Men fed on men. At length Taurello calls 
 
 A parley : ' let the Count wind up the war ! * 
 
 Richard, light-hearted as a pkmging-star, 
 
 Agrees to enter for the kindest ends 
 
 Ferrara, flanked with fifty chosen friends, 
 
 No horse-boy more, for fear your timid sort 
 
 Should fly Ferrara at the bare report. 
 
 Quietly through the town they rode, jog-jog ; 
 
 ' Ten, twenty, thirty, — curse the catalogue 
 
 Of burnt Guelf houses ! Strange, Taurello shows 
 
 Not the least sign of life ' — whereat arose 
 
 A general growl : ' How ? With his victors by ? 
 
 I and my Veronese ? My troops and I ? 
 
 Receive us, w^as your word ? ' So jogged they on, 
 
 Nor laughed their host too openly : once gone 
 
 Into the trap ! — 
 
 Six hundred years ago ! 
 1* 
 
10 FOR THE TIMES GROW STORMY AGAIN. 
 
 Such the time's aspect and peculiar woe 
 
 (Yourselves may spell it yet in chronicles, 
 
 Albeit the worm, our busy brother, drills 
 
 His sprawling path through letters anciently 
 
 Made fine and large to suit some abbot's eye) 
 
 When the new HohenstaufFen dropped the mask. 
 
 Flung John of Brienne's favor from his casque. 
 
 Forswore crusading, had no mind to leave 
 
 Saint Peter's proxy leisure to retrieve 
 
 Losses to Otho" and to Barbaross, 
 
 Or make the Alps less easy to recross ; 
 
 And, thus confirming Pope Honorius' fear. 
 
 Was excommunicate that very year. 
 
 " The triple-bearded Teuton come to life ! " 
 
 Groaned the Great League ; and, arming for the strife, 
 
 Wide Lombardy, on tiptoe to begin. 
 
 Took up, as it was Guelf or Ghibellin, 
 
 Its cry ; what cry ? 
 
 " The Emperor to come ! '* 
 His crowd of feudatories, all and some. 
 That leapt down Avith a crash of swords, spears, shields, 
 One fighter on his fellow, to our fields. 
 Scattered anon, took station here and there. 
 And carried it, till now, with little care — 
 Cannot but cry for him ; how else rebut 
 Us longer ? Cliffs, an earthquake suffered jut 
 In the mid-sea, each domineering crest. 
 Nothing save such another throe can wrest 
 From out (conceive) a certain chokeweed grown 
 
THE GHIBELLINS' WISH : THE GUELFS' WISH. 11 
 
 Since o'er the waters, twine and tangle thrown 
 
 Too thick, too fast accumulating round, 
 
 Too sure to over-riot and confound 
 
 Ere long each brilliant islet with itself 
 
 Unless a second shock save shoal and shelf, 
 
 Whirling the sea-drift wide : alas, the bruised 
 
 And sullen wreck ! Sunlight to be diffused 
 
 For that ! Sunlight, 'neath which, a scum at first, 
 
 The million fibres of our chokeweed nurst 
 
 Dispread themselves, mantling the troubled main, 
 
 And, shattered by those rocks, took hold again. 
 
 So kindly blazed it — that same blaze to brood 
 
 O'er every cluster of the multitude 
 
 Still hazarding new clasps, ties, filaments, 
 
 An emulous exchange of pulses, vents 
 
 Of nature into nature ; till some gi'owth 
 
 Unfancied yet, exuberantly clothe 
 
 A surface solid now, continuous, one : 
 
 " The Pope, for us the People, who begun 
 
 The People, carries on the People thus, 
 
 To keep that Kaiser off and dwell with us ! ** 
 
 vSee you ? 
 
 Or say. Two Principles that live 
 Each fitly by its Representative. 
 " Hill-cat " — who called him so ? — the gracefullest 
 Adventurer, the ambiguous stranger-guest 
 Of Lombardy (sleek but that ruffling fur, 
 Those talons to their sheath !) whose velvet purr 
 Soothes jealous neighbors when a Saxon scout 
 
12 HOW ECELO'S HOUSE GREW HEAD OF THOSE, 
 
 — Arpo or Yoland, is it ? — one without 
 A country or a name, presumes to couch 
 Beside their noblest ; until men avouch 
 That, of all Houses in the Trevisan, 
 Conrad descries no fitter, rear or van. 
 
 Than Ecelo ! They laughed as they enrolled 
 
 That name at Milan on the page of gold, 
 
 Godego's lord, — Ramon, Marostica, 
 
 Cartiglion, Bassano, Loria, 
 
 And every sheep-cote on the Suabian's fief! 
 
 No laughter when his son, " the Lombard Chief" 
 
 Forsooth, as Barbarossa's path was bent 
 
 To Italy along the Vale of Trent, 
 
 Welcomed him at Roncaglia ! Sadness now — 
 
 The hamlets nested on the Tyrol's brow, 
 
 The Asolan and Euganean hills, 
 
 The Rhetian and the Julian, sadness fills 
 
 Them all, for P^celin vouchsafes to stay 
 
 Among and care about them ; day by day 
 
 Choosing this pinnacle, the other spot, 
 
 A castle building to defend a cot, 
 
 A cot built for a castle to defend, 
 
 Nothing but castles, castles, nor an end 
 
 To boasts how mountain ridge may join with ridge 
 
 By sunken gallery and soaring bridge. 
 
 He takes, in brief, a figure that beseems 
 
 The griesliest nightmare of the Church's dreams, 
 
 — A Signoiy firm-rooted, unestranged 
 From its old interests, and nowise changed 
 
AS AZZO LORD OF ESTE HEADS THESE. 13 
 
 By its new neighborhood ; perchance the vaunt 
 
 Of Otho, " my o^vn Este shall supplant 
 
 Your Este,'* come to pass. The sire led in 
 
 A son as cruel ; and this Ecelin 
 
 Had sons, in turn, and daughters sly and tall, 
 
 And curling and compliant ; but for all 
 
 Romano (so they styled him) throve, that neck 
 
 Of his so pinched and white, that hungry cheek 
 
 Proved 't was some fiend, not him, the man's-flesh went 
 
 To feed : whereas Romano's instrument, 
 
 Famous Taurello Salinguerra, sole 
 
 1' the world, a tree whose boughs were slipt the bole 
 
 Successively, why should not he shed bloc^ 
 
 To furtlier a design ? Men understood 
 
 Living was pleasant to liim as he wore 
 
 lEs careless surcoat, glanced some missive o'er, 
 
 Pro]iped on his truncheon in the public way. 
 
 While his lord lifted wa-ithen hands to pray, 
 
 Lost at Oliero's convent. 
 
 Hill-cats, face 
 With A5^zo, our Guelf Lion ! — nor disgrace 
 A worthiness conspicuous near and far 
 (Atii at Rome while free and consular, 
 Este at Padua who repulsed the Hun) 
 By trumpeting the Church's princely son 
 Styled Patron of Rovigo's Polesine, 
 Ancona's ISIarch, Ferrara's . . . ask, in fine. 
 Our chronicles, commenced when some old monk 
 Found it intolerable to be sunk 
 
14 COUNT Richard's palace at verona. 
 
 (Vexed to the quick by his revolting cell) 
 Quite out of summer while alive and well : 
 Ended when by his mat the Prior stood, 
 'Mid busy promptings of the brotherhood, 
 Striving to coax from his decrepit brains 
 The reason Father Porphyry took pains 
 To blot those ten lines out which used to stand 
 First on their charter drawn by Hildebrand. 
 
 The same night wears. Verona's rule of yore 
 Was vested in a certain Twenty-four ; 
 And while within his palace these debate 
 Concerning Richard and Ferrara's fate, 
 Glide we by clipping doors, with sudden glare 
 Of cressets vented on the dark, nor care 
 For aught that 's seen or heard until we shut 
 The smother in, the lights, all noises but 
 The carroch's booming : safe at last ! Why strange 
 Such a recess should lurk behind a range 
 Of banquet-rooms ? Your finger — thus — you push 
 A spring, and the wall opens, would you rush 
 Upon the banqueters, select your prey. 
 Waiting, the slaughter-weapons in the way 
 Strewing this very bench, with sharpened ear 
 A preconcerted signal to appear ; 
 Or if you simply crouch with beating heart, 
 Bearing in some voluptuous pageant part 
 To startle them. Nor mutes nor masquers now ; 
 Nor any . . . does that one man sleep whose brow 
 The dying lamp-flame sinks and rises o'er ? 
 
OF THE COUPLE FOUND THEREIN, 15 
 
 What woman stood beside him ? not the more 
 
 Is he unfastened from the earnest eyes 
 
 Because that arras fell between ? Her wise 
 
 And lulling Avords are yet about the room, 
 
 Her presence wholly poured upon the gloom 
 
 Down even to her vesture's creeping stir. 
 
 And so reclines he, saturate with her, 
 
 Until an outcry from the square beneath 
 
 Pierces the charm : he springs up, glad to breathe 
 
 Above the cunning element, and shakes 
 
 The stupor off as (look you) morning breaks 
 
 On tlie gay dress, and, near concealed by it. 
 
 The lean frame like a half-burnt taper, lit 
 
 Erst at some marriage-feast, then laid away 
 
 Till the Armenian bridegroom's dying-day. 
 
 In his wool wedding-robe. For he — for he, 
 
 Gate-vein of this hearts' blood of Lombardy, 
 
 (If I should falter now) — for he is Thine ! 
 
 Sordello, tliy forerunner, Florentine ! 
 
 A herald-star I know thou didst absorb 
 
 Relentless into the consummate orb 
 
 That scared it from its right to roll along 
 
 A sempiternal path with dance and song 
 
 Fulfilling its allotted period, 
 
 Serenest of the progeny of God ! 
 
 Wlio yet resigns it not ; His darling stoops 
 
 With no quenched lights, desponds with no blank troops 
 
 Of disenfranchised brilliances, for, blent 
 
 Utterly with thee, its shy element 
 
1 n ONE BELONGS TO DANTE ; HIS BIRTHPLACE. 
 
 Like tliine upburneth prosperous and clear. 
 
 Still, what li' 1 approach the august sphere 
 
 Named now with only one name, disentwine 
 
 That under-current soft and argentine 
 
 From its fierce mate in the majestic mass 
 
 Leavened as the sea whose fire -was mixt with glass 
 
 In John's transcendent vision, — launch once more 
 
 That lustre ? Dante, pacer of the shore 
 
 Where glutted hell disgorgeth filthiest gloom, 
 
 Unbitten by its whirring sulphur-spume — 
 
 Or whence the grieved and obscure waters slope 
 
 Li to a darkness quieted by hope ; 
 
 Plucker of amaranths grown beneath God's eye 
 
 In gracious twilights where His chosen lie, 
 
 I would do tliis ! if I should falter now ! 
 
 In Mantua-territory half is slough 
 Half pine-tree forest ; maples, scarlet-oaks 
 Breed o'er the river-beds ; even Mincio chokes 
 With sand the summer through ; but 't is morass 
 In winter up to Mantua walls. There was. 
 Some thirty years before this evening's coil. 
 One spot reclaimed from the surrounding spoil, 
 Goito ; just a castle built amid 
 A few low mountains ; firs and larches hid 
 Their main defiles, and rings of vineyard bound 
 The rest. Some captured creature in a pound, 
 Whose artless wonder quite precludes distress, 
 Secui'e beside in its own loveliness, 
 So peered with airy head, below, above, 
 
 I 
 
A VAULT INSIDE THE CASTLE OF GOITO» 17 
 
 The castle at its toils, the lapwings love 
 
 To glean among at grape-time. Pass within. 
 
 A maze of corridors contrived for sin, 
 
 Dusk winding-stairs, dim galleries got past, 
 
 You gain the inmost chambers, gain at last 
 
 A maple-panelled room : that haze which seems 
 
 Floating about the panel, if there gleams 
 
 A sunbeam over it, will turn to gold 
 
 And in light-graven characters unfold 
 
 The Arab's wisdom everywhere ; what shade 
 
 Marred them a moment, those slim pillars made, 
 
 Cut like a company of palms to prop 
 
 The roof, each kissing top entwined with top, 
 
 Leaninor toj^ether ; in the carver's mind 
 
 Some knot of bacchanals, flushed cheek combined 
 
 With straining forehead, shoulders purpled, hair 
 
 Diffused between, who in a goat-skin bear 
 
 A vintage ; graceful sister-palms ! But quick 
 
 To the main wonder, now. A vault, see ; thick 
 
 Black shade about the ceiling, though fine slits 
 
 Across the buttress suffer light by fits 
 
 Upon a marvel in the midst. Nay, stoop — 
 
 A dullish gray-streaked cumbrous font, a group 
 
 Eound it, each side of it, where'er one sees. 
 
 Upholds it — shrinking Caryatides 
 
 Of just-tinged marble like Eve's lilied flesh 
 
 Beneath her Maker's finger when the fresh 
 
 First pulse of life shot brightening the snow. 
 
 The font's edge burdens every shoulder, so 
 
IS AND WHAT SORDELLO WOULD SEE THERE. 
 
 They muse upon the ground, eyelids half closed ; 
 
 Some, with meek arms behind their backs disposed, 
 
 Some, crossed above their bosoms, some, to veil 
 
 Their eyes, some, propping chin and cheek so pale, 
 
 Some, hanging slack an utter helpless length 
 
 Dead as a buried vestal whose whole strength 
 
 Goes when the grate above shuts heavily. 
 
 So dwell these noiseless girls, patient to see, 
 
 Like priestesses because of sin impure 
 
 penanced for ever, who resigned endure, 
 
 Having tLat once drunk sweetness to the aregs. 
 
 And every eve, Sordello's visit begs 
 
 Pardon for them : constant as eve he came 
 
 To sit beside each in her turn, the same 
 
 As one c** them, a certain space : and awe 
 
 Made a great indistinctness till he saw 
 
 Sunset slant cheerful through the buttress-chinks, 
 
 Gold seven times globed ; surely our maiden shrinks 
 
 And a smile stirs her as if one faint grain 
 
 Her load were lightened, one shade less the stain 
 
 Obscured her forehead, yet one more bead 4glipt 
 
 From off the rosary whereby the crypt 
 
 Keeps count of the contritions of its charge ? 
 
 Then with a step more light, a heart more large. 
 
 He may depart, leave her and every one 
 
 To linger out the penance in mute stone. 
 
 Ah, but Sordello ? 'T is the tale I mean 
 
 To tell you. In this castle may be seen, 
 
 On the hill-tops, or underneath the vines, 
 
HIS BOYHOOD IN THE DOMAIN OF ECELIN. 19 
 
 Or eastward by the mound of firs and pines 
 That shuts out Mantua, still in loneliness, 
 A slender boy in a loose page's dress, 
 Sordello : do but look on him awhile 
 "Watching ('t is autumn) with an earnest smile 
 The noisy flock of thievish birds at work 
 A.mong the yello^ving vineyards ; see him lurk 
 ('T is winter with its sullenest of storms) 
 Beside that arras-length of broidered forms, 
 On tiptoe, lifting in both hands a light 
 Which makes yon warrior's visage flutter bright 
 
 — Ecelo, dismal father of the brood. 
 And Ecelin, close to the girl he wooed, 
 Auria, and their Child, with all his wives 
 From Agnes to the Tuscan that survives. 
 Lady of the castle, Adelaide. His face 
 
 — Look, now he turns away ! Yourselves shall trace 
 (The delicate nostril swerving wide and fine, 
 
 A sharp and restless lip, so well combine 
 With that calm brow) a soul fit to receive 
 Delight at every sense ; you can believe 
 Sordello foremost in the regal class 
 Nature has broadly severed from her mass 
 Of men, and framed for pleasure, as she frames 
 Some happy lands, that have luxurious names, 
 For loose fertility ; a footfall there 
 Suffices to upturn to the warm air 
 Half-germinating spices ; mere decay 
 Produces richer life ; and day by day 
 
20 HOW A poet's soul comes into plat. 
 
 New pollen on the lily-petal grows, 
 
 And still more labyrinthine buds the rose. 
 
 You recognize at once the finer dress 
 
 Of flesh that amply lets in loveliness 
 
 At eye and ear, while round the rest is furled 
 
 (As though she would not trust them with her world) 
 
 A veil that shows a sky not near so blue, 
 
 And lets but half the sun look fervid through. 
 
 How can such love ? — like souls on each full-fraught 
 
 Discovery brooding, blind at first to aught 
 
 Beyond its beauty, till exceeding love 
 
 Becomes an aching weight ; and, to remove 
 
 A curse that haunts such natures — to preclude 
 
 Their finding out themselves can work no good 
 
 To what they love nor make it very blest 
 
 By their endeavor, — they are fain invest 
 
 The lifeless thing with life from their own soul, 
 
 AvaiUng it to purpose, to control, 
 
 To dwell distinct and have peculiar joy 
 
 And separate interests that may employ 
 
 That beauty fitly, for its proper sake. 
 
 Nor rest they here ; fresh births of beauty wake 
 
 Fresh homage, every grade of love is past, 
 
 "With every mode of loveliness : then cast 
 
 Inferior idols off their borrowed crown 
 
 Before a coming glory. Up and down 
 
 Runs arrowy fire, while earthly forms combine 
 
 To throb the secret forth ; a touch divine — 
 
 And the scaled eyeball owns the mystic rod : 
 
WHAT DENOTES SUCH A SOUL*S PROGRESS. 21 
 
 Visibly through His garden walketh God. 
 
 So fare they. Now revert. One character 
 
 Denotes them through the progress and the stir, — 
 
 A need to blend ^vith each external charm, 
 
 Bury themselves, the whole heart wide and warm, 
 
 In something not themselves ; they would belong 
 
 To what they worship — stronger and more strong 
 
 Thus prodigally fed — which gathers shape 
 
 And feature, soon imprisons past escape 
 
 The votary framed to love and to submit 
 
 Nor ask, as passionately he kneels to it. 
 
 Whence grew the idol's empery. So runs 
 
 A legend : light had birth ere moons and suns, 
 
 Flowing through space a river and alone. 
 
 Till chaos burst and blank the spheres were strown 
 
 Hither and thither, foundering and bhnd. 
 
 When into each of them rushed light — to find 
 
 Itself no place, foiled of its radiant chance. 
 
 Let such forego their just inheritance ! 
 
 For there 's a class that eagerly looks, too, 
 
 On beauty, but, unlike the gentler crew. 
 
 Proclaims each new revealment bom a twin 
 
 With a distinctest consciousness within 
 
 Referring still the quality, now first 
 
 Revealed, to their own soul — its instinct nursed 
 
 In silence, now remembered better, shown 
 
 More thoroughly, but not the less their own ; 
 
 A dream come true ; the special exercise 
 
 Of any special function that implies 
 
22 HOW POETS CLASS AT LENGTH FOR HONOR, 
 
 The being fair, or good, or wise, or strong, 
 Dormant within their nature all along — 
 Whose fault ? So, homage, other souls direct 
 Without, turns inward ; " How should this deject 
 Thee, soul?" they murmur; "wherefore strength 
 
 quelled 
 Because, its trivial accidents withheld, 
 Organs are missed that clog the world, inert. 
 Wanting a will, to quicken and exert, 
 Like thine — existence cannot satiate, 
 Cannot surprise ? laugh thou at envious fate. 
 Who, from earth's simplest combination stampt 
 With individuality — uncrampt 
 By living its faint elemental life, 
 Dost soar to heaven's complexest essence, rife 
 With grandeurs, unaffronted to the last, 
 Equal to being all ! " 
 
 In truth ? Thou hast 
 Life, then — wilt challenge life for us : our race 
 Is vindicated so, obtains its place 
 In thy ascent, the first of us ; whom we 
 May follow, to the meanest, finally, 
 With our more bounded wills ? 
 
 Ah, but to find 
 A certain mood enervate such a mind. 
 Counsel it slumber in the solitude 
 Thus reached nor, stooping, task for mankind's good 
 lis nature just as life and time accord 
 *' — Too narrow an arena to reward 
 
OR SHAME WHICH MAY THE GODS AVEKT 
 
 Emprize — the world's occasion worthless since 
 
 Not absolutely fitted to evince 
 
 Its masteiy ! " Or if yet worse befall, 
 
 And a desire possess it to put all 
 
 That nature forth, forcing our straitened sphere 
 
 Contain it, — to display completely here 
 
 The mastery another life should learn, 
 
 Thrusting in time eternity's concern, — 
 
 So that Sordello . . . Fool, who spied-the mark 
 
 Of leprosy upon him, violet-dark 
 
 Already as he loiters ? Born just now, 
 
 Witli the new century, beside the glow 
 
 And efflorescence out of barbarism ; 
 
 Witness a Greek or two from the abysm 
 
 That stray through Florence-town with studious air, 
 
 Calming the chisel of that Pisan pair : 
 
 If Nicolo should carve a Christus yet ! 
 
 While at Siena is Guidone set. 
 
 Forehead on hand ; a painful birth must be 
 
 Matured ere Saint Eufemia's sacristy 
 
 Or transept gather fruits of one great gaze 
 
 At the moon : look you ! The same orange haze, — 
 
 The same Blue stripe round that — and, i' the midst, 
 
 Thy spectral whiteness. Mother-maid, who didst 
 
 Pursue the dizzy painter ! 
 
 Woe, then, worth 
 Any officious babble letting forth 
 The leprosy confirmed and ruinous 
 To spirit lodged in a contracted house ! 
 
24 FROM SORDELLO, NOW IN CHILDHOOD. 
 
 Go back to the beginning, rather ; blend 
 
 It gently with Sordello's life ; the end 
 
 Is piteous, you may see, but much between 
 
 Pleasant enough. Meantime, some pyx to screen 
 
 The full-grown pest, some lid to shut upon 
 
 The goblin ! So they found at Babylon, 
 
 (Colleagues, mad Lucius and sage Antonine) 
 
 Sacking the city, by Apollo's shrine, 
 
 In rummaging among the rarities, 
 
 A certain coffer ; he who made the prize 
 
 Opened it greedily ; and out there curled 
 
 Just such another plague, for half the world 
 
 Was stung. Crawl in then, hag, and couch asquat, 
 
 Keeping that blotchy bosom thick in spot 
 
 Until your time is ripe ! The coffer-lid 
 
 Is fastened, and the coffer safely hid 
 
 Under the Loxian's choicest gifts of gold. 
 
 Who will may hear Sordello's story told, 
 And how he never could remember when 
 He dwelt not at Goito. Calmly, then, 
 About this secret lodge of Adelaide's 
 Glided his youth away ; beyond the glades 
 On the fir-forest's border, and the rim 
 Of the low range of mountain, was for him 
 No other world : but this appeared his own 
 To wander through at pleasure and alone. 
 The castle too seemed empty ; far and wide 
 Might he disport ; only the northern side 
 Lay under a mysterious interdict — 
 
THE DELIGHTS OF HIS CHILDISH FANCY, 25 
 
 Slight, just enough remembered to restrict 
 His roaming to the corridors, the vault 
 Where those font-bearers expiate their fault, 
 The maple-chamber, and the little nooks 
 And nests, and breezy parapet that looks 
 Over the woods to Mantua : there he strolled. 
 Some foreign women-servants, very old, 
 Tended and crept about him — all his clew 
 To the world's business and embroiled ado 
 Distant a dozen hill-tops at the most. 
 
 And first a simple sense of life engrossed 
 Sordello in liis drowsy Paradise ; 
 The day's adventures for the day suffice — 
 Its constant tribute of perceptions strange. 
 With sleep and stir in healthy interchange. 
 Suffice, and leave him for the next at ease 
 Like the great palmer-worm that strips the trees, 
 Eats the life out of every luscious plant. 
 And, when September finds them sere or scant. 
 Puts forth two wondrous winglets, alters quite. 
 And hies him after unforeseen delight. 
 So fed Sordello, not a shard disheathed ; 
 As ever, round each new discovery, wreathed 
 Luxuriantly the fancies infantine 
 His admiration, bent on making fine 
 Its novel friend at any risk, would fling 
 In gay pix)fusion forth : a ficklest king, 
 Confessed those minions ! Eager to dispense 
 So much from his own stock of thought and sense 
 
26 WHICH COULD BLOW OUT A GREAT BUBBLE, 
 
 As might enable each to stand alone 
 And serve him for a fellow ; with his own, 
 Joining the qualities that just before 
 Had graced some older favorite. Thus they wore 
 A fluctuating halo, yesterday- 
 Set flicker and to-morrow filched away, — 
 Those upland objects each of separate name. 
 Each with an aspect never twice the same. 
 Waxing and waning as the new-born host 
 Of fancies, like a single night's hoar-frost, 
 Gave to familiar things a face grotesque ; 
 Only, preserving through the mad burlesque 
 A grave regard. Conceive ! the orpine-patch 
 Blossoming earliest on the log-house-thatch 
 The day those archers wound along the vines — 
 Related to the Chief that left their lines 
 To climb with clinking step the northern stair 
 Up to the solitary chambers where 
 Sordello never came. Thus thrall reached thrall ; 
 He o'er-festooning every interval, 
 As the adventurous spider, making light 
 Of distance, shoots her threads from depth to height, 
 From barbican to battlement ; so flung 
 Fantasies forth and in their centre swunj? 
 Our architect, — the breezy morning fresh 
 Above, and merry, — all his waving mesh 
 Laughing with lucid dew-drops rainbow-edged. 
 This world of ours by tacit pact is pledged 
 To laying such a spangled fabric low 
 
BEING SECURE AWHILE FROM INTRUSION. 27 
 
 Wliether by gradual brush or gallant blow. 
 
 But its abundant will was balked here : doubt 
 
 Rose tardily in one so fenced about 
 
 From most that nurtures judgment, care and pain: 
 
 Judgment, that dull expedient we are fain, 
 
 Less favored, to adopt betimes and force 
 
 Stead us, diverted from our natural course 
 
 Of joys, — contrive some yet amid the dearth, 
 
 Vary and render them, it may be, worth 
 
 Most we forego. Suppose Sordello hence 
 
 Selfish enough, without a moral sense 
 
 However feeble ; what informed the boy 
 
 Others desired a portion in his joy ? 
 
 Or say a ruthful chance broke woof and warp — 
 
 A heron's nest beat down by March winds sharp, 
 
 A fawn breathless beneath the precipice, 
 
 A bird with unsoiled breast and filmless eyes 
 
 Warm in the brake — could these undo the trance 
 
 Lapping Sordello ? Not a circumstance 
 
 That makes for you, friend Naddo ! Eat fern-seed 
 
 And peer beside us and report indeed 
 
 If (your word) " genius " dawned with throes and 
 
 stings 
 And the whole fiery catalogue, while springs 
 Summers and winters quietly came and went. 
 
 Time put at length that period to content. 
 By right the world should have imposed : bereft 
 Of its good offices, Sordello, left 
 To study his companions, managed rip 
 
28 BUT IT COMES ; AND NEW-BORN JUDGMENT 
 
 Their fringe off, learn the true relationship, 
 
 Core with its crust, their natures with his own : 
 
 Amid his wild-wood sights he lived alone. 
 
 As if the poppy felt with him ! Though he 
 
 Partook the poppy's red effrontery 
 
 Till Autumn spoiled their fleering quite* with rain, 
 
 And, turbanless, a coarse brown rattling crane 
 
 Lay bare. That 's gone ! Yet why renounce, for 
 
 that, 
 His disenchanted tributaries — flat 
 Perhaps, but scarce so utterly forlorn. 
 Their simple presence might not well be borne 
 Whose parley was a transport once : recall 
 The poppy's gifts, it flaunts you, after all, 
 A poppy : why distrust the evidence 
 Of each soon satisfied and healthy sense ? 
 The new-born judgment answered : " little boots 
 Beholding other creatures' attributes 
 And having none ! " or, say that it sufficed, 
 " Yet, could one but possess, one's self," (enticed 
 Judgment) " some special office ! " Naught beside 
 Serves you ? " Well, then, be somehow justified 
 For this ignoble wish to circumscribe 
 And concentrate, rather than swell, the tribe 
 Of actual pleasures : what, now, from without 
 Effects it ? — proves, despite a lurking doubt. 
 Mere sympathy sufficient, trouble spared ? 
 That tasting joys by proxy thus, you fared 
 The better for them ? " Thus much craved his soul. 
 
DECIDES THAT HE NEEDS SYMPATHIZERS. 29 
 
 Alas, from the beginning love is whole 
 
 And true ; if sure of naught beside, most sure 
 
 Of its own truth at least ; nor may endure 
 
 A crowd to see its face, that cannot know 
 
 How hot the pulses throb its heart below. 
 
 While its own helplessness and utter want 
 
 Of means to worthily be ministrant 
 
 To what it worships, do but fan the more 
 
 Its flame, exalt the idol far before 
 
 Itself as it would have it ever be. 
 
 Souls like Sordello, on the contrary, 
 
 Coerced and put to shame, retaining will, 
 
 Care little, take mysterious comfort still, 
 
 But look forth tremblingly to ascertain 
 
 If others judge their claims not urged in vain, 
 
 And say for them their stifled thou^^^ts aloud. 
 
 So, they must ever live before a crowd : 
 
 — " Vanity," Naddo tells you. 
 
 Whence contrive 
 A crowd, now ? From these women just alive, 
 That archer-troop ? Forth glided — not alone 
 Each painted warrior, every girl of stone. 
 Nor Adelaide (bent double o'er a scroll. 
 One maiden at her knees, that eve, his soul 
 Shook as he stumbled through the arras'd glooms 
 On them, for, 'mid quaint robes and weird perfumes. 
 Started the meagre Tuscan up, — her eyes, 
 The maiden's, also, bluer with surprise) 
 
 — But the entire out-world : whatever, scraps 
 
30 HE THEREFORE CREATES SUCH A COMPANt 
 
 And snatches, song and story, dreams perhaps, 
 
 Conceited the world's offices, and he 
 
 Had hitherto transferred to flower or tree, 
 
 Nor counted a befitting heritage 
 
 Each, of its own right, singly to engage 
 
 Some man, no other, — such now dared to stand 
 
 Alone. Strength, wisdom, grace on every hand 
 
 Soon disengaged themselves, and he discerned 
 
 A sort of human life . at least, was turned 
 
 A stream of lifelike figures through his brain. 
 
 Lord, liegeman, valvassor and suzerain. 
 
 Ere he could choose, surrounded liim ; a stuff 
 
 To work his pleasure on ; there, sure enough : 
 
 But as for gazing, what shall fix that gaze ? 
 
 Are they to simply testify the ways 
 
 He who convoked them sends his soul along 
 
 With the cloud's thunder or a dove's brood-song? 
 
 — While they live each his life, boast each his own 
 
 Peculiar dower of bliss, stand each alone 
 
 In some one point where something dearest loved 
 
 Is easiest gained — far worthier to be proved 
 
 Than aught he envies in the forest-wights ! 
 
 No simple and self-evident delights. 
 
 But mixed desires of unimagined range. 
 
 Contrasts or combinations, new and strange, 
 
 Irksome perhaps, yet plainly recognized 
 
 By this, the sudden company — loves prized 
 
 By those who are to prize his own amount 
 
 Of loves. Once care because such make account, 
 
EACH OF WHICH, LEADING ITS OWN LIFE, 31 
 
 Allow a foreign recognition stamp 
 
 The current value, and liis crowd shall vamp 
 
 Him counterfeits enough ; and so their print 
 
 Be on the piece, 't is gold, attests the mint, 
 
 And " good," pronounce they whom his new appeal 
 
 Is made to : if their casual print conceal — 
 
 This arbitrary good of theirs o'ergloss 
 
 What he have lived without, nor felt the loss — 
 
 Qualities strange, ungainly, wearisome, 
 
 — What matter ? so must speech expand the dumb 
 
 Part-sigh, part-smile with which Sordello, late 
 
 No foolish woodland-sights could satiate, 
 
 Betakes himself to study hungrily 
 
 Just what the puppets his crude fantasy 
 
 Supposes notablest, popes, kings, priests, knights, 
 
 May please to promulgate for appetites ; 
 
 Accepting all their artificial joys 
 
 Not as he views them, but as he employs 
 
 Each shape to estimate the other's stock 
 
 Of attributes, that on a marshalled flock 
 
 Of authorized enjoyments he may spend 
 
 Himself, be men, now, as he used to blend 
 
 With tree and flower — nay more entirely, else 
 
 'T were mockery : for instance, " how excels 
 
 My life that chieftain's ? " (who apprised the you^a 
 
 Ecelin, here, becomes this month, in truth. 
 
 Imperial Vicar ?) " Turns he in his tent 
 
 Remissly ? Be it so — my head is bent 
 
 Delidously amid my girls to sleep. 
 
32 HAS QUALITIES IMPOSSIBLE TO A BOY, 
 
 What if he stalks the Trentine-pass ? Yon steep 
 I climbed an hour ago with little toil — 
 We are alike there. But can I, too, foil 
 The Guelfs' paid stabber, carelessly afford 
 Saint Mark's a spectacle, the sleight o' the sword 
 Baffling their project in a moment ? " Here 
 No rescue ! Poppy he is none, but peer 
 To Ecelin, assuredly : his hand. 
 Fashioned no otherwise, should wield a brand 
 With Ecelin's success — try, now ! He soon 
 Was satisfied, returned as to the moon 
 From earth ; left each abortive boy's-attempt 
 For feats, from failure happily exempt. 
 In fancy at his beck. " One day I will ' 
 
 Accomplish it ! Are they not older stUl 
 — Not grown up men and women ? 'T is beside 
 Only a di-eam ; and though I must abide 
 With dreams now, I may find a thorough vent 
 For all myself, acquire an instrument 
 For acting what these people act ; my soul 
 Hunting a body out, may gain its whole 
 Desire some day ! " How else express chagrin 
 And resignation, show the hope steal in 
 With which he let sink from an aching wrist 
 The rough-hewn ash bow? straight, a gold shaft hissed 
 Into the Syrian air, struck Malek down 
 Superbly ! '' Crosses to the breach ! God's Town 
 Is gained Him back ! " Why bend rough ash-bows 
 more? 
 
so, ONLY TO BE APPROPRIATED IN FANCY, 33 
 
 Thus lives he : if not careless as before, 
 Comforted : for one may anticipate, 
 Rehearse the Future, be prepared when fate 
 Shall have prepared in turn real men whose names 
 Startle, real places of enormous fames, 
 Este abroad and Ecelin at home 
 To worship him, — Mantua, Verona, Rome 
 To witness it. Who grudges time so spent ? 
 Rather test qualities to heart's content — 
 Summon them, thrice selected, near and far — 
 Compress the starriest into one star, 
 And grasp the whole at once ! 
 
 The pageant thinned 
 Accordingly ; from rank to rank, like wind 
 His spirit passed to ^vinnow and divide ; 
 Back fell the simpler phantasms ; every side 
 Tlie strong clave to the wise ; with either classed 
 The beauteous ; so, till two or three amassed 
 Mankind's beseemingn esses, and reduced 
 Themselves eventually, graces loosed. 
 And lavished strengths, to heighten up One Shape 
 Whose potency no creature should escape. 
 Can it be Friedrich of the bowmen's talk ? 
 Surely that grape-juice, bubbling at the stalk, 
 Is some gray scorching Saracenic wine 
 The Kaiser quaffs with the Miramoline — 
 Those swarthy hazel-clusters, seamed and chapped, 
 Or filberts russet-sheathed and velvet-ciipped. 
 Are dates plucked from the bough John Brienne sent, 
 2* c 
 
34 AND PRACTISED ON TILL THE REAL COME. 
 
 To keep in mind his sluggish armament 
 
 Of Canaan. — Friedrieh's, all the pomp and fierce 
 
 Demeanor ! But harsh sounds and sights transpierce 
 
 So rarely the serene cloud where he dwells, 
 
 Whose looks enjoin, whose lightest words are spells 
 
 On the obdurate ! That right arm indeed 
 
 Has thunder for its slave ; but where 's the need 
 
 Of thunder if the stricken multitude 
 
 Hearkens, arrested in its angriest mood, 
 
 While songs go up exulting, then dispread, 
 
 Dispart, disperse, lingering overhead 
 
 Like an escape of angels ? 'T is the tune, 
 
 Nor much unlike the words the women croon 
 
 Smilingly, colorless and faint-designed 
 
 Each, as a worn-out queen's face some remind 
 
 Of her extreme youth's love-tales. " Eglamor 
 
 Made that ! " Half minstrel and half emperor, 
 
 What but ill objects vexed him ? Such he slew. 
 
 The kinder sort were easy to subdue 
 
 By those ambrosial glances, dulcet tones ; 
 
 And these a gracious hand advanced to thrones 
 
 Beneath him. Wherefore twist and torture this, 
 
 Striving to name afresh the antique bliss, 
 
 Instead of saying, neither less nor more, 
 
 He had discovered, as our world before, 
 
 Apollo ? That shall be the name ; nor bid 
 
 Me rag by rag expose how patchwork hid 
 
 The youth — what thefts of every clime and day 
 
 Contributed to purfle the array 
 
HE MEANS TO BE PERFECT SAY, APOLLO: 35 
 
 He climbed with (June at deep) some close ravine 
 
 'Mid clatter of its million pebbles sheen, 
 
 Over which, singing soft, the runnel slipt 
 
 Elate with rains : into whose streamlet dipt 
 
 He foot, yet trod, you thought, with unwet sock — 
 
 Though really on the stubs of li^ang rock 
 
 Ages ago it crenneled ; vines for roof, 
 
 Lindens for wall ; before him, aye aloof. 
 
 Flittered in the cool some azure damsel-fly, 
 
 Bom of the simmering quiet, there to die. 
 
 Emerging whence, Apollo still, he spied 
 
 Mighty descents of forest ; multiplied 
 
 Tuft on tuft, here, the frolic myrtle-trees, 
 
 There gendered the grave maple-stocks at ease. 
 
 And, proud of its observer, strait the wood 
 
 Tried old surprises on him ; black it stood 
 
 A sudden barrier ('t was a cloud passed o*er) 
 
 So dead and dense, the tiniest brute no more 
 
 Must pass ; yet presently (the cloud despatched) 
 
 Each dump, behold, was glistering detached 
 
 A shrub, oak-boles shrunk into ilex-stems ! 
 
 Yet could not he denounce the stratagems 
 
 He saw thro', tiU, houi-s thence, aloft would hang 
 
 White summer-lightnings ; as it sank and sprang 
 
 To measure, that whole palpitating breast 
 
 Of heaven,* 't was Apollo, nature prest 
 
 At eve to worship. 
 
 Time stole : by degrees 
 The Pythons perish off; his votaries 
 
36 AND APOLLO MUST ONE DAY FIND DAPHNE. 
 
 Sink to respectful distance ; songs redeem 
 
 Their pains, but briefer ; their dismissals seem 
 
 Emphatic ; only girls are very slow 
 
 To disappear — his Delians ! Some that glow 
 
 O' the instant, more with earlier loves to wrench 
 
 Away, reserves to quell, disdains to quench ; 
 
 Alike in one material circumstance — 
 
 AU soon or late adore Apollo ! Glance 
 
 The bevy through, divine Apollo's choice, 
 
 His Daphne ! " We secure Count Richard's voice 
 
 In Este's counsels, good for Este's ends 
 
 As our Taurello," say his faded friends, 
 
 " By granting him our Palma ! " — The sole child, 
 
 They mean, of Agnes Este who beguiled 
 
 EceHn, years before this Adelaide 
 
 "Wedded and turned him wicked : " but the maid 
 
 Rejects his suit," those sleepy women boast. 
 
 She, scorning all beside, deserves the most 
 
 SordeUo : so, conspicuous in his world 
 
 Of dreams sat Palma. How the tresses curled 
 
 Into a sumptuous swell of gold and wound 
 
 About her like a glory ! even the ground 
 
 Was bright as with spilt sunbeams ; breathe not, breathe 
 
 Not ! — poised, see, one leg doubled underneath. 
 
 Its small foot buried in the dimpling snow, 
 
 Rests, but the other, listlessly below, 
 
 0*er the couch-side swings feeling for cool air, 
 
 The vein-streaks swoln a richer violet where 
 
 The languid blood lies heavil ; yet calm 
 
BUT WHEN WILL THIS DEEAM TUKN TRUTH? 37 
 
 On her slight prop, each flat and outspread palm, 
 As but suspended in the act to rise 
 By consciousness of beauty, whence her eyes 
 Turn with so frank a triumph, for she meets 
 Apollo's gaze in the pine-glooms. 
 
 Time fleets : 
 That 's worst ! Because the pre-appointed age 
 Approaches. Fate is tardy with the stage 
 And crowd she promised. Lean he grows and pale, 
 Though restlessly at rest. Hardly avail 
 Fancies to soothe him. Time steals, yet alone 
 He tarries here ! The earnest smile is gone. 
 How long this might continue, matters not ; 
 
 — For ever, possibly ; since to the spot 
 None come : our lingering Taurello quits 
 Mantua at last, and light our lady flits 
 Back to her place disburdened of a care. 
 Strange — to be constant here if he is there ! 
 Is it distrust ? O, never ! for they both 
 Goad Ecelin alike — Romano's growth 
 
 So daily manifest, that Azzo 's dumb 
 
 And Richard wavers : let but Friedrich come ! 
 
 — Find matter for the minstrelsy's report, 
 Lured from the Isle and its young Kaiser's court 
 To sing us a Messina morning up. 
 
 And, double rillet of a drinking-cup. 
 Sparkle along to ease the land of drouth. 
 Northward to Provence that, and thus far south 
 The other. What a method to apprise 
 
38 
 
 FOR THE TIME IS RIPE, AND HE READY. 
 
 Neighbors of births, espousals, obsequies ! 
 Wliich in their very tongue the Troubadour 
 Records ; and his performance makes a tour, 
 For Trouveres bear the miracle about. 
 Explain its cunning to the vulgar rout, 
 Until the Formidable House is famed 
 Over the country — as Taurello aimed, 
 Wlio introduced, although the rest adopt, 
 The novelty. Such games, her absence stopped, 
 Begin afresh now Adelaide, recluse 
 No longer, in the light of day pursues 
 Her plans at Mantua ; whence an accident 
 Which, breaking on Sordello's mixed content. 
 Opened, like any flash that cures the blind, 
 The veritable business of mankind. 
 
BOOK THE SECOND. 
 
 THIS BUBBLE OP FANCY, 
 
 The woods were long austere with snow : at last 
 Pink leaflets budded on the beech, and fast 
 Larches, scattered through pine-tree solitudes, 
 Brightened, " as in the slumbrous heart o' the woods 
 Our buried year, a witch, grew young again 
 To placid incantations, and that stain 
 About were from her cauldron, green smoke blent 
 With those black pines " — so Eglamor gave vent 
 To a chance fancy. Wlience a just rebuke 
 From his companion ; brother Naddo shook 
 The solemnest of brows ; " Beware," he said, 
 " Of setting up conceits in nature's stead ! '* 
 Forth wandered our Sordello. Naught so sure 
 As that to-day's adventure will secure 
 Palma, the visioned lady — only pass 
 O'er yon damp mound and its exhausted grass, 
 Under that brake where sundawn feeds the stalks 
 Of withered fern with gold, into those walks 
 Of pine, and take her ! Buoyantly he went 
 Again his stooping forehead was besprent 
 With dew-drops from the skirting ferns. Then wide 
 Opened the great morass, shot every side 
 With flashing water through and through ; a-shine, 
 
40 WHEN GREATEST AND BRIGHTEST, BURSTS. 
 
 Thick-steaming, all alive. Whose shape divine 
 
 Quivered i' the farthest rainbow-vapour, glanced 
 
 Athwart the flying herons ? He advanced. 
 
 But warily ; though Mincio leaped no more. 
 
 Each footfall burst up in the marish-floor 
 
 A diamond jet : and if he stopped to pick 
 
 Rose-lichen, or molest the leeches quick, 
 
 And circling blood-worms, minnow, newt or loach, 
 
 A sudden pond would silently encroach 
 
 This way and that. On Palma passed. The vergQ 
 
 Of a new wood was gained. She will emerge 
 
 Flushed, now, and panting, — crowds to see, — will own 
 
 She loves him — Boniface to hear, to groan. 
 
 To leave his suit ! One screen of pine-trees still 
 
 Opposes ; but — the startling spectacle — 
 
 Mantua, this time ! Under the walls — a crowd 
 
 Indeed, real men and women, gay and loud - 
 
 Round a pavilion. How he stood ! 
 
 In truth 
 No prophecy had come to pass : his youth 
 In its prime now — and where was homage poured 
 Upon Sordello? — born to be adored. 
 And suddenly discovered weak, scarce made 
 To cope with any, cast into the shade 
 By this and this. Yet something seemed to prick 
 And tingle in his blood ; a sleight — a trick — 
 And much would be explained. It went for naught — 
 The best of their endowments were ill bought 
 With his identity ; nay, the conceit. 
 
AT A COUBT OF LOVE, A MINSTREL SINGS. 41 
 
 That this day's roving led to Palma's feet 
 
 Was not so vain — list ! The word, " Palma ! " Steal 
 
 Aside, and die, Sordello ; this is real, 
 
 And this — abjure ! 
 
 Wliat next ? The curtains, see, 
 Dividing ! She is there ; and presently 
 He will be there — the proper You, at length — 
 In your own cherished dress of grace and strength : 
 Most like, the very Boniface ! 
 
 Not so. 
 It was a showy man advanced ; but though 
 A glad cry welcomed him, then every sound 
 Sank and the crowd disposed themselves around, 
 — " This is not he," Sordello felt ; while, " Place 
 For the best Troubadour of Boniface ! " 
 Hollaed the Jongleui-s, — " Eglamor, whose lay 
 Concludes his patron's Court of Love to-day ! '* 
 Obsequious Naddo strung the master's lute 
 With the new lute-string, " Elys," named to suit 
 The song : he stealthily at watch, the while, 
 Biting his lip to keep down a great smile 
 Of pride : then up he struck. Sordello's brain 
 Swam ; for he knew a sometime deed again ; 
 So, could supply each foolish gap and chasm 
 The minstrel left in his enthusiasm. 
 Mistaking its true version — was the tale 
 Not of ApoUo ? Only, what avail 
 Luring her down, that Elys an he pleased, 
 K the man dared no further ? Has he ceased ? 
 
42 SORDKLLO, BKFORE PALMA, CONQUERS HIM, 
 
 And, lo, the people's frank applause half done, 
 
 Sordello was beside him, had begun 
 
 (Spite of indignant twitchings from his friend 
 
 The Trouvere) the true lay with the true end, 
 
 Taking the other's names and time and place 
 
 For his. On flew the song, a giddy race. 
 
 After the flying story ; word made leap 
 
 Out word, rhyme — rhyme ; the lay could barely keep 
 
 Pace with the action visibly rushing past : 
 
 Both ended. Back fell Naddo more aghast 
 
 Than some Egyptian from the harassed bull 
 
 That wheeled abrupt and, bellowing, fronted full 
 
 Plis plague, who spied a scarab 'neath his tongue, 
 
 And found 't was Apis' flank his hasty prong 
 
 Insulted. But the people — but the cries. 
 
 The crowding round, and proffering the prize ! 
 
 (For he had gained some prize) — He seemed to shrink 
 
 Into a sleepy cloud, just at whose brink 
 
 One sight withheld him. There sat Adelaide, 
 
 Silent ; but at her knees the very maid 
 
 Of the North Chamber, her red lips as rich, 
 
 The same pure fleecy hair ; one weft of which, 
 
 Golden and great, quite touched his cheek as o'er 
 
 She leant, speaking some six words and no more. 
 
 He answered something, anything ; and she 
 
 Unbound a scarf and laid it heavily 
 
 Upon him, her neck's warmth and all. Again 
 
 Moved the arrested magic ; in his brain 
 
 Noises grew, and a light that turned to glare, 
 
RECEIVES THE PRIZE, AND RUMINATES. 43 
 
 And greater glare, until the intense flare 
 
 Engulfed him, shut the whole scene from his sense. 
 
 And when he woke *t was many a furlong thence, 
 
 At home ; the sun shining his ruddy wont ; 
 
 The customary birds'-chirp ; but his front 
 
 "Was crowned — was crowned ! Her scented scarf around 
 
 Plis neck ! Whose gorgeous vesture heaps the ground ? 
 
 A prize ? He turned, and peeringly on liim 
 
 Brooded the women-faces, kind and dim, 
 
 Ready to talk. — " The Jongleurs in a troop 
 
 Had brought him back, Naddo and Squarcialupe 
 
 And Tagliafer ; how strange ! a childhood spent 
 
 In taking, well for him, so brave a bent ! 
 
 Since Eglamor," they heard, " was dead with spite, 
 
 And Palma chose him for her minstrel." 
 
 Light 
 Sordello rose — to think, now ; hitherto 
 He had perceived. Sure, a discovery grew 
 Out of it all ! Best live from first to last 
 The transport o'er again. A week he passed, 
 Sucking the sweet out of each circumstance, 
 From the bard's outbreak to the luscious trance 
 Bounding his own achievement. Strange ! A man 
 Recounted an adventure, but began 
 Imperfectly ; his own task was to fill 
 The framework up, sing well what he sang ill, 
 Supply the necessary points, set loose 
 As many incidents of little use 
 — More imbecile the other, not to see 
 
44 HOW HAD HE BEEN SUPERIOR TO EGLAMOR? 
 
 Their relative importance clear as he ! 
 
 But, for a special pleasure in the act 
 
 Of singing — had he ever turned, in fact, 
 
 From Elys, to sing Elys ? — from each fit 
 
 Of rapture, to contrive a song of it ? 
 
 True, this snatch or the other seemed to wind 
 
 Into a treasure, helped himself to find 
 
 A beauty in himself ; for, see, he soared 
 
 By means of that mere snatch to many a hoard 
 
 Of fancies ; as some falling cone bears soft 
 
 The eye, along the fir-tree-spire, aloft 
 
 To a dove's nest. Then, how divine the cause 
 
 Such a performance might exact applause 
 
 From men, if they had fancies too ? Could fate 
 
 Decree they found a beauty separate 
 
 In the poor snatch itself? — " Take Elys, there, 
 
 — ' Her head that 's sharp and perfect like a pear, 
 
 So close and smooth are laid the few fine locks 
 
 Colored like honey oozed from topmost rocks 
 
 Sun-blanched the livelong summer ' — if they heard 
 
 Just those two rhymes, assented at my word. 
 
 And loved them as I love them who have run 
 
 These fingers through those pale locks, let the sun 
 
 Into the white cool skin — who first could clutch, 
 
 Then praise — I needs must be a God to such. 
 
 Or if some few, above themselves, and yet 
 
 Beneath me, like their Eglamor, have set 
 
 An impress on our gift ? So, men believe 
 
 And worship what they know not, nor receive 
 
THIS IS ANSWERED BY EGLAMOR HIMSELF: 45 
 
 Delight from. Have they fancies — slow, perchance, 
 Not at their beck, which indistinctly glance 
 Until, by song, each floating part be linked 
 To each, and all grow palpable, distinct ? " 
 He pondered this. 
 
 Meanwhile, sounds low and drear 
 Stole on him, and a noise of footsteps, near 
 And nearer, and the underwood was pushed 
 Aside, the larches grazed, the dead leaves crusted 
 At the approach of men. The wind seemed laid ; 
 Only, the trees shrunk slightly and a shade 
 Came o'er the sky although 't was midday yet : 
 You saw each half-shut downcast floweret 
 Flutter — "a Roman bride, when they 'd dispart 
 Her unbound tresses with the Sabine dart, 
 Holding that famous rape in memory still, 
 Felt creep into her curls the iron chill. 
 And looked thus," Eglamor would say — indeed 
 'T is Eglamor, no other, these precede 
 Home hither in the woods. " 'T were surely sweet 
 Far from the scene of one's forlorn defeat 
 To sleep ! " judged Naddo, who in person led 
 Jongleurs and Trouveres, chanting at their head, 
 A scanty company ; for, sooth to say. 
 Our beaten Troubadour had seen his day. 
 Old worshippers were sometliing shamed, old friends 
 Nigh weary ; still the death proposed amends. 
 " Let us but get them safely through my song 
 And home again ! " quoth Naddo. 
 
46 ONE WHO BELONGED TO WHAT HE LOVED, 
 
 All along, 
 This man (they rest the bier upon the sand) 
 — This calm corpse with the loose flowers in his hand, 
 Eglamor, lived Bordello's opposite. 
 For him indeed was Naddo's notion right. 
 And verse a temple-worship vague and vast, 
 A ceremony that withdrew the last 
 Opposing bolt, looped back the lingering veil 
 Whicli hid the holy place — should one so frail 
 Stand there without such effort ? or repine 
 That much was blank, uncertain at the shrine 
 He knelt before, till, soothed by many a rite. 
 The Power responded, and some sound or sight 
 Grew up, his own forever, to be fixed 
 In rhyme, the beautiful, forever ! mixed 
 With his own life, unloosed when he should please, 
 Having it safe at hand, ready to ease 
 All pain, remove all trouble ; every time 
 He loosed that fancy from its bonds of rhyme, 
 Like Perseus when he loosed his naked love. 
 Faltering ; so distinct and far above 
 Himself, these fancies ! He, no genius rare, 
 Transfiguring in fire or wave or air 
 At will, but a poor gnome that, cloistered up 
 In some rock-chamber with his agate cup. 
 His topaz rod, his seed-pearl, in these few 
 And their arrangement finds enough to do 
 For his best art. Then, how he loved that art ! 
 The calling marking him a man apart 
 
LOVING HIS ART AND REWARDED BY IT, 47 
 
 From men — one not to care, take counsel for 
 
 Cold hearts, comfortless faces — (Eglamor 
 
 Was neediest of his tribe) — since verse, the gift, 
 
 Was his, and men, the whole of them, must shift 
 
 Without it, e'en content themselves with wealth 
 
 And pomp and power, snatching a life by stealth. 
 
 So, Eglamor was not without his pride ! 
 
 The sorriest bat which cowers through noontide 
 
 While other birds are jocund, has one time 
 
 When moon and stars are blinded, and the prime 
 
 Of earth is his to claim, nor find a peer ; 
 
 And Eglamor was noblest poet here 
 
 He knew that, 'mid the April woods, he cast 
 
 Conceits upon in plenty as he past. 
 
 That Naddo might suppose him not to think 
 
 Entirely on the coming triumph : wink 
 
 At the one weakness ! 'T was a fervid child. 
 
 That song of his — no brother of the guild 
 
 Had e'er conceived its like. The rest you know, 
 
 The exaltation and the overthrow : 
 
 Our poet lost his purpose, lost his rank. 
 
 His life — to that it came. Yet envy sank 
 
 Within him, as he heard Sordello out, 
 
 And, for the first time, shouted — tried to shout 
 
 Like others, not from any zeal to show 
 
 Pleasure that way : the common sort did so. 
 
 And what was Eglamor ? who, bending down 
 
 The same, placed his beneath Sordello's crown, 
 
 Printed a kiss on his successor's hand. 
 
48 ENDING WITH WHAT HAD POSSESSED HIM. 
 
 Left one great tear on it, then joined his band 
 
 — In time ; for some were watching at the door 
 
 Who knows what envy may effect? " Give o'er, 
 
 Nor charm his lips, nor craze him ! " (here one spied 
 
 And disengaged the withered crown) — " Beside 
 
 His crown ! How prompt and clear those verses rung 
 
 To answer yours ! nay, sing them ! " And he sung 
 
 Them calmly. Home he went ; friends used to wait 
 
 His coming, zealous to congratulate. 
 
 But, to a man, so quickly runs report, 
 
 Could do no less than leave him, and escort 
 
 His rival. That eve, then, bred many a thought : 
 
 What must his future life be ? was he brought 
 
 So low, who was so lofty this Spring mom ? 
 
 At length he said, " Best sleep now with my scorn, 
 
 And by to-morrow I devise some plain 
 
 Expedient ! " So, he slept, nor woke again. 
 
 They found as much, those friends, when they returned 
 
 O'erflowing with the marvels they had learned 
 
 About Sordello's paradise, his roves 
 
 Among the hills and valleys, plains and groves, 
 
 Wherein, no doubt, this lay was roughly cast, 
 
 Polished by slow degrees, completed last 
 
 To Eglamor's discomfiture and death. 
 
 Such form the chanters now, and, out of breath, 
 They lay the beaten man in his abode, 
 Naddo reciting that same luckless ode. 
 Doleful to hear. Sordello could explore 
 By means of it, however, one step more 
 
EGLAMOR DONE WITH, SORDELLO BEGINS. 49 
 
 111 joy ; and, mastering the round at length, 
 Leamt how to live in weakness as in strength, 
 When from his covert forth he stood, addressed 
 Eglamor, bade the tender ferns invest, 
 Primaeval pines o'ercanopy his couch, 
 And, most of all, his fame — (shall I avouch 
 Eglamor heard it, dead though he might look, 
 And laughed as from his brow Sordello took 
 The crown, and laid it on his breast, and said 
 It was a crown, now, fit for poet's head ?) 
 
 — Continue. Nor the prayer quite fruitless fell. 
 A plant they have yielding a three-leaved bell 
 Which whitens at the heart ere noon, and ails 
 Till evening ; evening gives it to her gales 
 
 To clear away with such forgotten things 
 As are an eyesore to the morn : this brings 
 Him to their mind, and bears his very name. 
 
 So much for Eglamor. My own month cfime ; 
 'T was a sunrise of blossoming and May. 
 Beneath a flowering laurel thicket lay 
 Sordello ; each new sprinkle of white stars 
 That smell fainter of wine than Massic jars 
 Dug up at Baiae, when the south wind shed 
 The ripest, made him happier ; filleted 
 And robed the same, only a lute beside 
 Lay on the turf. Before him far and wide 
 The country stretched : Goito slept behind 
 
 — The castle and its covert, which confined 
 Him with his hopes and fears ; so fain of old 
 
50 WHO HE REALLY WAS, AND WHY AT GOITO. 
 
 I'o leave the story of his birth untold. 
 
 At intervals, 'spite the fantastic glow 
 
 Of his Apollo-life, a certain low 
 
 And wretched whisper, winding through the bliss, 
 
 Admonished, no such fortune could be his. 
 
 All was quite false and sure to fade one day : 
 
 The closelier drew he round him his array 
 
 Of brilliance to expel the truth. But when 
 
 A reason for his difference from men 
 
 Surprised liim at the grave, he took no rest 
 
 While aught of that old life, superbly drest 
 
 Down to its meanest incident, remained 
 
 A mystery — alas, they soon explained 
 
 Away Apollo ! and the tale amounts 
 
 To this : when at Vicenza both her Counts 
 
 Banished the Vivaresi kith and kin, 
 
 Those Maltraversi hung on Ecelin, 
 
 Reviled him as he foUoM^ed ; he for spite 
 
 Must fire their quarter, though that self-same night 
 
 Among the flames young Ecelin was born 
 
 Of Adelaide, there too, and barely torn 
 
 From the roused populace hard on the rear, 
 
 By a poor archer when his chieftain's fear 
 
 Grew high ; into the thick Elcorte leapt. 
 
 Saved her, and died ; no creature left except 
 
 His child to thank. And when the full escape 
 
 Was known — how men impaled from chine to nape 
 
 Unlucky Prata, all to pieces spurned 
 
 Bishop Pistore's concubines, and burned 
 
HE, SO Lir/LE, WOULD FAIN BE SO MUCH : 51 
 
 Taurello's entire household, flesh and fell, 
 Missing the sweeter prey — such courage well 
 Might claim reward. The orphan, ever since, 
 Sordello, had been nurtured by his prince 
 Within a blind retreat where Adelaide — 
 (For, once this notable discovery made, 
 The Past at every point was understood) 
 
 — Might harbor easily when times were rude, 
 When Azzo schemed for Palma, to retrieve 
 That pledge of Agnes Este — loath to leave 
 Mantua unguarded with a vigilant eye, 
 Taurello biding there ambiguously — 
 
 He who could have no motive now to moil 
 For his own fortunes since their utter spoil — 
 As it were worth while yet (went the report) 
 To disengage himself from her. In short, 
 Apollo vanished ; a mean youth, just named 
 His lady's minstrel, was to be proclaimed 
 
 — How shall I phrase it ? — Monarch of the World ! 
 For, on the morning that array was furled 
 Forever, and in place of one a slave 
 
 To longings, wild indeed, but longings save 
 
 In dreams as wild, suppressed — one daring not 
 
 Assume the mastery such dreams allot, 
 
 Until a magical equipment, strength 
 
 Grace, wisdom, decked him too, — he chose at length, 
 
 Content with unproved wits and failing frame, 
 
 In virtue of his simple will, to claim 
 
 That mastery, no less — to do his best 
 
52 LEAVES THE DREAM HE MAY BE SOMETHING, 
 
 • 
 
 With means so limited, and let the rest 
 
 Go by, — the seal was set : never again 
 
 Sordello could in his own sight remain 
 
 One of the many, one with hopes and cares 
 
 And interests nowise distinct from theii'S, 
 
 Only peculiar in a thriveless store 
 
 Of fancies, which were fancies and no more ; 
 
 Never again for him and for the crowd 
 
 A common law was challenged and allowed 
 
 If calmly reasoned of, howe'er denied 
 
 By a mad impulse- nothing justified 
 
 Short of Apollo's presence. The divorce 
 
 Is clear : why needs Sordello square his course 
 
 By any known example ? Men no more 
 
 Compete with him than tree and flower before ; 
 
 Himself, inactive, yet is greater far 
 
 Than such as act, each stooping to his star, 
 
 Acquiring thence his function ; he has gained 
 
 The same result with meaner mortals trained 
 
 To strength or beauty, moulded to express 
 
 Each the idea that rules him ; since no less 
 
 He comprehends that function, but can still 
 
 Embrace the others, take of might his fill 
 
 With Richard as of grace with Palma, mix 
 
 Their qualities, or for a moment fix 
 
 On one ; abiding free meantime, uncramped 
 
 By any partial organ, never stamped 
 
 Strong, and to strength turning all energies — 
 
 Wise, and restricted to becoming wise — 
 
FOR THE FACT THAT HE CAN DO NOTHING, 63 
 
 That is, he loves not, nor possesses One 
 
 Idea that, star-like over, lures him on 
 
 To its exclusive purpose. " Fortunate ! 
 
 This flesh of mine ne'er strove to emulate 
 
 A soul so various — took no casual mould 
 
 Of the first fancy and, contracted, cold, 
 
 Lay clogged forever thence, averse to change 
 
 As that : whereas it left her free to range, 
 
 Remains itself a blank, cast into shade. 
 
 Encumbers little, if it cannot aid. 
 
 So, range, my soul ! — who, by self-consciousness, 
 
 The last drop of all beauty dost express — • 
 
 The grace of seeing grace, a quintessence 
 
 For thee : but for the world, that can dispense 
 
 "Wonder on men who, themselves, wonder — make 
 
 A shift to love at second-hand, and take 
 
 Those for its idols who but idolize. 
 
 Themselves, — world that loves souls as strong or wise, 
 
 Who, themselves, love strength, wisdom, — it shall bow 
 
 Surely in unexampled worship now, 
 
 Discerning me ! " — 
 
 (Dear monarch, I beseech. 
 Notice how lamentably wide a breach 
 Is here ! discovering this, discover too 
 What our poor world has possibly to do 
 With it ! As pygmy natures as you please — 
 So much the better for you ; take your ease ; 
 Look on, and laugh ; style yourself God alone ; 
 Strangle some day with a cross olive-stone : 
 
54 YET IS ABLE TO IMAGINE EVERYTHING, 
 
 All that is right enough : but why want us 
 
 To know that you yourself know thus and thus ?) 
 
 " The world shall bow to me conceiving all 
 
 Man's life, who sees its blisses, great and small, 
 
 Afar — not tasting any ; no machine 
 
 To exercise my utmost will is mine : 
 
 Be mine mere consciousness ! Let them perceive 
 
 "What I could do, a mastery believe, 
 
 Asserted and established to the thronsr 
 
 By their selected evidence of song 
 
 Which now shall prove, whate'er they are, or seek 
 
 To be, I am — who take no pains to speak. 
 
 Change no old standards of perfection, vex 
 
 With no strange forms created to perplex. 
 
 But will perform their bidding and no more. 
 
 At their own satiating-point give o'er. 
 
 While each shall love in me the love that leads 
 
 His soul to its perfection." Song, not deeds, 
 
 (For we get tired) was chosen. Fate would brook 
 
 Mankind no other organ ; he would look 
 
 For not another channel to dispense 
 
 His own volition, and receive their sense 
 
 Of its existing ; but would be content. 
 
 Obstructed else, with merely verse for vent 
 
 Nor should, for instance, strength an outlet seek 
 
 And, striving, be admired, nor grace bespeak 
 
 Wonder, displayed in gracious attitudes ; 
 
 Nor wisdom, poured forth, change unseemly moods : 
 
 But he would give and take on song's one point. 
 
IF THE WORLD ESTEEM THIS EQUIVALENT. 55 
 
 Like some huge throbbing-stone that, poised a-joint 
 
 Sounds, to affect on its basaltic bed, 
 
 Must sue in just one accent ; tempests shed 
 
 Thunder, and raves the landstorm : only let 
 
 That key by any little noise be set — 
 
 The far benighted hunter's halloo pitch 
 
 On that, the hungry curlew chance to scritch 
 
 Or serpent hiss it, rustling through the rift, 
 
 However loud, however low — all lift 
 
 The groaning monster, stricken to the heart. 
 
 Lo ye, the world's concernment, for its part, 
 And tliis, for his, will hardly interfere ! 
 Its businesses in blood and blaze tliis year 
 But wile the hour away — a pastime slight 
 Till he shall step upon the platform : right ! 
 And, now thus much is settled, cast in rough, 
 Proved feasible, be counselled ! thought enough, — 
 Slumber, Sordello ! any day will serve : 
 Were it a less digested plan ! how swerve 
 To-morrow ? Meanwhile eat tliese sun-dried grapes» 
 And watch the soaring hawk there ! Life escapes 
 Merrily thus. 
 
 He thoroughly read o'er 
 His truchman Naddo's missive six times more, 
 Praying him visit Mantua and supply 
 A famished world. 
 
 The evening star was high 
 When he reached Mantua, but his fame arrived 
 Before him : Mends applauded, foes connived, 
 
56 HE HAS LOVED HIS SONG'S RESULTS^ N OT SON G 
 
 And Naddo looked an angel, and the rest 
 Angels, and all these angels would be blest 
 Supremely by a song — the thrice-renowned 
 Groito manufacture. Then he found 
 (Casting about to satisfy the crowd) 
 That happy vehicle, so late allowed, 
 A sore annoyance : 't was the song's effect 
 He cared for, scarce the song itself: reflect ! 
 In the past life, what might be singing's use ? 
 Just to delight his Delians, whose profuse 
 Praise, not the toilsome process which procured 
 That praise, enticed Apollo : dreams abjured. 
 No over-leaping means for ends — take both 
 For granted or take neither ! I am loath 
 To say the rhymes at last were Eglamor's ; 
 But Naddo, chuckling, bade competitors 
 Go pine ; " the master certes meant to waste 
 No effort, cautiously had probed the taste 
 He 'd please anon : true bard, in short, disturb 
 His title if they could ; nor spur nor curb. 
 Fancy nor reason, wanting in him ; whence 
 The staple of his verses, common sense : 
 He built on man's broad nature — gift of gifts, 
 That power to build ! The world contented shifts 
 With counterfeits enough, a dreary sort 
 Of warriors, statesmen, ere it can extort 
 Its poet-soul — that 's, after all, a freak 
 (The having eyes to see and tongue to speak) 
 With our herd's stupid sterling happiness 
 
so, MUST EFFECT THIS TO OBTAIN THOSE. 57 
 
 So plainly incompatible that — yes — 
 Yes — should a son of his improve the breed 
 And turn out poet, he were cursed indeed I " 
 " Well, there 's Goito and its woods anon, 
 If the worst happen ; best go stoutly on 
 Now ! " thought Sordello. 
 
 Ay, and goes on yet I 
 You pother with your glossaries to get 
 A notion of the Troubadour's intent 
 In rondel, tenzon, virlai or sirvent — 
 Much as you study arras how to twirl 
 His angelot, plaything of page and girl, 
 Once ; but you surely reach, at last, — or, no ! 
 Never quite reach what struck the people so, 
 As from the welter of their time he drew 
 Its elements successively to view, 
 Followed all actions backward on their course, 
 And catching up, unmingled at the source. 
 Such a strength, such a weakness, added then 
 A touch or two, and turned them into men. 
 Virtue took form, nor vice refused a shape ; 
 Here heaven opened, there was hell agape, 
 As Saint this simpered past in sanctity. 
 Sinner the other flared portentous by 
 A greedy people. Then why stop, surprised 
 At his success ? The scheme was realized 
 Too suddenly in one respect : a crowd 
 Praising, eyes quick to see, and lips as loud 
 To speak, delicious homage to receive, 
 
 3* O 
 
58 HE SUCCEEDS A LITTLE, BUT FAILS MORE ; 
 
 The woman's breath to feel upon his sleeve, 
 
 Wlio said, " But Anafest — why asks he less 
 
 Than Lucio, in your verses ? how confess. 
 
 It seemed too much but yestereve ! " — the youth, 
 
 Who bade him earnestly, " Avow the truth ! 
 
 You love Bianca, surely, from your song ; 
 
 I knew I was unworthy ! " — soft or strong, 
 
 In poured such tributes ere he had arranged 
 
 Ethereal ways to take them, sorted, changed, 
 
 Digested. Courted thus at unawares. 
 
 In spite of his pretensions and his cares, 
 
 He caught himself shamefully hankering 
 
 After the obvious petty joys that spring 
 
 From real life, fain relinquish pedestal 
 
 And condescend with pleasures — one and all 
 
 To be renounced, no doubt ; for, thus to chain 
 
 Himself to single joys and so refrain 
 
 From tasting their quintessence, frustrated, sure. 
 
 His prime design ; each joy must he abjure 
 
 Even for love of it. 
 
 He laughed : what sage 
 But perishes if from his magic page 
 He looked because, at the first line, a proof 
 'T was heard salutes him from the cavern-roof? 
 '• On ! Give yourself, excluding aught beside, 
 To the day's task ; compel your slave provide 
 Its utmost at the soonest ; turn the leaf 
 Thoroughly conned. These lays of yours, in brief - 
 Cannot men bear, now, something better ? — fly 
 
TRIES AGAIN, IS NO BETTER SATISFIED, 59 
 
 A pitch beyond this unreal pageantry 
 Of essences ? the period sure has ceased 
 For such : present us with ourselves, at least, 
 Not portions of ourselves, mere loves and hates 
 Made flesh : wait not ! " 
 
 Awhile the poet waits 
 However. The first trial was enough : 
 He left imagining, to try the stuff 
 That held the imaged thing, and, let it writhe 
 Never so fiercely, scarce allowed a tithe 
 To reach the light — his Language. How he sought 
 The cause, conceived a cure, and slow re-wrought 
 That Language, — welding words into the crude 
 Mass from the new speech round him, till a rude 
 Armor was hammered out, in time to be 
 Approved beyond the Roman panoply 
 Melted to make it, — boots not. This obtained 
 With some ado, no obstacle remained 
 To using it ; accordingly he took 
 An action with its actors, quite forsook 
 Himself -to live in each, returned anon 
 With the result — a creature, and, by one 
 And one, proceeded leisurely to equip 
 Its limbs in harness of his workmanship. 
 *' Accomplished ! Listen, Mantuans ! " Fond essay 1 
 Piece after piece that armor broke away. 
 Because perceptions whole, like that he sought 
 To clothe, reject so pure a work of thought 
 As language : thought may take perception's place 
 
60 AND DECLINES PROM THE IDEAL OF SONG.- 
 
 But hardly coexist in any case, 
 
 Being its mere presentment — of the whole 
 
 By parts, the simultaneous and the sole 
 
 By the successive and the many. Lacks 
 
 The crowd perception ? painfully it tacks 
 
 Thought to thought, which Sordello, needing such, 
 
 Has rent perception into : it 's to clutch 
 
 And reconstruct — his office to diffuse. 
 
 Destroy : as hard, then, to obtain a Muse 
 
 As to become Apollo. " For the rest. 
 
 E'en if some wondrous vehicle exprest 
 
 The whole dream, what impertinence in me 
 
 So to express it, who myself can be 
 
 The dream ! nor, on the other hand, are those 
 
 I sing to, over-likely to suppose 
 
 A higher than the highest I present 
 
 Now, which they praise already : be content 
 
 Both parties, rather — they with the old verse, 
 
 And I with the old praise — far go, fare worse ! " 
 
 A few adhering rivets loosed, upsprings 
 
 The angel, sparkles off his mail, and rings 
 
 Whirled from each delicatest limb it warps, 
 
 As might Apollo from the sudden corpse 
 
 Of Hyacinth have cast his luckless quoits. 
 
 He set to celebrating the exploits 
 
 Of Montfort o'er the Mountaineers. 
 
 Then came 
 The world's revenge : their pleasure, now his aim 
 Merely, — what was it ? " Not to play the fool 
 
WHAT IS THE WORLD'S RECOGNITION WORTH ? 61 
 
 So much as learn our lesson in your school ! " 
 
 Replied the world. He found that, every time 
 
 He gained applause by any ballad-rhynie, 
 
 His auditory recognized no jot 
 
 As he intended, and, mistaking not 
 
 Him for his meanest hero, ne'er was dunce 
 
 Sufficient to believe him — all, at once. 
 
 His will . . . conceive it caring for his will ! 
 
 — Mantuans, the main of them, admiring still 
 
 How a mere singer, ugly, stunted, weak, 
 
 Had Montfort at completely (so to speak) 
 
 His fingers' ends ; while past the praise-tide swept 
 
 To Montfort, cither's share distinctly kept : 
 
 The true meed for true merit ! — his abates 
 
 Into a sort he most repudiates. 
 
 And on them angrily he turns. Who were 
 
 The Mantuans, after all, that he should care 
 
 About their recognition, ay or no ? 
 
 In spite of the convention months ago, 
 
 (Why blink the truth ?) was not he forced to help 
 
 This same ungrateful audience, every whelp 
 
 Of Naddo's litter, make them pass for peers 
 
 With the bright band of old Goito years, 
 
 As erst he toiled for flower or tree ? Why, there 
 
 Sat Palma ! Adelaide's funereal hair 
 
 Ennobled the next corner. Ay, he strewed 
 
 A fairy dust upon that multitude. 
 
 Although he feigned to take them by themselves ; 
 
 His giants dignified those puny elves, 
 
62 HOW, POET NO LONGER IN UNITY WITH MA.N, 
 
 Sublimed their faint applause. In short, he found 
 
 Himself still footing a delusive round, 
 
 Remote as ever from the self-display 
 
 He meant to compass, hampered every way 
 
 By what he hoped assistance. Wherefore then 
 
 Continue, make believe to find in men 
 
 A use he found not ? 
 
 Weeks, months, years went by ; 
 And, lo, Sordello vanished utterly. 
 Sundered in twain ; each spectral part at strife 
 With each ; one jarred against another life ; 
 The Poet thwarting hopelessly the Man 
 Who, fooled no longer, free in fancy ran 
 Here, there ; let slip no opportunities 
 As pitiful, forsooth, beside the prize 
 To drop on him some no-time and acquit 
 His constant faith (the Poet-half s to wit — 
 That waiving any compromise between 
 No joy and all joy kept the hunger keen 
 Beyond most methods) — of incurring scoff 
 From the Man-portion not to be put off 
 With self-reflectings by the Poet's scheme, 
 Though ne'er so bright ; that sauntered forth in dream, 
 Drest any how, nor waited mystic frames, 
 Immeasurable gifts, astounding claims. 
 But just his sorry self — who yet might be 
 Sorrier for aught he in reality 
 Achieved, so pinioned That the Poet-part, 
 Fondling, in turn of fancy, verse ; the Art 
 
THE WHOLE VISIBLE SORDELLO GOES WRONG 63 
 
 Developing his soul a thousand ways — 
 
 Potent, by its assistance, to amaze 
 
 The multitude with majesties, convince 
 
 Each sort of nature, that same nature's prince 
 
 Accosted it. Language, the makeshift, grew 
 
 Into a bravest of expedients, too ; 
 
 Apollo, seemed it now, perverse had thrown 
 
 Quiver and bow away, the lyre alone 
 
 Sufficed. While, out of dream, his day's work went 
 
 To tune a crazy tenzon or sirvent — 
 
 So hampered him the Man-part, thrust to judge 
 
 Between the bard and the bard's audience, grudge 
 
 A minute's toil that missed its due reward ! 
 
 But the complete Sordello, Man and Bard, 
 
 John's cloud-girt angel, this foot on the land, 
 
 That on the sea, with open in his, hand 
 
 A bitter-sweetling of a book — was gone. 
 
 And if internal struggles to be one 
 That frittered him incessantly piecemeal, 
 Referred, ne'er so obliquely, to the real 
 Mautuans ! intruding ever with some call 
 To action while he pondered, once for all, 
 Which looked the easier effort — to pursue 
 This course, still leap o'er paltry joys, yearn thi'ough 
 The present ill-appreciated stage 
 Of self-revealment, and compel the agb 
 Know hira ; or else, forswearing bard-craft, wake 
 From out his lethargy and nobly shake 
 Off timid habits of denial, mix 
 
h4 WITH THOSE TOO HARD FOR HALF OF HIM, 
 
 With men, enjoy like men. Ere he could fix 
 
 On aught, in rushed the Mantuans ; much they cared 
 
 For his perplexity ! Thus unprepared, 
 
 The obvious if not only shelter lay 
 
 In deeds, the dull conventions of his day 
 
 Prescribed the like of him : why not be glad 
 
 'T is settled Palma's minstrel, good or bad, 
 
 Submits to this and that established rule ? 
 
 Let Vidal change, or any other fool. 
 
 His murrey-colored robe for philamot. 
 
 And crop his hair ; too skin-deep, is it not, 
 
 Such vigor ? Then, a sorrow to the heart. 
 
 His talk ! Whatever topics they might start. 
 
 Had to be groped for in his consciousness 
 
 Straight, and as straight delivered them by guess. 
 
 Only obliged to ask himself, " What was," 
 
 A speedy answer followed ; but, alas. 
 
 One of God's large ones, tardy to condense 
 
 Itself into a period ; answers whence 
 
 A tangle of conclusions must be stripped 
 
 At any risk ere, trim to pattern clipped. 
 
 They matched rare specimens the Mantuan flock 
 
 Regaled him with, each talker from his stock 
 
 Of sorted-o'er opinions, every stage. 
 
 Juicy in youth or desiccate with age. 
 
 Fruits like the fig-tree's, rathe-ripe, rotten-rich, 
 
 Sweet-sour, all tastes to take : a practice which 
 
 He too had not impossibly attained, 
 
 Once either of those fancy-flights restrained ; 
 
OF WHOM HE IS ALSO TOO CONTEMPTUOUS. 0') 
 
 For. at conjecture how might words appear 
 
 To others, playing there what happened here, 
 
 And occupied abroad by what he spurned 
 
 At home, 't was slipt, the occasion he returned 
 
 To seize : he 'd strike that lyre adroitly — speech, 
 
 Would but a twenty-cubit plectre reach ; 
 
 A clever hand, consummate instrument, 
 
 Were both brought close ; each excellency went 
 
 For nothing else. The question Naddo asked, 
 
 Had just a lifetime moderately tasked 
 
 To answer, Naddo's fashion. More disgust 
 
 And more I why move his soul, since move it must 
 
 At a minute's notice or as good it failed 
 
 To move at all ? The end was, he retailed 
 
 Some ready-made opinion, put to use 
 
 This quip, that maxim, ventured reproduce 
 
 Gestures and tones — at any folly caught 
 
 Serving to finish with, nor too much sought 
 
 If false or true 't was spoken ; praise and blame 
 
 Of what he said grew pretty well the same 
 
 — Meantime awards to meantime acts : his soul. 
 
 Unequal to the compassing a whole, 
 
 Saw, in a tenth part, less and less to strive 
 
 About. And as for men in turn . . . contrive 
 
 Who could to take eternal interest 
 
 In them, so hate the ^yorst, so love the best ! 
 
 Though, in pursuance of his passive plan. 
 
 He hailed, decried the proper way. 
 
 As Man 
 
fiO HE PLEASES NEITHER HIMSELF NOR THEM. 
 
 So figured he ; and how as Poet ? Verse 
 
 Came only not to a stand-still. The worse, 
 
 That his poor piece of daily work to do 
 
 Was, not sink under any rivals ; who 
 
 Loudly and loud enough, without these qualms, 
 
 Tuned, from Bocafoli's stark-naked psalms, 
 
 To Plara's sonnets spoilt by toying with, 
 
 " As knops that stud some aimug to the pith 
 
 Pricked for gum, wry thence, and crinkled worse 
 
 Than pursed eyelids of a river-horse 
 
 Sunning himself o' the slime when whirrs the 
 
 breeze " — 
 Gad-Jly, that is. He might compete with these ' 
 But — but — 
 
 " Observe a pompion-twine afloat ; 
 Pluck me one cup from off the castle-moat ! 
 Along with cup you raise leaf, stalk and root. 
 The entire surface of the pool to boot. 
 So could I pluck a cup, put in one song 
 A single sight, did not my hand, too strong. 
 Twitch in the least the root-strings of the whole. 
 How should externals satisfy my soul ? " 
 " "Why that 's precise the error Squarcialupe " ^ 
 
 (Hazarded Naddo) " finds ; ' the man can't stoop 
 To sing us out,' quoth he, ' a mere romance ; 
 He 'd fain do better than the best, enhance 
 The subjects' rarity, work problems out 
 Therewith ' : now, you 're a bard, a bard past doubt, 
 And no philosopher ; why introduce 
 
WHICH THE BEST JUDGES ACCOUNT FOR. 67 
 
 Crotchets like these ? fine, surely, but no use 
 
 In poetry — which still must be, to strike, 
 
 Based upon common sense ; there 's nothing like 
 
 Appealing to our nature ! what beside 
 
 "Was your first poetry ? No tricks were tried 
 
 In that, no hollow thrills, affected throes ! 
 
 * The man,' said we, ' tells his own joys and woes — 
 
 We '11 trust him.' Would you have your songs endure ? 
 
 Build on the human heart ! — Why, to be sure 
 
 Yours is one sort of heart — but I mean theirs, 
 
 Ours, every one's, the healthy heart one cares 
 
 To build on ! Central peace, mother of strength, 
 
 That 's father of . . . nay, go yourself that length, 
 
 Ask those calm-hearted doers what they do 
 
 When they have got their calm ! And is it true, 
 
 Fire rankles at the heart of every globe ? 
 
 Perhaps ! But these are matters one may probe 
 
 Too deeply for poetic purposes : 
 
 Rather select a theory that . . . yes. 
 
 Laugh ! what does that prove ? — stations you midway 
 
 And saves some little o'er-refining. Nay, 
 
 That 's rank injustice done me ! I restrict 
 
 The poet ? Don't I hold the poet picked 
 
 Out of a host of warriors, statesman . . . did 
 
 I tell you ? Very like ! As well you hid 
 
 That sense of power, you have ! True bards believe 
 
 All able to achieve what they achieve — 
 
 That is, just nothing — in one point abide 
 
 Profounder simpletons than all beside. 
 
68 THEIR CRITICISMS GIVE SMALL COMFORT: 
 
 Oh, ay ! The knowledge that you are a bard 
 
 Must constitute your prime, nay sole, reward ! " 
 
 So prattled Naddo, busiest of the tribe 
 
 Of genius-haunters — how shall I describe 
 
 What gi'ubs or nips, or rubs, or rips — your louse 
 
 For love, your jfiea for hate, magnanimous. 
 
 Malignant, Pappacoda, Tagliafer, 
 
 Picking a sustenance from wear and tear 
 
 By implements it sedulous employs 
 
 To undertake, lay down, mete out, o'er-toise 
 
 Sordello ? Fifty creepers to elude 
 
 At once ! They settled stanchly ; shame ensued : 
 
 Behold the monarch of mankind succumb 
 
 To the last fool whb turned him round his thumb, 
 
 As Naddo styled it ! 'T was not worth oppose 
 
 The matter of a moment, gainsay those 
 
 He aimed at getting rid of; better think 
 
 Their thoughts and speak their speech, secure to slink 
 
 r>ack expeditiously to his safe place. 
 
 And chew the cud — what he and what his race 
 
 Were really, each of them. Yet even this 
 
 Conformity was partial. He would miss 
 
 Some point, brought into contact with them ere 
 
 Assured in what small segment of the sphere 
 
 Of his existence they attended him ; 
 
 "Whence blunders — falsehoods rectify — a grim 
 
 List — slur it over ! How ? If dreams were tried, 
 
 His will swayed sicklily from side to side, 
 
 Nor merely neutralized his waking act 
 
AND HIS OWN DEGRADATION IS COMPLETE. 69 
 
 But tended e'en in fancy to distract 
 
 The intermediate will, the choice of means. 
 
 He lost the art of dreaming : Mantuan scenes 
 
 Supplied a baron, say, he sung before. 
 
 Handsomely reckless, full to running o'er 
 
 Of gallantries ; " abjure the soul, content 
 
 With body, therefore ! " Scarcely had he bent 
 
 Himself in dream thus low, when matter fast 
 
 Cried out, he found, for spirit to contrast 
 
 And task it duly ; by advances slight, 
 
 The simple stuff becoming composite. 
 
 Count Lori grew Apollo — best recall 
 
 His fancy ! Then would some rough peasant-Paul, 
 
 Like those old Ecelin confers with, glance 
 
 His gay apparel o'er ; that countenance 
 
 Gathered his shattered fancy into one, 
 
 And, body clean abolished, soul alone 
 
 Sufficed the gray Paulician : by and by, 
 
 To balance the ethereality. 
 
 Passions were needed ; foiled he sunk again. 
 
 Meanwhile the world rejoiced ('t is time explain) 
 Because a sudden sickness set it free 
 From Adelaide. Missing the mother-bee, 
 Her mountain-hive Romano swarmed ; at once 
 A rustle-forth of daughters and of sons 
 Blackened the valley. " I am sick too old, 
 Half crazed I think ; what good 's the Kaiser's gold 
 To such an one ? God help me ! for I catch 
 My children's greedy sparkling eyes at watch — 
 
70 Adelaide's death ; what happens on it : 
 
 He bears that double breastplate on, they say, 
 
 So many minutes less than yesterday ! 
 
 Beside, Monk Hilary is on his knees 
 
 Now, sworn to kneel and pray till God shall please 
 
 Exact a punishment for many things 
 
 You know, and some you never knew ; which brings 
 
 To memory, Azzo's sister Beatrix 
 
 And Richard's Giglia are my Alberic's 
 
 And Ecelin's betrothed ; the Count himself 
 
 Must get my Palma : Ghibellin and Guelf 
 
 Mean to embrace each other." So began 
 
 Romano's missive to his fighting-man 
 
 Taurello — on the Tuscan's deatli, away 
 
 With Friedrich sworn to sail from Naples' bay 
 
 Next month for Syria. Never thunder-clap 
 
 Out of Vesuvius' throat, like this mishap 
 
 Startled him. " That accursed Vicenza ! I 
 
 Absent, and she selects this time to die ! 
 
 Ho, fellows, for Vicenza ! " Half a score 
 
 Of horses ridden dead, he stood before 
 
 Romano in his reeking spurs : too late — 
 
 " Boniface urged me, Este could not wait," 
 
 The chieftain stammered ; " let me die in peace — 
 
 Forget me ! Was it I e'er craved increase 
 
 Of rule ? Do you and Friedrich plot your worst 
 
 Against the Father : as you found me first 
 
 So h^ave me now. Forgive me ! Palma, sure, 
 
 IS at Goito still. Retain that lure — 
 
 Oiih be pacified !" 
 
AND A TROUBLE IT OCCASIONS SORDELLO. 71 
 
 The country rung 
 With such a piece of news : on every tongue, 
 How Ecelin's great servant, congeed off, 
 Had done a long day's service, so, might doff 
 The green and yellow, and recover breath 
 At Mantua, whither, — since Retrude's death, 
 (The girlish slip of a Sicilian bride 
 From Otho's House, he carried to reside 
 At Mantua till the Ferrarese should pile 
 A structure worthy her imperial style. 
 The gardens raise, the statues there enshrine, 
 She never lived to see) — although his line 
 Was ancient in her archives and she took 
 A pride in him, that city, nor forsook 
 Her cliild when he forsook himself and spent 
 A prowess on Romano surely meant 
 For his own growth — whither he ne'er resorts 
 If wholly satisfied (to trust reports) 
 With Ecelin. So, ibrward in a trice 
 Were shows to greet him. " Take a friend's advice,'* 
 Quoth Naddo to Sordello, " nor be rash 
 Because your rivals (nothing can abash 
 Some folks) demur that we pronounced you best 
 To sound the great man's welcome ; 't is a test. 
 Remember ! Strojavacca looks asquint. 
 The rough fat sloven ; and there 's plenty hint 
 Your pinions have received of late a shock — 
 Out-soar them, cobswan of the silver flock ! 
 Sing well ! " A signal wonder, song's no whit 
 Facilitated. 
 
72 HE CHANCES UPON HIS OLD ENVIRONMENT, 
 
 Fast the minutes flit ; 
 Another day, Sordello finds, will bring 
 The soldier, and he cannot choose but uing ; 
 So, a last shift, quits Mantua — slow, alone: 
 Out of that aching brain, a very stone. 
 Song must be struck. What occupies that front ? 
 Just how he was more awkward than his wont 
 The night before, when Naddo, who had seen 
 Taurello on his progress, praised the mien 
 For dignity no crosses could affect — 
 Such was a joy, and might not he detect 
 A satisfaction if established joys 
 Were proved imposture ? Poetry annoys 
 Its utmost : wherefore fret ? Verses may come 
 Or keep away ! And thus he wandered, dumb 
 Till evening, when he paused, thoroughly spent, 
 On a blind hill-top : down the gorge he went, 
 Yielding himself up as to an embrace. 
 The moon came out ; like features of a face 
 A querulous fraternity of pines. 
 Sad blackthorn clumps, leafless and grovelling vines 
 Also came out, made gradually up 
 The picture ; 't was Goito's mountain-cup 
 And castle. He had dropped through one defile 
 He never dared explore, the Chief erewhile 
 Had vanished by. Back rushed the dream, enwrapped 
 Him wholly. 'T was Apollo now they lapped, 
 Those mountains, not a pettish minstrel meant 
 To wear his soul away in discontent. 
 
SRES BUT FAILURE IN ALL DONE SINCE, 73 
 
 Brooding on fortune's malice. Heart and brain 
 
 Swelled ; he expanded to liimself again, 
 
 As some thin seedling spice-tree starved and frail, 
 
 Pushing between cat's head and ibis* tail 
 
 Crusted into the porphyry pavement smooth, 
 
 — Suffered remain just as it sprung, to soothe 
 
 The Soldan's pining daughter, never yet 
 
 Well in her chilly green-glazed minaret, — 
 
 When rooted up, the sunny day she died. 
 
 And flung into the common court beside 
 
 Its parent tree. Come home, Sordello ! Soon 
 
 Was he low muttering, beneath the moon, 
 
 Of sorrow saved, of quiet evermore, — 
 
 Since from the purpose, he maintained before, 
 
 Only resulted wailing and hot tears. 
 
 Ah, the slim castle ! dwindled of late years. 
 
 But more mysterious ; gone to ruin — trails 
 
 Of vine through every loop-hole. Naught avails 
 
 The night as, torch in hand, he must explore 
 
 The maple chamber — did I say, its floor 
 
 Was made of intersecting cedar beams ? 
 
 Worn now with gaps so large, there blew cold streams 
 
 Of air quite from the dungeon ; lay your ear 
 
 Close and 't is like, one after one, you hear 
 
 In the blind darkness water drop. The nests 
 
 And nooks retained their long ranged vesture-chests 
 
 Empty and smelimg ot the ins-root 
 
 The Tuscan grated o'er them to recruit 
 
 Her wasted wits. Palma was gone that day, 
 
 4 
 
74 AND RESOLVES TO DESIST FROM THE LIKE. 
 
 Said the remaining women. Last, he lay 
 Beside the Carian group reserved and still. 
 The Body, the Machine for Acting Will, 
 Had been at the commencement proved unfit ; 
 That for Reflecting, Demonstrating it, 
 Mankind — no fitter : was the Will Itself 
 In fault ? 
 
 His forehead pressed the moonlit shelf 
 Beside the youngest marble maid awhile ; 
 Then, raising it, he thought, with a long smile, 
 " I shall be king again ! " as he withdrew 
 The envied scarf; into the font he threw 
 Hiff crown. 
 
 Next day, no poet ! " Wlierefore ? " asked 
 Taurello, when the dance of Jongleurs, masked 
 As devils, ended ; " don't a song come next ? " 
 The master of the pageant looked perplext 
 Till Naddo's wliisper came to his relief. 
 " His Highness knew what poets were : in brief, 
 Had not the tetchy race prescriptive right 
 To peevishness, caprice ? or, call it spite, 
 One must receive their nature in its length 
 And breadth, expect the weakness with the strength ! " 
 — So phrasing, till, his stock of phrases spent, 
 The easy-natured soldier smiled assent. 
 Settled his portly person, smoothed his chin. 
 And nodded that the bull-bait might begin. 
 
BOOK THE THIRD. 
 
 NATURE MAY TRIUMPH THEREFOBB; 
 
 And the font took them : let our laurels lie I 
 
 Braid moonfem now with mystic trifoly 
 
 Because once more Goito gets, once more, 
 
 Sordello to itself ! A dream is o'er, 
 
 And the suspended life begins anew ; 
 
 Quiet those throbbing temples, then, subdue 
 
 That cheek's distortion ! Nature's strict embrace, 
 
 Putting aside the Past, shall soon efface 
 
 Its print as well — factitious humors grown 
 
 Over the true — loves, hatreds not his own — 
 
 And turn him pure as some forgotten vest 
 
 Woven of painted byssus, silkiest 
 
 Tufting the Tyrrhene whelk's pearl-sheeted lip, 
 
 Left welter where a trireme let it slip 
 
 I' the sea, and vexed a satrap ; so the stain 
 
 O' the world forsakes Sordello, with its pain. 
 
 Its pleasure : how the tinct loosening escapes. 
 
 Cloud after cloud ! Mantua's familiar shapes 
 
 Die, fair and foul die, fading as they flit. 
 
 Men, women, and the pathos and the wit, 
 
 Wise speech and foolish, deeds to smile or sigh 
 
 For, good, bad, seemly or ignoble, die. 
 
 The last face glances through the eglantines. 
 
76 FOB HER SON, LATELY ALIVE, DIES AGAIN, 
 
 The last voice murmurs 'twixt the blossomed vines 
 
 Of Men, of that machine supplied by thought 
 
 To compass self-perception with, he sought 
 
 By forcing half himself — an insane pulse 
 
 Of a god's blood, on clay it could convulse, 
 
 Never transmute — on human sights and sounds, 
 
 To watch the other half with ; irksome bounds 
 
 It ebbs from to its source, a fountain sealed 
 
 Forever. Better sure be unrevealed 
 
 Than part-revealed : Sordello well or ill 
 
 Is finished : then what further use of Will, 
 
 A point in the prime idea not realized, 
 
 An oversight ? inordinately prized, 
 
 No less, and pampered with enough of each 
 
 Delight to prove the whole above its reach. 
 
 *^ To need become all natures, yet retain 
 
 The law of my own nature — to remain 
 
 Myself, yet yearn ... as if that chestnut, think, 
 
 Should yearn for this first larch-bloom crisp and pink, 
 
 Or those {)ale f)'agi'ant tears where zephyrs stanch 
 
 March wounds along the fretted pine-tree branch ! 
 
 Will and the means to show will, great and small, 
 
 Material, spiritual, — abjure them all 
 
 Save any so distinct, they may be left 
 
 To amuse, not tempt become ! and, thus bereft, 
 
 Just as I first was fashioned would I be ! 
 
 Nor, Moon, is it Apollo now, but me 
 
 Thou visitest to comfort and befriend ! 
 
 Swim thou into my heart, and there an end, 
 
"WAS FOUND AND IS LOST. 77 
 
 Since I possess thee ! — nay, thus shut mine eyes 
 And know, quite know, by this heart's fall and riso. 
 When thou dost bury thee in clouds, and when 
 Out-standest : wherefore practise upon men 
 To make that plainer to myself?" 
 
 Slide here 
 Over a sweet and solitary year 
 "Wasted : or simply notice change in him — 
 How eyes, bright with exploring once, grew dim 
 And satiate with receiving. Some distress 
 "Was caused, too, by a sort of consciousness 
 Under the imbecility, — naught kept 
 That down ; he slept, but was aware he slept, 
 So, frustrated : as who brainsick made pact 
 Ei-st with the overhanging cataract 
 To deafen him, yet still distinguished slow 
 His own blood's measured clicking at his brow. 
 
 To finish. One declining Autumn day — 
 Few birds about the heaven chill and gray. 
 No wind that cared trouble the tacit woods — 
 He sauntered home complacently, their moods 
 According, his and Nature's. Every spark 
 Of Mantua life was trodden out ; so dark 
 The embers, that the Troubadour, who sung 
 Hundreds of songs, forgot, its trick his tongue, 
 Its craft his brain, how either brought to pass 
 vSinging at all ; that faculty might class 
 With any of Apollo's now. The year 
 Began to find its early promise sere 
 
78 BUT NATURE IS ONE THING, MAN ANOTHER 
 
 As well. Thus beauty vanishes ; thus stone 
 
 Outlingers flesh : Nature's and his youth gone, 
 
 They left the world to you, and wished you joy. 
 
 When, stopping his benevolent employ, 
 
 A presage shuddered through the welkin ; harsh 
 
 Tlie earth's remonstrance followed. 'T was the marsh 
 
 Gone of a sudden. Mincio, in its place. 
 
 Laughed, a broad water, in next morning's face. 
 
 And, where the mists broke up immense and white 
 
 I' the steady wind, burned like a spilth of light 
 
 Out of the crashing of a myriad stars. 
 
 And here was Nature, bound by the same bars 
 
 Of fate with him ! 
 
 " No ! youth once gone is gone : 
 Deeds let escape are never to be done. 
 Leaf-fall and grass-spring for the year ; for us — 
 Oh forfeit I unalterably thus 
 My chance ? nor two lives wait me, this to spend 
 Learning save that ? Nature has time to mend 
 Mistake, she knows occasion will recur — 
 Landslip or seabreach, how affects it her 
 With her magnificent resources ? — I 
 Must perish once and perish utterly ! 
 Not any strollings now at even-close 
 Down the field-path, Sordello ! by thorn-rows 
 Alive with lamp-flies, swimming spots of fire 
 And dew, outlining the black cypress' spire 
 She waits you at, Elys, who heard you first 
 Woo her, the snow-month through, but ere she durst 
 
HAVING MULTIFARIOUS SYMPATHIES, 79 
 
 Answer 't was April ! Linden-flower-time-long 
 
 Her eyes were on the ground ; 't is July, strong 
 
 Now ; and because white dust-clouds overwhelm 
 
 The woodside, here or by the village elm 
 
 That holds the moon, she meets you, somewhat pale, 
 
 But letting you lift up her coarse flax veil 
 
 And whisper (the damp little hand in yours) 
 
 Of love, heart's love, your heart's love that endures 
 
 Till death. Tush ! No mad mixing with the rout 
 
 Of haggard ribalds wandering about 
 
 The hot torchlit wine-scented island-house 
 
 Where Friedrich holds his wickedest carouse, 
 
 Parading, — to the gay Palermitans, 
 
 Soft Messinese, dusk Saracenic clans 
 
 Nuocera holds, — those tall grave dazzling Norse, 
 
 High-cheeked, lank-haired, toothed whiter than the moi-se, 
 
 Queens of the caves of jet stalactites. 
 
 He sent his barks to fetch through icy seas, 
 
 The blind night seas without a saving star. 
 
 And here in snowy birdskin robes they are, 
 
 Sordello ! — here, moUitious alcoves gilt 
 
 Superb as Byzant domes that devils built ! 
 
 — Ah, Byzant, there again ! no chance to go 
 
 Ever like august pleasant Dandolo, 
 
 Worshipping hearts about him for a wall. 
 
 Conducted, blind eyes, hundred years and all. 
 
 Through vanquished Byzant where friends note for him 
 
 What pillar, marble massive, sardius slim, 
 
 'T were fittest he transport to Venice' Square — 
 
80 HE MAY NEITHER RENOUNCE NOR SATISFY; 
 
 Flattered and promised life to touch them there 
 
 Soon, by his fervid sons of senators ! 
 
 No more lifes, deaths, loves, hatreds^ peaces, wars — 
 
 Ah, fragments of a whole ordained to be ! 
 
 Points in the life I waited ! what are ye 
 
 But roundels of a ladder which appeared 
 
 Awhile the very platform it was reared 
 
 To lift me on ? — that happiness I find 
 
 Proofs of my faith in, even in the blind 
 
 Instinct which bade forego you all unless 
 
 Ye led me past yourselves. Ay, happiness 
 
 Awaited me ; the way life should be used 
 
 Was to acquire, and deeds like you conduced 
 
 To teach it by a self-revealment, deemed 
 
 The very use, so long ! Wliatever seemed 
 
 Progress to that, was pleasure ; aught that stayed 
 
 My reaching it — no pleasure. I have laid 
 
 The ladder down ; I climb not ; still, aloft 
 
 The platform stretches ! Blisses strong and soft, 
 
 I dared not entertain, elude me ; yet 
 
 Never of what they promised could I get 
 
 A glimpse till now ! The common sort, the crowd 
 
 Exist, perceive ; with Being are endowed, 
 
 However slight, distinct from what they See, 
 
 However bounded : Happiness must be. 
 
 To feed the first by gleanings from the last, 
 
 Attain its qualities, and slow or fast 
 
 Become what they behold ; such peace-in-strife 
 
 By transmutation, is the Use of Life, 
 
 The Alien turning Native to the soul 
 
IN THE PROCESS TO AVHICII IS PLEASURE, 81 
 
 Ov body — which instructs me ; I am whole 
 
 There and demand a Palma ; had the world 
 
 Been from my soul to a like distance hurled, 
 
 'T were Happiness to make it one with me — 
 
 Whereas I must, ere I begin to Be, 
 
 Include a world, in flesh, I comprehend 
 
 In spirit now ; and this done, what 's to blend 
 
 AYith ? Naught is Alien in the world — my Will 
 
 Owns all already ; yet can turn it still 
 
 Less Native, since my Means to correspond 
 
 With Will are so unworthy, 't was my bond 
 
 To tread the very joys that tantalize 
 
 Most now, into a grave, never to rise. 
 
 I die then ! Will the rest agree to die ? 
 
 Next Age or no ? Shall its Sordello try 
 
 Clew after clew, and catch at last the clew 
 
 I miss ? — that 's underneath my finger too, 
 
 Twice, thrice a day, perhaps, — some yearning traced 
 
 Deeper, some petty consequence embraced 
 
 Closer ! Why fled I Mantua, then ? — complained 
 
 So much my Will was fettered, yet remained 
 
 Content within a tether half the range 
 
 I could assign it? — • able to exchange 
 
 My ignorance (I felt) for knowledge, and 
 
 Idle because I could thus understand — 
 
 Could e'en have penetrated to its core 
 
 Our mortal mystery, and yet forbore, 
 
 Preferred plaboratinT in the dark 
 
 My casual stuif. bv any wretched snark 
 
 4* !• 
 
82 WHILE RENUNCIATION INSURES DESPAIR. 
 
 Born of my predecessors, though one stroke 
 
 Of mine had brought the flame forth ! Mantua's yoke, 
 
 My minstrel's-trade, was to behold mankind, — 
 
 My o^vn concernment — just to bring my mind 
 
 Behold, just extricate, for my acquist, 
 
 Each object suffered stifle in the mist 
 
 Which hazard, use and blindness could impose 
 
 In their relation to myself." 
 
 He rose. 
 The level wind carried above the firs 
 Clouds, the irrevocable travellers, 
 Onward. 
 
 " Pushed thus into a drowsy copse, 
 Arms twine about my neck, each eyelid drops 
 Under a humid finger ; while there fleets, 
 Outside the screen, a pageant time repeats 
 Never again ! To be deposed — immured 
 Clandestinely — still petted, still assured 
 To govern were fatiguing work — the Sight 
 Fleeting meanwhile ! 'T is noontide.: wreak ere night 
 Somehow my will upon it, rather ! Slake 
 This thirst somehow, the poorest impress take 
 That serves ! A blasted bud displays you, torn, 
 Faint rudiments of the full flower unborn ; 
 But who divines what glory coats o'erclasp 
 Of the bulb dormant in the mummy's grasp 
 Taurello sent "... 
 
 " I'aurello ? Palma sent 
 Your Trouvere," (iNaado mterposiug leant 
 
THERE IS YET A WAT OF ESCAPING THIS ; 83 
 
 Over the lost bard's shoulder) — " and, believe, 
 
 You cannot more reluctantly receive 
 
 Than I pronounce her message : we depart 
 
 Together. "What avail a poet's heart 
 
 Verona's pomps and gauds ? five blades of grass 
 
 Suffice him. News ? Why, where your marish was, 
 
 On its mud-banks smoke fast rises after smoke 
 
 I' the valley, like a spout of hell new-broke. 
 
 O, the world's tidings ! small your thanks, I guess, 
 
 For them. The father of our Patroness, 
 
 Has played Taurello an astounding trick, 
 
 Parts between Ecelin and Alberic 
 
 His wealth and goes into a convent : both 
 
 Wed Guelfs : the Count and Palma plighted troth 
 
 A week since at Verona : and they want 
 
 You doubtless to contrive the marriage-chant 
 
 Ere Richard storms Ferrara." Here was told 
 
 The tale from the beginning — how, made bold 
 
 By Salinguerra's absence, Guelfs had burned 
 
 And pillaged till he unawares returned 
 
 To take revenge : how Azzo and his friend 
 
 Were doing their endeavor, how the end 
 
 Of the siege was nigh, and how the Count, released 
 
 From further care, would with his marriage-feast 
 
 Inaugurate a new and better rule, 
 
 Absorbing thus Romano. 
 
 " Shall I school 
 My master," added Naddo, " and suggest 
 How you may clothe in a poetic vest 
 
84 WHICH HE NOW TAKES BY OBEYING PALMA : 
 
 These doings, at Verona ? Your response 
 
 To Palma ! Wherefore jest ? ' Depart at once ? * 
 
 A good resolve ! In truth, I hardly hoped 
 
 So prompt an acquiescence. Have you groped 
 
 Out wisdom in the wilds here ? — Thoughts may be 
 
 Over-poetical for poetry. 
 
 Pearl-white, you poets liken Palma's neck ; 
 
 And yet what spoils an orient like some speck 
 
 Of genuine white, turning its own white gray ? 
 
 You take me ? Curse the cicale ! " 
 
 One more day. 
 One eve — appears Verona ! Many a group, 
 (You mind) instructed of the osprey's swoop 
 On lynx and ounce, was gathering — Christendom 
 Sure to receive, whate'er the end was, from 
 The evening's purpose cheer or detriment, 
 Since Friedrich only waited some event 
 Like this, of Ghibellins establishing 
 Themselves within Ferrara, ere, as King 
 Of Lombardy, he 'd glad descend there, wage 
 Old warfare with the Pontiff, disengage 
 His barons from the burghers, and restore 
 The rule of Charlemagne, broken of yore 
 By Hildebrand. 
 
 In the palace, each by each, 
 Sordello sat and Palma : little speech 
 At first in that dim closet, face with face 
 (Despite the tumult in the market-place) 
 Exchanging quick low laughters : now would rush 
 
WHO THEREUPON BECOMES HIS ASSOCIATE, 85 
 
 Word upon word to meet a sudden flush, 
 
 A look left off, a shifting lips' surmise — 
 
 But for the most part their two histories 
 
 Ilan best thro' the locked fingers and linked arms. 
 
 And so the night flew on with its alarms 
 
 Till in burst one of Palma's retinue ; 
 
 " Now, Lady ! " gasped he. Then arose the two 
 
 And leaned into Verona's air, dead-still. 
 
 A balcony lay black beneath until 
 
 Out, 'mid a gush of torchfire, gray-haired men 
 
 Came on it and harangued the people : then 
 
 Sea-like that people surging to and fro 
 
 Shoutod, " Hale forth the Carroch — trumpets, ho, 
 
 A flourish ! run it in the ancient grooves — 
 
 Back from the bell ! Hammer ! that whom behooves 
 
 May hear the League is up ! Peal ! learn who list, 
 
 Verona means not be the first break tryst 
 
 To-morrow with the League ! " 
 
 Enough. Now turn — 
 Over the eastern cypresses : discern — 
 Is any beacon set a-glimmer ? 
 
 Rang 
 The air witli shouts that overpowered the clang 
 Of the incessant carroch, even : " Haste — 
 The Candle 's at the gateway ! ere it waste, 
 Each soldier stand beside it, armed to march 
 With Tiso Sampler through the eastern arch ! " 
 Ferrara 's succored, Palma ! 
 
 Once again 
 
86 AS HER OWN HISTOUY WILL ACCOUNT FOlv, 
 
 They sat together ; some strange thing in train 
 
 To say, so difficult was Palma's place 
 
 In taking, with a coy fastidious grace 
 
 Like the bird's flutter ere it fix and feed. 
 
 But when she felt she held her friend indeed 
 
 Safe, she threw back her curls, began implant 
 
 Her lessons ; telling of another want 
 
 Goito's quiet nourished than his own ; 
 
 Pal ma — to serve, as him — be served, alone 
 
 Importing ; Agnes' milk so neutralized 
 
 The blood of Ecelin. Nor be surprised 
 
 If, while Sordello fain had captive led 
 
 Nature, in dream was Palma wholly subjected 
 
 To some out-soul, which dawned not though she pined 
 
 Delaying till its advent, heart and mind. 
 
 Their life. " How dared I let expand the force 
 
 Within me, till some out-soul, whose resource 
 
 It grew for, should direct it ? Every law 
 
 Of life, its every fitness, every flaw. 
 
 Must One determine whose corporeal shape 
 
 "Would be no other than the prime escape 
 
 And revelation to me of a Will ^ 
 
 Orb-like o'ershrouded and inscrutable 
 
 Above, save at the point which, I should know, 
 
 Shone that myself, my powers, might overflow 
 
 So far, so much ; as now it signified 
 
 Which earthly shape it henceforth chose my guide, 
 
 Whose mortal lip selected to declare 
 
 Its oracles, what fleshly garb would wear ; 
 
 I 
 
A REVERSE TO, AND COltfPLETION OP, HIS. 87 
 
 — The first of intimations, whom to love ; 
 The next, how love him. Seemed that orb, above 
 The castle-covert and the mountain-close. 
 Slow in appearing, — if beneath it rose 
 . Cravings, aversions, — did our green precinct 
 Take pride in me, at unawares distinct 
 With this or that endowment, — how, represt 
 At once, such jetting power shrunk to the rest ! 
 Was I to have a chance touch spoil me, leave 
 My spirit thence unfitted to receive 
 The consummating spell ? — that spell so near 
 Moreover ! ' Waits he not the waking year ? 
 His almond-blossoms must be honey-ripe 
 By this ; to welcome him, fresh runnels stripe 
 The thawed ravines ; because of him, the wind 
 Walks like a herald. I shall surely find 
 Him now ! ' 
 
 And chief, that earnest April mom 
 Of Richard's Love-court, was it time, so worn 
 And white my cheek, so idly my blood beat, 
 Sitting that morn beside the Lady's feet 
 And saying as she prompted ; till outburst 
 One face from all the faces — not then first 
 I knew it ; where in maple chamber glooms, 
 Crowned with what sanguine-heart pomegranate blooms 
 Advanced it ever ? Men's acknowledgment 
 Sanctioned my own : 't was taken, Palma's bent, — 
 Sordello, a/?cepted. 
 
 And the Tuscan dumb 
 
88 HOW SHE EVER ASPIRED FOR HIS SAKE, 
 
 Sat scheming, scheming. Ecelin would come 
 
 Gaunt, scared, * Cesano baffles me,' he 'd say : 
 
 * Better I fought it out, my father's way ! 
 
 Strangle Ferrara in its drowning flats. 
 
 And you and your Taurello yonder — what 's 
 
 Romano's business there ? ' An hour's concern 
 
 To cure the froward Chief! — induced return 
 
 Much heartened from those overmeaning eyes, 
 
 Wound up to persevere, — his enterprise 
 
 Marked out anew, its exigent of wit 
 
 Apportioned, — she at liberty to sit 
 
 And scheme against the next emergence, I — 
 
 To covet her Taurello-sprite, made fly 
 
 Or fold the wing — to con your horoscope 
 
 For leave command those steely shafts shoot ope. 
 
 Or straight assuage their blinding eagerness 
 
 To blank smooth snow. What semblance of success 
 
 To any of my plans for making you 
 
 Mine and Romano's ? Break the first wall through, 
 
 Tread o'er the ruins of the Chief, supplant 
 
 His sons beside, still, vainest were the vaunt : 
 
 There, Salinguerra would obstruct me sheer. 
 
 And the insuperable Tuscan, here, 
 
 Stayed me ! But one wild eve that Lady died 
 
 In her lone chamber : only I beside : 
 
 Taurello far at Naples, and my sire 
 
 At Padua, Ecelin away in ire 
 
 With Alberic. She held me thus — a clutch 
 
 To make our spirits as our bodies touch — 
 
CIRCUMSTANCES HELPING OR HINDERING. 89 
 
 And so began flinging the Past up, heaps 
 Of uncouth treasure from their sunless sleeps 
 Within her soul ; deeds rose along with dreams, 
 Fragments of many miserable schemes. 
 Secrets, more secrets, then — no, not the last — 
 'Mongst others, like a casual trick o' the Past, 
 How ... ay, she told me, gathering up her face 
 
 — All left of it, into one arch-grimace 
 To die with ... 
 
 Friend, 't is gone ! but not the fear 
 Of that fell laughing, heard as now I hear. 
 Nor faltered voice, nor seemed her heart grow weak, 
 When i' the midst abrupt she ceased to speak 
 
 — Dead, as to serve a purpose, mark ! — for in 
 Rushed o' the very instant Ecelin 
 
 (How summoned, who divines ?) — looking as if 
 He understood why Adelaide lay stiff 
 Already in my arms ; for, ' Girl, how must 
 I manage Este in the matter thrust 
 Upon me, how unravel your bad coil ? — 
 Since ' (he declared) ' 't is on your brow — a soil 
 'Like hers, there ! ' then in the same breath, * he lacked 
 No counsel after all, had signed no pact 
 With devils, nor was treason here or there, 
 Goito or Vicenza, his affair : 
 He buried it in Adelaide's deep grave. 
 Would begin life afresh, now, — would not slave 
 For any Friedrich's nor Taurello's sake ! 
 What booted him to meddle or to make 
 
90 HOW SUCCESS AT LAST SEEMED POSSIBLE, 
 
 In Lombardy ? ' And afterward I knew 
 The meaning of his promise to undo 
 All she had done — why marriages were made, 
 New friendships entered on, old followers paid 
 "With curses for their pains, — new friends' amaze 
 At height, when, passing out by Gate St. Blaise, 
 He stopped short in Vicenza, bent his head 
 Over a friar's neck, — 'had vowed,' he said, 
 ' Long since, nigh thirty years, because his wife 
 And child were saved there, to bestow his life 
 On Grod, his gettings on the Church.' 
 
 Exiled 
 Within Goito, still one dream beguiled 
 My days and niglits ; 't was found, the orb I sought 
 To serve, those glimpses came of Fomalhaut, 
 No other : but how serve it ? — authorize 
 You and Romano mingle destinies ? 
 And straight Romano's angel stood beside 
 Me who had else been Boniface's bride. 
 For Salinguerra 't was, with neck low bent. 
 And voice lightened to music, (as he meant 
 To leam not teach me,) who withdrew the pall 
 From the dead Past and straight revived it all, 
 Making me see how first Romano waxed. 
 Wherefore he waned now, why, if I relaxed 
 My grasp (even I !) would drop a thing effete, 
 Frayed by itself, unequal to complete 
 Its course, and counting every step astray 
 A gain so much. Romano, every way 
 
BY THE INTERVENTION OF SALINGUERRA : 91 
 
 Suable, a Lombard House now — why start back 
 
 Into the verj outset of its track ? 
 
 This patching-principle which late allied 
 
 Our House with other Houses — what beside 
 
 Concerned the apparition, the first Knight 
 
 Who followed Conrad hither in such plight 
 
 His utmost wealth was summed in his one steed ? 
 
 For Ecelo, that prowler, was decreed 
 
 A task, in the beginning hazardous 
 
 To him as ever task can be to us ; 
 
 But did the weather-beaten thief despair 
 
 When first our crystal cincture of warm air, — 
 
 That binds the Trevisan, — as its spice-belt 
 
 (Crusaders say) the tract where Jesus dwelt, -^ 
 
 Furtive he pierced, and Este was to face — 
 
 Despaired Saponian strength of Lombard grace ? 
 
 Tried he at making surer auglit made sure, 
 
 INIaturing what already was mature ? 
 
 No ; his heart prompted Ecelo, ' Confront 
 
 Este, inspect yourself. What 's nature ? Wont. 
 
 Discard three-parts your nature, and adopt 
 
 The rest as an advantage ! ' Old strength propped 
 
 The man who first grew Podesta among 
 
 The Vincentines, no less than, while there sprung 
 
 His palace up in Padua like a threat. 
 
 Their noblest spied a grace, unnoticed yet 
 
 In Conrad's crew. Thus far the object gained, 
 
 Romano was established — has remained — 
 
 For are you not Italian, truly peers 
 
92 
 
 "WHO REMEDIED ILL WROUGHT BY ECELIN, 
 
 With Este ? ' Azzo ' better soothes our ears 
 
 Than ^ Alberic ? ' or is this lion's-crine 
 
 From over-mounts ' (this yellow hair of mine) 
 
 ^ So weak a graft on Agnes Este's stock ? ' 
 
 (Thus went he on with something of a mock) 
 
 * Wherefore recoil, then, from the very fate 
 
 Conceded you, refuse to imitate 
 
 Your model farther ? Este long since left 
 
 Being mere Este : as a blade its heft, 
 
 Este required the Pope to further him : 
 
 And you, the Kaiser — whom your father's whim 
 
 Foregoes or, better, never shall forego 
 
 If Palma dare pursue what Ecelo 
 
 Commenced, but Ecelin desists from : just 
 
 As Adelaide of Susa could intrust 
 
 Her donative, — her Piedmont given the Pope, 
 
 Her Alpine-pass for him to shut or ope 
 
 'Twixt France and Italy, — to the superb 
 
 Matilda's perfecting, — so, lest aught curb 
 
 Our Adelaide's great counter-project for 
 
 Giving her Trentine to the Emperor 
 
 With passage here from Germany, — shall you 
 
 Take it, — my slender plodding talent, too ! ' 
 
 — Urged me Taurello with his half-smile. 
 
 He 
 As Patron of the scattered family 
 Conveyed me to his Mantua, kept in bruit 
 Azzo's alliances and Richard's suit 
 Until, the Kaiser excommunicate, 
 
AXD HAD A PROJECT FOR HER OWN GLORY, 93 
 
 ' Nothing remains,* Taurello said, * but wait 
 
 Some rash procedure : Pahna was the link, 
 
 As Agnes' child, between us, and they shrink 
 
 From losing Palma : judge if we advance, 
 
 Your father's method, your inheritance ! ' 
 
 That day I was betrothed to Boniface 
 
 At Padua by Taurello's self, took place 
 
 The outrage of the Ferrarese : again, 
 
 That day I sought Verona with the train 
 
 Agreeed for, — by Taurello's policy 
 
 Convicting Richard of the fault, since we 
 
 Were present to annul or to confirm, — 
 
 Richard, whose patience had outstayed its term, • 
 
 Quitted Verona for the siege. 
 
 And now 
 What glory may engird Sordello's brow 
 Through this ? A month since at Oliero slunk 
 All that was Ecelin into a monk ; 
 But how could Salinguerra so forget 
 His liege of thirty years as grudge even yet 
 One effort to recover him ? He sent 
 Forthwith the tidings of this last event 
 To Ecelin — declared that he, despite 
 The recent folly, recognized his right 
 To order Salinguen-a : ' Should he wring 
 Its uttermost advantage out, or fling 
 This chance away ? Or were his sons now Head 
 Of the House ? * Through me Taurello's missive spe ^ : 
 My father's answer will by me return. 
 
94 WHICH SHE WOULD CHANGE TO SORDELLO'S. 
 
 Behold ! * For him,' he writes, ' no more concern 
 With strife than, for his chil(h-en, with fresh plots 
 Of Friedrich. Old engagements out he blots 
 For aye : Taurello shall no more subserve, 
 Nor Ecelin impose.' Lest this unnerve 
 Taurello at this juncture, slack his grip 
 Of Richard, suffer the occasion slip, — 
 I, in his sons' default (who, mating with 
 Este, forsake Romano as the frith 
 Its mainsea for the firmland, sea makes head 
 Against) I stand, Romano, — in their stead 
 Assume the station they desert, and give 
 Still, as the Kaiser's representative, 
 Taurello license he demands. Midnight — 
 Morning — by noon to-morrow, making light 
 Of the League's issue, we, in some gay weed 
 Like yours, disguised together, may precede 
 The arbitrators to Ferrara : reach 
 Him, let Taurello's noble accents teach 
 The rest ! then say if I have misconceived 
 Your destiny, too readily believed 
 The Kaiser's cause your own ! " 
 
 And Palma 's fled. 
 Though no affirmative disturbs the head, 
 A dying lamp-flame sinks and rises o'er, 
 Like the alighted planet Pollux wore, 
 Until, morn breaking, he resolves to be 
 Gate-vein of this heart's blood of Lombardy, 
 Soul of this body — to wield this aggregate 
 
THUS THEN, HAVING COMPLETED A CIRCLE, 95 
 
 Of souls and bodies, and so conquer fate 
 
 Though he should live — a centre of disgust 
 
 Even — apart, core of the outward crust 
 
 He vivified, assimilated. Thus 
 
 I bring Sordello to the rapturous 
 
 Exclaim at the crowd's cry, because one round 
 
 Of life was quite accomplished ; and he found 
 
 Not only that a soul, whate'er its might, 
 
 Is insufficient to its own delight. 
 
 Both in corporeal organs and in skill 
 
 By means of such to body forth its Will — 
 
 And, after, insufficient to apprise 
 
 Men of that Will, oblige them recognize 
 
 The Hid by the Revealed — but that, the last 
 
 Nor lightest of the struggles overpast. 
 
 His Will, bade abdicate, which would not void 
 
 The throne, might sit tliere, suifer be enjoyed 
 
 Mankind, a varied and divine array 
 
 Incapable of homage, the first way, 
 
 Nor fit to render incidentally 
 
 Tribute connived at, taken by the by. 
 
 In joys. If thus with warrant to rescind 
 
 The ignominious exile of mankind — 
 
 Whose proper service, ascertained intact 
 
 As yet, (to be by him themselves made act, 
 
 Not watch Sordello acting each of them) 
 
 Was to secure — if the true diadem 
 
 Seemed imminent while our Sordello drank 
 
 The wnsdom of that golden Palma, — thank 
 
96 THE POET MAT PAUSE AND BREATHE, 
 
 Verona's Lady in her Citadel 
 
 Founded by Gaulish Brennus, legends tell: 
 
 And truly when she left him, the sun reared 
 
 A head like the first clamberer's that peered 
 
 A-top the Capitol, liis face on flame 
 
 With triumph, triumphing till Manlius came. 
 
 Nor slight too much my rhymes — that spring, dispread, 
 
 Dispart, disperse, lingering overhead 
 
 Like an escape of angels ! Rather say, 
 
 My transcendental platan ! mounting gay 
 
 (An archimage so courts a novice-queen) 
 
 With tremulous silvered trunk, whence branches sheen 
 
 Laugh out, thick-foliaged next, a-shiver soon 
 
 With colored buds, then glowing like the moon 
 
 One mild flame, — last a pause, a burst, and all 
 
 Her ivory limbs are smothered by a fall, 
 
 Bloom-flinders and fruit-sparkles and leaf-dust, 
 
 Ending the weird work prosecuted just 
 
 For her amusement ; he decrepit, stark, 
 
 Dozes ; her uncontrolled delight may mark 
 
 Apart — 
 
 Yet not so, surely never so ! 
 Only, as good my soul were suflfered go 
 O'er the lagune : fortli fare thee, put aside 
 Entrance thy synod, as a god may glide 
 Out of the world he fills, and leave it mute 
 For myriad ages as we men compute. 
 Returning into it without a break 
 O' the consciousness I They sleep, and I awake 
 O'er the lagune. 
 
BEING REALLY IN THE FLESH AT VENICE, 97 
 
 Sordello said once, " Note, 
 In just such songs as Eglamor (say) wrote 
 With heart and soul and strength, for he beheved 
 Himself achieving all to be achieved 
 By singer — in such songs you find alone 
 Completeness, judge the song and singer one. 
 And either's purpose answered, his in it 
 Or its in him : while from true works (to wit 
 Sordello's dream-performances that will 
 Be never more than dreamed) escapes there still 
 Some proof, the singer's proper life was 'neath 
 The life his song exhibits, this a sheath 
 To that ; a passion and a knowledge far 
 Transcending these, majestic as they are. 
 Smouldered ; his lay was but an episode 
 In the bard's life : which evidence you owed 
 To some slight weariness, some looking-off 
 Or start-away. The childish skit or scoff 
 In " Charlemagne," (his poem, dreamed divine 
 In every point except one silly line 
 About the restiff daughters !) — what may lurk 
 In that ? * My life commenced before that work, 
 (Thus I interpret the significance 
 Of the bard's start aside and look askance) 
 ' My life continues after : on I fare 
 With no more stopping, possibly, no care 
 To note the undercuiTent, the why and how, 
 Where, when, of the deeper life, as thus just now. 
 But, silent, shall I cease to live ? Alas 
 
 5 Q 
 
98 AND WATCHING HIS OWN LIFE SOMETIMES, 
 
 For you ! who sigh, ' When shall it come to pass 
 
 We read that story ? How will he compress 
 
 The future gains, his life's true business, 
 
 Into the better lay which — that one flout, 
 
 Howe'er inopportune it be, lets out — 
 
 Engrosses him already, though professed 
 
 To meditate with us eternal rest, 
 
 And partnership in all his life has found ? 
 
 'T is but a sailor's promise, weather-bound : 
 
 ' Strike sail, slip cable, here the bark be moored 
 
 For once, the awning stretched, the poles assured ! 
 
 Noontide above ; except the Avave's crisp dash, 
 
 Or buzz of cohbri, or tortoise' splash. 
 
 The margin 's silent : out with every spoil 
 
 Made in our tracking, coil by mighty coil, 
 
 This serpent of a river to his head 
 
 I' the midst ! Admire each treasui^e, as we spread 
 
 The bank, to help us tell our history 
 
 Aright : give ear, endeavor to descry 
 
 The groves of giant rushes, how they grew 
 
 Like demons' endlong tresses we sailed through, 
 
 What mountams yawned, forests to give us vent 
 
 Opened, each doleful side, yet on we went 
 
 Till . . . may that beetle (shake your cap) attest 
 
 The springing of a land-wind from the West ! ' 
 
 — ' Wherefore ? Ah yes, you frolic it to-day ! 
 
 To-morrow, and the pageant 's moved away 
 
 Down to the poorest tent-pole : we and yo« 
 
 Part company : no other may pursue 
 
BECAUSE IT IS PLEASANT TO BE YOUNG, 93 
 
 Eastward your voyage, be informed what fate 
 Intends, if triumph or decline await 
 The tempter of the everlasting steppe/ 
 
 I muse this on a ruined palace-step 
 At Venice : why should I break off, nor sit 
 Longer upon my step, exhaust the fit 
 England gave bii-th to ? Who 's adorable 
 
 Enough reclaim a no Sordello's Will 
 
 Alack ! — be queen to me ? That Bassanese 
 Busied among her smoking fruit-boats ? These 
 Perhaps from our delicious Asolo 
 Who twnkle, pigeons o'er the portico 
 Not prettier, bind June lilies into sheaves 
 To deck the bridge-side chapel, dropping leaves 
 Soiled by their own loose gold-meal ? Ah, beneath 
 The cool arch stoops she, brownest-cheek ! Her wreath 
 Endures a month — a half-month — if I make 
 A queen of her, continue for her sake 
 Sordello's story ? Nay, that Paduan girl 
 Splashes with barer legs where a live whirl 
 In the dead black Giudecca proves sea-weed 
 Drifting has sucked down three, four, all indeed 
 Save one pale-red striped, pale-blue turbaned post 
 For gondolas. 
 
 You sad dishevelled ghost 
 That pluck at me and point, are you advised 
 I breathe ? Let stay those girls (e'en her disguised 
 — Jewels in the locks that love no crownet like 
 Their native field-buds and the green wheat spike, 
 
100 WOULD BUT SUFFEKING HUMANITY ALLOW ! 
 
 So fair ! — who left this end of June's turmoil, 
 
 Shook olF, as might a lily its gold soil, 
 
 Pomp, save a foolish gem or two, and free 
 
 In dream, came join the peasants o'er the sea.) 
 
 Look they too happy, too tricked out ? Confess 
 
 There is such niggard stock of happiness 
 
 To share, tliat, do one's uttermost, dear wretch, 
 
 One labors ineffectually to stretch 
 
 It o'er you so that mother and children, both 
 
 May equitably flaunt the sumpter-cloth ! 
 
 Divide the robe yet farther : be content 
 
 With seeing just a score pre-eminent 
 
 Through shreds of it, acknowledged happy wights. 
 
 Engrossing what should furnish all, by rights — 
 
 For, these in evidence, you clearlier claim 
 
 A like garb for the rest, — grace all, the same 
 
 As these my peasants. I ask youth and strength 
 
 And health for each of you, not more — at length 
 
 Grown wise, wlio asked at home that the whole race 
 
 Might add the spirit's to the body's grace. 
 
 And all be dizened out as chiefs and bards. 
 
 But in this magic weather one discards 
 
 Much old requirement — Venice seems a type 
 
 Of Life, — 'twixt blue and blue extends, a stripe, 
 
 As Life, the somewhat, hangs 'twixt naught and naught 
 
 'T is Venice, and 't is Life — as good you sought 
 
 To spare me the Piazza's slippery stone, 
 
 Or keep me to the unchoked canals alone. 
 
 As liinder Life the evil with the good 
 
WHICH INSTIGATES TO TASKS LIKE THIS, 101 
 
 Whicli make up Living, riglitly understood. 
 Only, do finish something ! Peasants or queens, 
 Take them, made happy by whatever means. 
 Parade them for the common credit, vouch 
 That a luckless residue, we send to crouch 
 In corners out of sight, was just as framed 
 For happiness, its portion might have claimed 
 As well, and so, obtaining it, had stalked 
 Fastuous as any ! — such my project, balked 
 Already ; I hardly venture to adjust 
 The first rags, when you find me. To mistrust 
 Me ! — nor unreasonably. You, no doubt, 
 Have the true knack of tiring suitors out 
 With those thin lips on tremble, lashless eyes 
 Inveterately tear-shot — there, be wise 
 Mistress of mine, there, there, as if I meant 
 You insult ! Shall your friend (not slave) be shent 
 For speaking home ? Beside, care-bit, erased, 
 Broken-up beauties ever took my taste 
 Supremely, and I love you more, far more 
 Than her I looked should foot Life's temple-floor. 
 Years ago, leagues at distance, when and where 
 A whisper came, " Let others seek ! - — thy care 
 Is found, thy life's provision ; if thy race 
 Should be thy mistress, and into one face 
 The many faces crowd ? " Ah, had I, judge, 
 Or no, your secret ? Rough apparel — grudge 
 All ornaments save tag or tassel worn 
 To hint we are not thoroughly forlorn — 
 
102 AND DOUBTLESSLY COMPENSATES THEM, 
 
 Slouch bonnet, unloop mantle, careless go 
 
 Alone (that 's saddest but it must be so) 
 
 Through Venice, sing now and now glance aside, 
 
 Aught desultory or undignified, — 
 
 Then, ravishingest lady, will you pass 
 
 Or not each formidable group, the mass 
 
 Before the Basilic (that feast gone by, 
 
 God's great day of the Corpus Domini) 
 
 And, wistfully foregoing proper men, 
 
 Come timid up to me for alms ? And then 
 
 The luxury to hesitate, feign do 
 
 Some unexampled grace ! — '■ when, whom but you 
 
 Dare I bestow your own upon ? And here 
 
 Further before you say, it is to sneer 
 
 I call you ravishing ; for I regret 
 
 Little that she, whose early foot was set 
 
 Forth as she 'd plant it on a pedestal, 
 
 Now, i' the silent city, seems to fall 
 
 Toward me — no wreath, only a lip's unrest 
 
 To quiet, surcharged eyelids to be pressed 
 
 Dry of their tears upon my bosom. Strange 
 
 Such sad chance should produce in thee such change, 
 
 My love ! warped souls and bodies ! yet God spoke 
 
 Of right-hand, foot and eye — selects our yoke, 
 
 Sordello, as your poetship may find ! 
 
 So, sleep upon my shoulder, child, nor mind 
 
 Their foolish talk ; we '11 manage reinstate 
 
 Your old worth ; ask moreover, when they prate 
 
 Of evil men past hope, " don't each contrive, 
 
AS THOSE WHO DESIST SHOULD REMEMBER. 103 
 
 Despite the evil you abuse, to live ? — 
 Keeping, each losel, through a maze of lies, 
 His own conceit of truth ? to wliich he hies 
 By obscure windings, tortuous, if you will, 
 But to himself not inaccessible ; 
 He sees truth, and his lies are for the crowd 
 Who cannot see ; some fancied right allowed 
 His vilest wrong, empowered the fellow clutch 
 One pleasure from a multitude of such 
 Denied him." Then assert, " all men appear 
 To tliink all better than themselves, by here 
 Trusting a crowd they wrong ; but really," say, 
 " All men think all men stupider than they. 
 Since, save themselves, no other comprehends 
 The complicated scheme to make amends 
 — Evil, the scheme by which, thro' Ignorance, 
 Good labors to exist." A slight advance, — 
 Merely to find the sickness you die through. 
 And naught beside ! but if one can't eschew 
 One's portion in the common lot, at least 
 One can avoid an ignorance increased 
 Tenfold by dealing out hint after hint 
 How naught were like dispensing without stint 
 The water of life — so easy to dispense 
 Beside, when one has probed the centre whence 
 Commotion 's bom — could tell you of it all ! 
 " — Meantime, just meditate my madrigal 
 O' the mugwort that conceals a dew-drop safe ! " 
 What, dullard ? we and you in smothery chafe. 
 
104 LET THE POET TAKE HIS OWN PART, THEN, 
 
 Babes, baldheads, stumbled thus far into Zin 
 
 The Horrid, getting neither out nor in, 
 
 A hungry sun above us, sands that bung 
 
 Our throats, — each dromedary lolls a tongue, 
 
 Each camel churns a sick and frothy chap, 
 
 And you, 'twixt tales of Potiphar's mishap, ^ 
 
 And sonnets on the earliest ass that spoke, 
 
 — Remark, you wonder any one needs choke 
 
 With founts about ! Potsherd him, Gibeonites ! 
 
 While awkwardly enough your Moses smites 
 
 The rock, though he forego his Promised Land, 
 
 Thereby, have Satan claim his carcass, and 
 
 Figure as Metaphysic Poet ... ah 
 
 Mark ye the dim first oozings ? Meribah ! 
 
 Then, quaffing at the fount my courage gained. 
 
 Recall — not that I prompt ye — who explained . . . 
 
 " Presumptuous ! " interrupts one. You, not I 
 
 'T is, brother, marvel at and magnify 
 
 Such office : " office," quotha ? can we get 
 
 To the beginning of the office yet ? 
 
 What do we here ? simply experiment 
 
 Each on the other's power and its intent 
 
 When elsewhere tasked, — if this of mine were trucked 
 
 For yours to either's good, — we watch construct. 
 
 In short, an engine : with a finished one, 
 
 What it can do, is all, — nauglit, how 't is done. 
 
 But tliis of ours yet in probation, dusk 
 
 A kernel of strange wheelwork through its husk 
 
 Grows into shape by quarters and by halves ; 
 
SHOULD ANY OBJECT THAT HE WAS DULL 105 
 
 Remark this tooth's spring, wonder what that valve's 
 
 Fall bodes, presume each faculty's device, 
 
 Make out each other more or less precise — 
 
 The scope of the whole engine 's to be proved ; 
 
 We die : which means to say, the whole 's removed, 
 
 Dismounted wheel by wheel, this complex gin, — 
 
 To be set up anew elsewhere, begin 
 
 A task indeed, but with a clearer clime 
 
 Than the murk lodgment of our building-time. 
 
 And then, I grant you, it behooves forget 
 
 How 't is done — all that must amuse us yet 
 
 So long : and, while you turn upon your heel. 
 
 Pray that I be not busy slitting steel 
 
 Or shredding brass, camped on some virgin shore 
 
 Under a cluster of fresh stars, before 
 
 I name a tithe o' the wheels I trust to do ! 
 
 So occupied, then, are we : hitherto, 
 
 At present, and a weary while to come. 
 
 The office of ourselves, — nor blind nor dumb, 
 
 And seeing somewhat of man's state, — has been, 
 
 For the worst of 'us, to say they so have seen ; 
 
 For the better, what it was they saw ; the best 
 
 Impart the gift of seeing to the rest : 
 
 " So that I glance," says such an one, " around. 
 
 And there 's no face but I can read profound 
 
 Disclosures in ; this stands for hope, that — fear. 
 
 And for a speech, a deed in proof, look here ! 
 
 * Stoop, else the strings of blossom, where the nut& 
 
 O'erarch, will blind thee ! said I not ? she shuts 
 
106 BESIDE HIS SPKIGHTLIER PREDECESSORS. 
 
 Both eyes this time, so close the hazels meet ! 
 Thus, prisoned in the Piombi, I repeat 
 Events one rove occasioned, o'er and o'er, 
 Putting 'twixt me and madness evermore 
 Thy sweet shape, Zanze ! therefore stoop ! ' 
 
 'That's truth!' 
 (Adjudge you) ' the incarcerated youth 
 Would say that ! ' 
 
 ' Youth ? Plara the bard ? Set down 
 That Plara spent his youth in a grim town 
 Whose cramped ill-featured streets huddled about 
 The minster for protection, never out 
 Of its black belfry's shade and its bells' roar. 
 The brighter shone the suburb, — all the more 
 Ugly and absolute that shade's* reproof 
 Of any chance escape of joy, — some roof, 
 Taller than they, allowed the rest detect 
 Before the sole permitted laugh (suspect 
 Who could, 'twas meant for laughter, that ploughed cheek's 
 Repulsive gleam !) when the sun stopped both peaks 
 Of the cleft belfry like a fiery wedge, 
 Then sunk, a liugh flame on its socket's edge, 
 With leavings on the gray glass oriel-pane 
 Ghastly some minutes more. No fear of rain — 
 The minster minded that ! in heaps the dust 
 Lay everywhere. Tliis town, the minster's trust, 
 Held Plara ; who, its denizen, bade hail 
 In twice twelve sonnets, Tempe's dewy vale.' 
 * Exact the town, the minster and the street ! * 
 
ONE OUGHT NOT BLAME BUT PRAISE THIS J 107 
 
 ' As 'all mirth triumphs, sadness means defeat: 
 Lust triumphs and is gay, Love 's triumphed o'er 
 And sad : but Lucio 's sad. I said before. 
 Love's sad, not Lucio ; one who loves may be 
 As gay his love has leave to hope, as he 
 Downcast that lusts' desire escapes the springe : 
 'T is of the mood itself I speak, what tinge 
 Determines it, else colorless, — or mirth. 
 Or melancholy, as from heaven or earth.' 
 
 ' Ay, that 's the variation's gist ! ' Indeed ? 
 Thus far advanced in safety then, proceed ! 
 And having seen too what I saw, be bold 
 And next encounter what I do behold 
 (That 's sure) but bid you take on trust ! Attack 
 The use and purpose of such sights ? Alack, 
 Not so unwisely does the crowd dispense 
 On Salinguerras praise in preference 
 To the Sordellos : men of action, these ! 
 Who, seeing just as little as you please, 
 Yet turn that little to account, — engage 
 With, do not gaze at, — carry on, a stage. 
 The work o' the world, not merely make report 
 The work existed ere their day ! In short, 
 When at some future no-time a brave band 
 Sees, using what it sees, then shake my hand 
 In heaven, my brother ! Meanwhile where 's the hurt 
 Of keeping the Makers-see on tlie alert, 
 At whose defection mortals stare aghast 
 As though heaven's bounteous windows were slammed fast 
 
108 AT ALL EVENTS, HIS OWN AUDIENCE MAY: 
 
 Incontinent ? whereas all you, beneath, 
 
 Should scowl at, curse them, bruise lips, break their teeth 
 
 Who ply the puUies, for neglecting you : 
 
 And therefore have I moulded, made anew 
 
 A Man, and give him to be turned and tried, 
 
 Be angry with or pleased at. On your side, 
 
 Have ye times, places, actors of your own ? 
 
 Try them upon Sordello when full-grown. 
 
 And then — ah then ! If Hercules first parched 
 
 His foot in Egypt only to be marched 
 
 A sacrifice for Jove with pomp to suit. 
 
 What chance have I ? The demigod was mute 
 
 Till, at the altar, where time out of mind 
 
 Such guests became oblations, chaplets twined 
 
 His forehead long enough, and he began 
 
 Slaying the slayers, nor escaped a man. 
 
 Take not affront, my gentle audience ! whom 
 
 No Hercules shall make his hecatomb. 
 
 Believe, nor from his brows your chaplet rend — 
 
 That 's your kind suffrage, yours, my patron-friend, 
 
 Whose great verse blares unintermittent on 
 
 Like your own trumpeter at IVLarathon, — 
 
 You who, Plataeas and Salamis being scant, 
 
 Put up with ^tna for a stimulant — 
 
 And did well, I acknowledged, as he loomed 
 
 Over the midland sea last month, presumed 
 
 Long, lay demolished in the blazing West 
 
 At eve, while towards him tilting cloudlets prest 
 
 Like Persian ships at Salamis. Friend, wear 
 
WHAT IF THINGS BRIGHTEN, WHO KNOWS? 109 
 
 A crest proud as desert while I declare 
 
 Had I a flawless ruby fit to wring 
 
 Tears of its color from that painted king 
 
 Who lost it, I would, for that smile which went 
 
 To my heart, fling it in the sea, content, 
 
 Wearing your verse in place, an amulet 
 
 Sovereign against all passion, wear and fret ! 
 
 My English Eyebright, if you are not glad 
 
 That, as I stopped my task awhile, the sad 
 
 Disheveled form, wherein I put mankind 
 
 To come at times and keep my pact in mind, 
 
 Renewed me, — hear no crickets in the hedge, 
 
 Nor let a glowworm spot the river's edge 
 
 At home, and may the summer showers gush 
 
 Without a warning from the missel thrush ! 
 
 So, to our business, now — the fate of such 
 
 As find our common nature — overmuch 
 
 Despised because restricted and unfit 
 
 To bear the burden they impose on it — 
 
 Cling when they would discard it ; craving strength 
 
 To leap from the allotted world, at length 
 
 They do leap, — flounder on without a term. 
 
 Each a god's germ, doomed to remain a germ 
 
 In unexpanded infancy, unless ... 
 
 But that 's the story — dull enough, confess ! 
 
 There might be fitter subjects to allure ; 
 
 Still, neither misconceive my portraiture 
 
 Nor undervalue its adornments quaint : 
 
 What seems a fiend perchance may prove a saint 
 
110 WHEREUPON, WITH A STORY TO THE POINT, 
 
 Ponder a story ancient pens transmit, 
 
 Then say if you condemn me or acquit. 
 
 John the Beloved, banished Antioch 
 
 For Patmos, bade collectively his flock 
 
 Farewell, but set apart the closing eve 
 
 To comfort those his exile most would grieve, 
 
 He knew : a touching spectacle, that house 
 
 lu motion to receive him ! Xanthus' spouse 
 
 You missed, made panther's meat a month since ; but 
 
 Xanthus himself (his nephew 't was, they shut 
 
 'Twixt boards and sawed asunder) Polycarp, 
 
 Soft Charicle, next year no wheel could warp 
 
 To swear by Ca3sar's fortune, with the rest 
 
 Were ranged ; thro' whom the gray disciple prest, 
 
 Busily blessing right and left, just stopt 
 
 To pat one infant's curls, the hangman cropt 
 
 Soon after, reached the portal — on its hinge 
 
 The door turns and he enters — what quick twinge 
 
 Ruins the smiling mouth, those wide eyes fix 
 
 Whereon, why like some spectral candlestick's 
 
 Branch the disciple's arms ? Dead swooned he, woke 
 
 Anon, heaved sigh, made shift to gasp, heart-broke, 
 
 " Get thee behind me, Satan ! have I toiled 
 
 To no more purpose ? is the gospel foiled 
 
 Here too, and o'er my son's, my Xanthus' hearth, 
 
 Portrayed with sooty garb and features swarth — 
 
 Ah Xanthus, am I to thy roof beguiled 
 
 To see the — the — the Devil domiciled ? " 
 
 Whereto sobbed Xanthus, " Father, 't is yourself 
 
HE TAKES Ur THE THREAD OP DISCOURSE. Ill 
 
 Installed, a limning which our utmost pelf 
 
 Went to procure against to-morrow's loss ; 
 
 And that 's no t«vy-prong, but a pastoral r>ross, 
 
 You 're painted with ! " His puckered brows unfold — 
 
 And you shall hear Sordello's story told. 
 
BOOK THE FOURTH. 
 
 MEN SUFFERED MUCH, 
 
 Meantime Ferrara lay in rueful case ; 
 
 The lady-city, for whose sole embrace 
 
 Her pair of suitors struggled, felt their arms 
 
 A brawny mischief to the fragile charms 
 
 They tugged for — one discovering that to twist 
 
 Her tresses twice or thrice about his wrist 
 
 Secured a point of vantage — one, how best 
 
 He 'd parry that by planting in her breast 
 
 His elbow-spike — each party too intent 
 
 For noticing, howe'er the battle went, 
 
 The conqueror would but have a corpse to kiss. 
 
 " May Boniface be duly damned for this ! " 
 
 — Howled some old Ghibellin, as up he turned, 
 From the wet heap of rubbish where they burned 
 His house, a little skull with dazzling teeth : 
 
 " A boon, sweet Christ — let Salinguerra seethe 
 
 In hell forever, Christ, and let myself 
 
 Be there to laugh at him ! " — moaned some young Guelf 
 
 Stumbling upon a shrivelled hand nailed fast 
 
 To the charred lintel of the doorway, last 
 
 His father stood within to bid him speed. 
 
 The thoroughfares were overrun with weed 
 
 — Docks, quitchgrass, loathly mallows no man plants. 
 
WHICHEVER OF THE PARTIES WAS VICTOR. 113 
 
 The stranger, none of its inhabitants 
 Crept out of doors to taste fresh air again, 
 And ask the purpose of a sumptuous train 
 Admitted on a morning ; every town 
 Of the East League was come by envoy down 
 To treat for Richard's ransom : here you saw 
 The Vicentine, here snowy oxen draw 
 The Paduan carroch, its vermilion cross 
 On its white field. A-tiptoe o'er the fosse 
 Looked Legate Montelungo wistfully 
 After the flock of steeples he might spy 
 In Este's time, gone (doubts he) long ago 
 To mend the ramparts — sure the laggards know 
 The Pope 's as good as here ! They paced the streets 
 More soberly. At last, " Taurello greets 
 The League," announced a pursuivant, — " will match 
 Its courtesy, and labors to despatch 
 At earliest Tito, Friedrich's Pretor, sent 
 On pressing matters from liis post at Trent, 
 With Mainard Count of Tyrol, — simply waits 
 Their going to receive the delegates." 
 " Tito ! " Our delegates exchanged a glance, 
 And, keeping the main way, admired askance 
 The lazy engines of outlandish birth. 
 Couched like a king each on its bank of earth — 
 Ai-balist, manganel, and catapult ; 
 While stationed by, as waiting a result, 
 Lean silent gangs of mercenaries ceased 
 AVorking to watch the strangers. " This, at least, 
 
114 HOW GUELFS CRITICISE GHIBELLIN WORK 
 
 Were better spared ; he scarce presumes gainsay 
 The League's decision ! Get our friend away 
 And profit for the future : how else teach 
 Fools 't is not safe to stray witliin daw's reach 
 Ere Salinguerra's final gasp be blown ? 
 Those mere convulsive scratches find the bone. 
 Who bade him bloody the spent osprey's nare ? " 
 
 The carrochs halted in the public square. 
 Pennons of every blazon once a-flaunt, 
 Men prattled, freelier that the crested gaunt 
 White ostrich with a horse-shoe in her beak 
 Was missing, and whoever chose might speak 
 Ecelin boldly out : so, — " Ecelin 
 Needed his wife to swallow half the sin 
 And sickens by himself: the DeviFs whelp, 
 He styles liis son, dwindles away, no help 
 From conserves, your fine triple-curded froth 
 Of virgin's blood, your Venice viper-broth — 
 Eh ? Jubilate ! Peace ! no little word 
 You utter here that 's not distinctly heard 
 Up at Oliero : lie was absent sick 
 When we besieged Bassano — who, i' the thick 
 O' the work, perceived tlie progress Azzo made, 
 Like Ecelin, through his witch Adelaide ? 
 She managed it so well that, night by night, 
 At their bed-foot stood up a soldier-sprite 
 First fresh, pale by and by without a wound, 
 And, when it came with eyes filmed as in s wound. 
 They knew the place was taken. Ominous 
 
AS UNUSUALLY ENERGETIC IN THIS CASE. 115 
 
 That Ghibellins should get what cautelous 
 
 Old Redbeard sought from Azzo's sire to wrench 
 
 Vainly ; Saint George contrived his town a trench 
 
 O' the marshes, an impermeable bar. 
 
 Young Ecelin is meant the tutelar 
 
 Of Padua, rather ; veins embrace upon 
 
 His hand like Brenta and Bacchiglion. 
 
 What now ? The founts ! God's bread, touch not a 
 
 A crawling hell of carrion — every tank [plank I 
 
 Choke full ! — found out just now to Cino's cost — 
 
 The same who gave Taurello up for lost. 
 
 And, making no account of fortune's freaks. 
 
 Refused to budge from Padua then, but sneaks 
 
 Back now with Concorezzi — 'faith ! they drag 
 
 Their carroch to San Vital, plant the flag 
 
 On his own palace so adroitly razed 
 
 He knew it not ; a sort of Guelf folk gazed 
 
 And laughed apart ; Cino disliked their air — 
 
 Must pluck up spirit, show he does not care — 
 
 Seats himself on the tank's edge — will begin 
 
 To hum, za, za, Cavaler Ecelin — 
 
 A silence ; he gets warmer, clinks to chime, 
 
 Now both feet plough the ground, deeper each time, 
 
 At last, za, za, and up with a fierce kick 
 
 Comes his own mother's face caught by the thick 
 
 Gray hair about his spur ! " 
 
 Which means, they lift 
 The covering, Salinguerra made a shift 
 To stretch upon the truth ; as well avoid 
 
116 HOW, PASSING THROUGH THE RARE GARDEN, 
 
 Further disclosures ; leave them thus employed. 
 
 Our dropping Autumn morning clears apace, 
 
 And poor Ferrara puts a softened face 
 
 On her misfortunes. Let us scale this tall 
 
 Huge foursquare line of red brick garden-wall 
 
 Bastioned within by trees of every sort 
 
 On three sides, slender, spreading, long and short, 
 
 — Each grew as it contrived, the poplar ramped, 
 
 The fig-tree reared itself, — but stark and cramped, 
 
 Made fools of, like tamed lions ; whence, on the edge, 
 
 Running 'twixt trunk and trunk to smooth one ledge 
 
 Of shade, were shrubs inserted, warp and woof. 
 
 Which smothered up that variance. Scale the roof 
 
 Of solid tops, and o'er the slope you slide 
 
 Down to a grassy space level and wide, 
 
 Here and there dotted with a tree, but trees 
 
 Of rarer leaf, each foreigner at ease. 
 
 Set by itself: and in the centre spreads, 
 
 Born upon three uneasy leopards' heads, 
 
 A laver, broad and shallow, one bright spirt 
 
 Of water bubbles in. The walls begirt 
 
 With trees leave off on either hand ; pursue 
 
 Your path along a wondrous avenue 
 
 Those walls abut on, heaped of gleamy stone. 
 
 With aloes leering everywhere, gray-grown 
 
 From many a Moorish summer : how they wind 
 
 Out of the fissures ! likelier to bind 
 
 The building than those rusted cramps which drop 
 
 Already in the eating sunshine. Stop, 
 
SALINGUERRA CONTRIVED FOR A PURPOSE, 117 
 
 You fleeting shapes above there ! Ah, the pride 
 
 Or else despair of the whole country-side — 
 
 A range of statues, swarming o'er with wasps, 
 
 God, goddess, woman, man, the Greek rough-rasps 
 
 In crumbling Naples marble ! meant to look 
 
 Like those Messina marbles Constance took 
 
 Delight in, or Taurello's self conveyed 
 
 To Mantua for his mistress, Adelaide, 
 
 A certain font with caryatides 
 
 Since cloistered at Goito ; only, these 
 
 Are up and doing, not abashed, a troop 
 
 Able to right themselves — who see you, stoop 
 
 O' the instant after you their arms ! Unplucked 
 
 By this or that, you pass, for they conduct 
 
 To terrace raised on terrace, and, between. 
 
 Creatures of brighter mould and braver mien 
 
 Than any yet, the choicest of the Isle 
 
 No doubt. Here, left a sullen breathing-while, 
 
 Up-gathered on himself the Fighter stood 
 
 For his last fight, and, wiping treacherous blood 
 
 Out of the eyelids just held ope beneath 
 
 Those shading fingers in their iron sheath, 
 
 Steadied his strengths amid the buzz and stir 
 
 Of the dusk hideous amphitheatre 
 
 At the announcement of his over-match 
 
 To wind the day's diversion up, despatch 
 
 The pertinacious Gaul : while, limbs one heap. 
 
 The Slave, no breath in her round mouth, watched leap 
 
 Dart after dart forth, as her hero's car 
 
118 soRDELLO pondI':rs all sep:n and heard, 
 
 Clove dizzily the solid of the war 
 — Let coil about his knees for pride in him. 
 We reach the farthest terrace, and the grim 
 San Pietro Palace stops us. 
 
 Such the state 
 Of Salinguerra's plan to emulate 
 Sicilian marvels, that his girlish wife 
 Retrude still might lead her ancient life 
 In her new home — whereat enlarged so much 
 Neighbors upon the novel princely touch 
 He took, — who here imprisons Boniface. 
 Here must the Envoys come to sue for grace ; 
 And here, emerging from the labyrinth 
 Below, Sordello paused beside the plinth 
 Of the door-pillar. 
 
 He had really left. 
 Verona for the cornfields (a poor theft 
 From the morass) where Este's camp was made ; 
 The Envoys' march, the Legate's cavalcade — 
 All had been seen by him, but scarce as when, 
 Eager for cause to stand aloof from men 
 At every point save the fantastic tie 
 Acknowledged in his boyish sophistry, 
 He made account of such. A crowd, — he meant 
 To task the whole of it ; each part's intent 
 Concerned liim therefore : and, the more he pried, 
 The less became Sordello satisfied 
 With his own figure at the moment. Sought 
 He respite from his task ? descried he aught 
 
FINDS IN MEN NO MACHINE FOR HIS SAKE, 119 
 
 Novel in the anticipated sight 
 
 Of all these livers upon all delight ? 
 
 This phalanx, as of myriad points combined, 
 
 Whereby he still had imaged that mankind 
 
 His youth was passed in dreams of rivalling, 
 
 His age — in plans to prove at least such thing 
 
 Had been so dreamed, — which now he must impress 
 
 With his own will, effect a happiness 
 
 By theirs, — supply a body to his soul 
 
 Thence, and become eventually whole 
 
 With them as he had hoped to be without — 
 
 Made these tlie mankind he once raved about ? 
 
 Because a few of them were notable, 
 
 Should all be figured worthy note ? As well 
 
 Expect to find Taurello's triple line 
 
 Of trees a single and prodigious pine. 
 
 Real pines rose here and there ; but, close among, 
 
 Thrust into and mixed up with pines, a throng 
 
 Of shrubs, he saw, — a nameless common sort 
 
 O'erpast in dreams, left out of the report 
 
 And hurried into comers, or at best 
 
 Admitted to be fancied like the rest. 
 
 Reckon that morning's proper chiefs — how few ! 
 
 And yet the people grew, the people grew, 
 
 Grew ever, as if the many there indeed. 
 
 More left behind and most who should succeed, — 
 
 Simply in virtue of their mouths and eyes, 
 
 Petty enjoyments and huge miseries, — 
 
 Mingled with, and made veritably great 
 
120 BUT A THING "WITH A LITE OP ITS OWN, 
 
 Those chiefs : he overlooked not Mainard's state 
 
 Nor Concorezzi's station, but instead 
 
 Of stopping there, each dwindled to be head 
 
 Of infinite and absent Tyrolese 
 
 Or Paduans ; startling all the more, that these 
 
 Seemed passive and disposed of, uncared for, 
 
 " Yet doubtless on the whole " (quoth Eglamor) 
 
 " Smiling — for if a wealthy man decays 
 
 And out of store of robes must wear, all days, 
 
 One tattered suit, alike in sun and shade, 
 
 'T is commonly some tarnished gay brocade 
 
 Fit for a feast-night's flourish and no more : 
 
 Nor otherwise poor Misery from her store 
 
 Of looks is fain to upgather, keep unfurled 
 
 For common wear as she goes through the world, 
 
 The faint remainder of some worn-out smile 
 
 Meant for a feast-night's service merely." While 
 
 Crowd upon crowd rose on Sordello thus, — 
 
 (Crowds no way interfering to discuss, 
 
 Much less dispute, life's joys with one employed 
 
 In envying tliem, ^ or, if they aught enjoyed, 
 
 Where lingered something indefinable 
 
 In every look and tone, the mirth as well 
 
 As woe, that fixed at once his estimate 
 
 Of the result, their good or bad estate) — 
 
 Old memories returned with new effect : 
 
 And the new body, ere he could suspect. 
 
 Cohered, mankind and he were really fused, 
 
 The new self seemed impatient to be used 
 
AND RIGHTS HITHERTO IGNORED BY HIM, 121 
 
 By him, but utterly another way 
 To that anticipated : strange to say, 
 They were too much below him, more in thrall 
 Than he, the adjunct than the principal. 
 Wliat booted scattered units ? — here a mind 
 And there, which might repay his own to find, 
 And stamp, and use ? — a few, howe'er august, 
 If all the rest were grovelling in the dust ? 
 No : first a mighty equilibrium, sure. 
 Should he establish, privilege procure 
 For all, the few had long possessed ! he felt 
 An eiTor, an exceeding error melt — 
 While he was occupied with Mantuan chants. 
 Behooved him think of men, and take their wants, 
 Such as he now distinguished every side. 
 As his own want which might be satisfied, — 
 And, after that, think of rare qualities 
 Of his own soul demanding exercise. 
 It followed naturally, through no claim 
 On their part, which made virtue of the aim 
 At serving them, on his, — that, past retrieve, 
 He felt now in their toils, theirs — nor could leave 
 Wonder how, in the eagerness to rule. 
 Impress his will on mankind, he (the fool !) 
 Had never even entertained the thought 
 That this his last arrangement might be fraught 
 With incidental good to them as well, 
 And that mankind's delight would help to swell 
 His own. So, if he sighed, as formerly 
 6 
 
122 A FAULT HE IS NOW ANXIOUS TO REPAIR, 
 
 Because the merry time of life must fleet, 
 
 'T was (leeplier now, — for could the crowds repeat 
 
 Their poor experiences ? His hand that shook 
 
 Was twice to be deplored. " The Legate, look ! 
 
 With eyes, like fresh-blown thrush-eggs on a thread. 
 
 Faint-blue and loosely floating in his head, 
 
 Large tongue, moist open mouth ; and this long while 
 
 That owner of the idiotic smile 
 
 Serves them ! " He fortunately saw in time 
 
 His fault however, and since the office prime 
 
 Includes the secondary — best accept 
 
 Both offices ; Taurello, its adept. 
 
 Could teach him the preparatory one, 
 
 And how to do what he liad fancied done 
 
 Long previously, ere take the greater task. 
 
 How render first these people happy? ask 
 
 The people's friends : for there must be one good. 
 
 One way to it — the Cause ! — he understood 
 
 The meaning now of Palma ; why the jar 
 
 Else, the ado, the trouble wide and far 
 
 Of Guelfs and Ghibelhns, the Lombard's hope 
 
 And Rome's despair? — 'twixt Emperor and Pope 
 
 The confused shifting sort of Eden tale — 
 
 Still hardihood recurring, still to fail — 
 
 That foreign interloping fiend, this free 
 
 And native overbrooding deity — 
 
 Yet a dire fascination o'er the palms 
 
 The Kaiser ruined, troubling even the calms 
 
 Of Paradise — or, on the other hand, 
 
SINCE HE APPREHENDS ITS FULL EXTENT, 123 
 
 The Pontiff, as the Kaisers understand, 
 
 One snake-like cursed of God to love the ground, 
 
 Whose heavy length breaks in the noon profound 
 
 Some saving tree — which needs the Kaiser, drest 
 
 As the dislodging angel of that pest, 
 
 Tlien — yet that pest bedropt, flat head, full fold, 
 
 With coruscating dower of dyes. " Behold 
 
 The secret, so to speak, and master-spring 
 
 Of the contest ! which of the two Powers shall bring 
 
 Men good — perchance the most good — ay, it may 
 
 Be that ! the question, which best knows the way." 
 
 And hereupon Count Mainard strutted past 
 Out of San Pietro ; never seemed the last 
 Of archers, slingers : and our friend began 
 To recollect strange modes of serving man — 
 Arbalist, catapult, brake, manganel, 
 And more. " This way of theirs may, — who can tell ? — 
 Need perfecting," said he : " let all be solved 
 At once ! Taurello 't is, the task devolved 
 On late — confront Taurello ! " 
 
 And at last 
 He did confront him. Scarcely an hour past 
 When forth Sordello came, older by years 
 Than at his entry. Unexampled fears 
 Oppressed him, and he staggered off, blind, mute 
 And deaf, like some fresh-mutilated brute, 
 Into Ferrara — not the empty town 
 That morning witnessed : he went up and down 
 Streets whence the veil had been stripped shred by shred, 
 
124 AND WOULD FAIN HAVE HELPED SOME WAY, 
 
 So that, in place of huddling with their dead 
 
 Indoors, to answer Salinguerra's ends, 
 
 Its folk made shift to crawl forth, sit like friends 
 
 With any one. A woman gave him choice 
 
 Of her two daughters, the infantile voice 
 
 Or the dimpled knee, for half a chain, his throat 
 
 "Was clasped with ; but an archer knew the coat — 
 
 Its blue cross and eight lilies, — bade beware 
 
 One dogging him in concert with the pair 
 
 Though thrumming on the sleeve that hid his knife. 
 
 Night set in early, autumn dews were rife, 
 
 They kindled great fires while the Leaguer's mass 
 
 Began at every carroch — he must pass 
 
 Between the kneehng people. Presently 
 
 The carroch of Verona caught his eye 
 
 With purple trappings ; silently he bent 
 
 Over its fire, when voices violent 
 
 Began, " Afiirm not whom the youth was like 
 
 That, striking from the porch, I did not strike 
 
 Again ; I too have chestnut hair ; my kin 
 
 Hate Azzo and stand up for Ecelin. 
 
 Here, minstrel, drive bad thoughts away ! sing ! take 
 
 My glove for guerdon ! " and for that man's sake 
 
 He turned : " A song of Eglamor's ! " — scarce named, 
 
 When, " Our Sordello's, rather ! " all exclaimed ; 
 
 " Is not Sordello famousest for rhyme ? " 
 
 He had been happy to deny, this time, — 
 
 Profess as heretofore the aching head 
 
 And failing heart, — suspect that in his stead 
 
BUT SALINGUERRA IS ALSO PRE-OCCUPIED ; 125 
 
 Some true Apollo had the charge of them, 
 
 Was champion to reward or to condemn, 
 
 So his intolerable risk might shift 
 
 Or share itself; but Naddo's precious gift 
 
 Of gifts, he owned, be certain ! At the close — 
 
 " I made that," siiid he to a youth who rose 
 
 As if to hear : 't was Palma through the band 
 
 Conducted him in silence by her hand. 
 
 Back now for Salinguerra. Tito of Trent 
 Gave place to Palma and her friend ; who went 
 In turn at Montelungo's visit — one 
 After the other were they come and gone, — 
 These spokesmen for the Kaiser and the Pope, 
 This incarnation of the People's hope, 
 Sordello, — all the say of each was said. 
 And Salinguerra sat, himself instead 
 Of these to talk with, lingered musing yet. 
 'T was a drear vast presence-chamber roughly set 
 In order for the morning's use ; full face. 
 The Kaiser's ominous sign-mark had first place, 
 The crowned grim t^vy-necked eagle, coarsely blacked 
 With ochre on the naked wall ; nor lacked 
 Romano's green and yellow either side ; 
 But the new token Tito brought had tried 
 The Legate's patience — nay, if Palma knew 
 What Salinguerra almost meant to do 
 Until the sight of her restored his lip 
 A certain half-smile, three months' chieftainship 
 Had banished ! Afterward, the Legate found 
 
 I 
 
126 RESEMBLING SORDELLO IN NOTHING ELSE. 
 
 No change in liim, nor asked what badge he wound 
 
 And unwound carelessly. Now sat the Chief 
 
 Silent as when our couple left, whose brief 
 
 Encounter wrought so opportune effect 
 
 In thoughts he summoned not, nor would reject. 
 
 Though time 't was now if ever, to pause — fix 
 
 On any sort of ending : wiles and tricks 
 
 Exhausted, judge ! his charge, the crazy town, 
 
 Just managed to be hindered crashing down — 
 
 His last sound troops ranged — care observed to post 
 
 His best of the maimed soldiers innermost — 
 
 So much was plain enough, but somehow struck 
 
 Him not before. And now with this strange luck 
 
 Of Tito's news, rewarding his address 
 
 So well, what thought he of? — how the success 
 
 With Friedrich's rescript there, would either hush 
 
 Old Ecelin's scruples, bring the manly flush 
 
 To his young son's white cheek, or, last, exempt 
 
 Himself from telling what there was to tempt ? 
 
 No : that this minstrel was Romano's last 
 
 Servant — himself tlie first ! Could he contrast 
 
 The whole ! that minstrel's thirty years just spent 
 
 In doing naught, their notablest event 
 
 This morning's journey hither, as I told — 
 
 Who yet was lean, outworn and really old, 
 
 A stammering awkward man that scarce dared raise 
 
 His eye before the magisterial gaze — 
 
 And Salinguerra with his fears and hopes 
 
 Of sixty years, his Emperors and Popes, 
 
HOW HE WAS MADE IN BODY AND SPIRIT, 127 
 
 Cares and contrivances, yet, you would say, 
 
 *T was a youth nonchalantly looked away 
 
 Through the embrasure northward o'er the sick 
 
 Expostulating trees — so agile, quick 
 
 And graceful turned the head on the broad chest 
 
 Encased in pliant steel, his constant vest. 
 
 Whence split the sun off in a spray of fire 
 
 Across the room ; and, loosened of its tire 
 
 Of steel, that head let breathe the comely brown 
 
 Large massive locks discolored as if a crown 
 
 Encircled them, so frayed the basnet where 
 
 A sharp white line divided clean the hair ; 
 
 Glossy above, glossy below, it swept 
 
 Curling and fine about a brow thus kept 
 
 Cahn, laid coat upon coat, mai'ble and sound : 
 
 This was the mystic mark the Tuscan found, 
 
 Mused of, turned over books about. Square-faced, 
 
 No lion more ; two vivid eyes, enchased 
 
 In hollows filled with many a shade and streak 
 
 Settling from the bold nose and bearded cheek ; 
 
 Nor might the half-smile reach them that deformed 
 
 A lip supremely perfect else — unwarmed, 
 
 Unwidened, less or more ; indifferent 
 
 Whether on trees or men his thoughts were bent, 
 
 Thoughts rarely, after all, in trim and train 
 
 As now a period was fulfilled again ; 
 
 Of such, a series made his life, compressed 
 
 In each, one story serving for the rest — 
 
 How his life-streams rollino; arrived at last 
 
128 AND WHAT HAD BEEN HIS CAREER OF OLD. 
 
 At the barrier, whence, were it once overpast, 
 
 They would emerge, a river lo the end, — 
 
 Gathered themselves up, paused, bade fate befriend, 
 
 Took the leap, hung a minute at the height, 
 
 Then fell back to oblivion infinite : 
 
 Therefore he smiled. Beyond stretched garden-grounds 
 
 Where late the adversary, breaking bounds, 
 
 Had gained him an occasion, That above, 
 
 That eagle, testified he could improve 
 
 Effectually. The Kaiser's symbol lay 
 
 Beside his rescript, a new badge by way 
 
 Of baldric ; while, — another thing that marred 
 
 Alike emprise, achievement and reward, — 
 
 Ecelin's missive was conspicuous too. 
 
 What past life did those flying thoughts pursue ? 
 As his, few names in Mantua half so old ; 
 But at Ferrara, where his sires enrolled 
 It latterly, the Adelardi spared 
 No pains to rival them : both factions shared 
 Ferrara, so that, counted out, 't would yield 
 A product very like the city's shield. 
 Half black and white, or Ghibellin and Guelf, 
 As after Salinguerra styled himself 
 And Este who, till Marchesalla died, 
 (Last of the Adelardi) — never tried 
 His fortune there : with Marchesalla's child 
 Would pass, — could Blacks and Wliites be reconciled 
 And young Taurello wed Linguetta, — wealth 
 And sway to a sole grasp. Each treats by stealth 
 
THE ORIGINAL CHECK TO HIS FORTUNES, 129 
 
 Already : when the Guelfs, the Ravennese 
 Ajtivc, assault the Pietro quarter, seize 
 Linguetta, and are gone ! Men's first dismay- 
 Abated somewhat, hurries down, to lay 
 The after indignation, Boniface, 
 This Richard's father. " Leam the full disgrace 
 Averted, ere you blame us Guelfs, who rate 
 Your Salinguerra, your sole potentate 
 That might have been, 'mongst Este's valvassors — 
 Ay, Azzo's — who, not privy to, abhors 
 Our step — but we were zealous." Azzo 's then 
 To do with ! Straight a meeting of old men : 
 " Old Salinguerra dead, his heir a boy. 
 What if we change our ruler and decoy 
 The Lombard Eagle of the azure sphere, 
 With Italy to build in, fix him here. 
 Settle the city's troubles in a trice ? 
 For private wrong, let public good suffice ! " 
 In fine, young Salinguerra's stanchest friends 
 Talked of the townsmen making him amends, 
 Gave him a goshawk, and athrmed there was 
 Rare sport, one morning, over the green grass 
 A mile or so. He sauntered through the plain, 
 Was restless, fell to thinldng, turned again 
 In time for Azzo's entry with the bride ; 
 Count Boniface rode smirking at their side : 
 " She brings him half Ferrara," whispers flew, 
 " And all Ancona ! If the stripling knew ! "/ 
 Anon the stripling was in Sicily 
 
 6* 1 
 
132 HE SANK INTO A SECONDARY PERSONAGE, 
 
 The rest of Lombardy, — not as before 
 
 By an instinctive truculence, but patched 
 
 The Kaiser's strategy until it matched 
 
 The Pontiff's, sought old ends by novel means. 
 
 " Only, why is it Salinguerra screens 
 
 Himself behind Romano ? — him we bade 
 
 Enjoy our shine i' the front, not seek the shade I " 
 
 — Asked Heinrich, somewhat of the tardiest 
 To comprehend. Nor Philip acquiesced 
 At once in the arrangement ; reasoned, plied 
 His friend with offers of another bride, 
 
 A statelier function — fruitlessly : 't was plain 
 Taurello through some weakness must remain 
 Obscure. And Otho, free to judge of both, 
 
 — Ecelin the unready, harsh and loath, 
 And this more plausible and facile wight 
 With every point a-sparkle — chose the right, 
 Admiring how his predecessors harped 
 
 On the wrong man : " thus," quoth he, " wits are 
 
 warped 
 By outsides ! " Carelessly, meanwhile, his life 
 Suffered its many turns of peace and strife 
 In many lands — you hardly could surprise 
 The man ; — who shamed Sordello (recognize !) 
 In this as much beside, that, unconcerned 
 What qualities were natural or earned. 
 With no ideal of graces, as they came 
 He took them, singularly well the same — 
 Speaking the Greek's own language, just because 
 
WITH THE APPROPRIATE GRACES OF SUCH. 133 
 
 Your Greek eludes you, leave the least of flaws 
 
 In contracts with him ; while, since Arab lore 
 
 Holds the stars' secret — take one trouble more 
 
 And master it ! 'T is done, and now deter 
 
 Who may the Tuscan, once Jove trined for her. 
 
 From Friedrich's path ! — Friedrich, whose pilgrimage 
 
 The same man puts aside, whom he '11 engage 
 
 To leave next year John Brienne in the lurch, 
 
 Come to Bassano, see Saint Francis' church 
 
 And judge of Guido the Bolognian's piece 
 
 Which, lend Taurello credit, rivals Greece — 
 
 Angels, with aureoles like golden quoits 
 
 Pitched home, applauding Ecelin's exploits. 
 
 For elegance, he strung the angelot, 
 
 Made rhymes thereto ; for prowess, clove he not 
 
 Tiso, last siege, from crest to crupper ? Why 
 
 Detail you thus a varied mastery 
 
 But to show how Taurello, on the watch 
 
 For men, to read their hearts and thereby catch 
 
 Their caj^abilities and purposes, 
 
 Displayed himself so far as displayed these : 
 
 While our Sordello only cared to know 
 
 About men as a means whereby he 'd show 
 
 Himself, and men had much or little worth 
 
 According as they kept in or drew forth 
 
 That self; Taurello's choicest instruments 
 
 Surmised him shallow. 
 
 Meantime, malecontents 
 Dropped off, town after town grew wiser. " How 
 
134 BUT ECELIN, HE SET IN FRONT, FALLING, 
 
 Change the world's face ? " asked people : " as 't is now 
 
 It has been, will be ever : very fine 
 
 Subjecting things profane to things divine, 
 
 In talk ! this contumacy will fatigue 
 
 The vic]?ilance of Este and the Lea<]^ue ! 
 
 The Ghibellins gain on us ! " — as it happed. 
 
 Old Azzo and old Boniface, entrapped 
 
 By Ponte Alto, both in one month's space 
 
 Slept at Verona : either left a brace 
 
 Of sons — but, three years after, either's pair 
 
 Lost Guglielm and Aldobrand its heir: 
 
 Azzo remained and Richard — all the stay 
 
 Of Este and Saint Boniface, at bay 
 
 As 't were. Then, either Ecelin grew old 
 
 Or his brain altered — not of the proper mould 
 
 For new appliances — his old palm-stock 
 
 Endured no influx of strange strengths. He 'd rock 
 
 As in a drunkenness, or chuclde low 
 
 As proud of the completeness of his woe, 
 
 Then weep real tears ; — now make some mad onslaught 
 
 On Este, heedless of the lesson taught 
 
 So painfully, — now cringe for peace, sue peace 
 
 At price of past gain, — much more, fresh increase 
 
 To the fortunes of Romano. Up at last 
 
 Rose Este, down Romano sank as fast. 
 
 And men remarked these freaks of peace and war 
 
 Happened while Salinguerra was afar : 
 
 Whence every friend besought him, all in vain, 
 
 To use his old adherent's wits again. 
 
 I 
 
SALINGUERRA MUST AGAIN COME FORWARD, 135 
 
 Not he ! — " who had advisers in his sons, 
 
 Could plot himself, nor needed any one's 
 
 Advice." 'T was Adelaide's remaining stanch 
 
 Prevented his destruction root and branch 
 
 Forthu-ith ; but when she died, doom fell, for gay 
 
 He made alliances, gave lands away 
 
 To whom it pleased accept them, and withdrew 
 
 Forever from the world. Taurello, who 
 
 Was summoned to the convent, then refused 
 
 A word at the wicket, patience thus abused. 
 
 Promptly threw off alike his imbecile 
 
 Ally's yoke, and his own frank, foolish smile. 
 
 Soon a few movements of the happier sort 
 
 Changed matters, put himself in men's report 
 
 As heretofore ; he had to fight, beside. 
 
 And that became him ever. So, in pride 
 
 And flushing of this kind of second youth, 
 
 He dealt a good-will blow. Este in truth 
 
 Lay prone — and men remembered, somewhat late, 
 
 A lauo-hing old outrageous stifled hate 
 
 He bore to Este — how it would outbreak 
 
 At times spite of disguise, like an earthquake 
 
 In sunny weather — as that noted day 
 
 When with his hundred friends he tried to slay 
 
 Azzo before the Kaiser's face : and how, 
 
 On Azzo's calm refusal to allow 
 
 A liegeman's challenge, straight he too was calmed : 
 
 As if his hate could bear to lie embalmed, 
 
 Bricked up, the moody Pharaoh, and survive 
 
136 WHY AND HOW, IS LET OUT IN SOLILOQUY. 
 
 All intermediate crumblings, and arrive 
 
 At earth's catastrophe — 't was Este's crash 
 
 Not Azzo's he demanded, so, no rash 
 
 Procedure ! Este's true antagonist 
 
 Rose out of Ecelin : all voices whist, 
 
 All eyes were sharpened, wits predicted. He 
 
 'T was, leaned in the embrasure absently, 
 
 Amused with his own efforts, now, to trace 
 
 With his steel-sheathed forefinger Friedrich's face 
 
 F the dust : but as the trees waved sere, his smile 
 
 Deepened, and words expressed its thought erewhile. 
 
 " Ay, fairly housed at last, my old compeer ? 
 That we should stick together, all the year, 
 I kept Verona ! — How old Boniface, 
 Old Azzo caught us in its market-place. 
 He by that pillar, I at this, — caught each 
 In mid swing, more than fury of his speech, 
 Eo-ginof the rabble on to disavow 
 Allegiance to their Marquis — Bacchus, how 
 They boasted ! Ecelin must turn their drudge, 
 Nor, if released, will Salinguerra grudge 
 Paying arrears of tribute due long since — 
 Bacchus ! My man, could promise then, nor wince. 
 The bones-and-muscles ! sound of wind and limb. 
 Spoke he the set excuse I framed for him : 
 And now he sits me, slavering and mute, 
 Intent on chafing each starved purple foot 
 Benumbed past aching with the altar slab — 
 Will no vein throb there when some monk shall blab 
 
ECELIN, HE PIB ALL FOR, IS A MONK NOW, 137 
 
 Spitefully to the circle of bald scalps, 
 
 * Friedricli 's afRrmed to be our side the Alps ' 
 
 — Eh, brother Lactance, brother Anaclet ? 
 
 Sworn to abjure the world, its fume and fret, 
 
 God's own now ? Drop the dormitory bar, 
 
 Enfold the scanty gray serge scapular 
 
 Twice o'er the cowl to muffle memories out — 
 
 So ! but the midnight whisper turns a shout. 
 
 Eyes wink, mouths open, pulses circulate 
 
 In the stone walls : the Past, the world you hate 
 
 Is with you, ambush, open field — or see 
 
 The surging flame — we fire Vicenza — glee ! 
 
 Follow, let Pilio and Bernardo chafe — 
 
 Bring up the Mantuans — through San Biagio — safe! 
 
 Ah, the mad people waken ? Ah, they writhe 
 
 And reach us ? if they block the gate — no tithe 
 
 Can pass — keep back, you Bassanese ! the edge, 
 
 Use the edge — shear, thrust, hew, melt down the 
 
 wedge. 
 Let out the black of those black upturned eyes ! 
 Hell — are they sprinkling fire too ? the blood fries 
 And hisses on your brass gloves as they tear 
 Those upturned faces choking with despair. 
 Brave ! Slidder through the reeking gate — ' how now ? 
 You six had charge of her ? ' And tlien the vow 
 Comes, and the foam spirts, hair's plucked, till one 
 
 shriek 
 (I hear it) and you fling — you cannot speak — 
 Your gold-flowered basnet to a man who haled 
 
138 JUST WHEN THE PRIZE AWAITS SOMEBODY 
 
 The Adelaide he dared scarce view unveiled 
 This morn, naked across the fire : how crown 
 The archer that exhausted lays you down 
 Your infant, smiling at the flame, and dies ? 
 While one, while mine . . . 
 
 r>acchus ! I think there lies 
 More than one corpse there " (and he paced the room) 
 " — Another cinder somewhere — 't was my doom 
 Beside, my doom ! If Adelaide is dead 
 I am the same, tliis Azzo lives instead 
 Of that to me, and we pull, any how, 
 Este into a heap — the matter 's now 
 At the true juncture slipping us so oft. 
 Ay, Heinrich died and Otho, please you, doffed 
 His crown at such a juncture ! still, if hold 
 Our Friedrich's purpose, if this chain enfold 
 The neck of . . . who but this same Ecelin 
 That must recoil when the best days begin ! 
 Recoil ? that 's nauglit ; if the recoiler leaves 
 His name for me to fight with, no one grieves 1 
 But he must interfere, forsooth, unlock 
 His cloister to become my stumbling-block 
 Just as of old ! Ay, ay, there 't is again — 
 The land's inevitable Head — explain 
 The reverences that subject us ! Count 
 These Ecelins now ! not to say as fount, 
 Originating power of thought, — from twelve 
 That drop i' the trenches they joined hands to delve, 
 Six shall surpass hira, but . . . why, men must twine 
 
HIMSELF, IP IT WERE ONLY WORTH WHILE, 139 
 
 Somehow with something ! Ecelin 's a fine 
 Clear name ! 'T were simpler, doubtless, twine with me 
 At once : our cloistered friend's capacity- 
 Was of a sort ! I had to share myself 
 In fifty portions, like an o'ertasked elf 
 That 's forced illume in fifty points the vast 
 Rare vapor he 's environed by. At last 
 My strengths, though sorely frittered, e'en converge 
 And crown ... no, Bacchus, they have yet to urge 
 The man be crowned ! 
 
 That aloe, an he durst, 
 Would climb ! just such a bloated sprawler first 
 I noted in Messina's castle-court 
 The day I came, when Heinrich asked in sport 
 If I would pledge my faith to win him back 
 His right in Lombardy : ' for, once bid pack 
 Marauders,' he continued, ' in my stead 
 You rule, Taurello ! ' and upon this head 
 Laid the silk glove of Constance — I see her 
 Too, mantled head to foot in miniver, 
 Retrude following ! 
 
 I am absolved 
 From further toil : the empery devolved 
 On me, 't was Tito's word : I have to lay 
 For once my plan, pursue my plan my way. 
 Prompt nobody, and render an account 
 Taurello to Taurello ! nay, I mount 
 To Friedrich — he conceives the post I kept, 
 Who did true service, able or inept, 
 
140 AS IT MAY BE BUT ALSO, AS IT MAY NOT BE 
 
 Who 's worthy guerdon, Ecelin or I. 
 
 Me guerdoned, counsel follows ; would he vie 
 
 With the Pope really ? Azzo, Boniface 
 
 Compose a right-arm HohenstaufFen's race 
 
 Must break ere govern Lombardy. I point 
 
 How easy 'twere to twist, once out of joint, 
 
 The socket from the bone : — my Azzo's stare 
 
 Meanwhile ! for I, this idle strap to wear, 
 
 Shall — ^fret myself abundantly, what end 
 
 To serve ? There 's left me twenty years to spend 
 
 — How better than my old way ? Had I one 
 Who labored overthrow my work — a son 
 Hatching with Azzo superb treachery, 
 
 To root my pines up and then poison me. 
 
 Suppose — 't were worth while frustrate that ! Beside, 
 
 Another life 's ordained me : the world's tide 
 
 Rolls, and what hope of parting from the press 
 
 Of waves, a single wave through weariness 
 
 Gently lifted aside, laid upon shore ? 
 
 My life must be lived out in foam and roar. 
 
 No question. Fifty years the province held 
 
 Taurello ; troubles raised, and troubles quelled, 
 
 He in the midst — who leaves this quaint stone place, 
 
 These trees a year or two, then, not a trace 
 
 Of him ! How obtain hold, fetter men's tongues 
 
 Like this poor minstrel with the foolish songs — 
 
 To which, despite our bustle, he is linked ? 
 
 — Flowers one may tease, that never grow extinct. 
 Ay, that patch, surely, green as ever, where 
 
THE SUrPOSITION HE MOST INCLINES TO; 141 
 
 I set Her Moorish lentisk, by the stair, 
 
 To overawe the aloes ; and we trod 
 
 Those flowers, how call you such ? — into the sod ; 
 
 A stately foreigner — a world of pain 
 
 To make it thrive, arrest rough winds — all vain ! 
 
 It would decline ; these would not be destroyed : 
 
 And now, where is it ? where can you avoid 
 
 The flowers ? I frighten children twenty years 
 
 Longer ! — which way, too, Ecelin appears 
 
 To thwart me, for his son's besotted youth 
 
 Gives promise of the proper tiger-tooth : 
 
 They feel it at Vicenza ! Fate, fate, fate, 
 
 My fine Taurello ! go you, promulgate 
 
 Friedrich's decree, and here 's shall aggrandize 
 
 Young Ecelin — your Prefect's badge ! a prize 
 
 Too precious, certainly. 
 
 How now ? Compete 
 With my old comrade ? shufile from their seat 
 His children ? Paltry dealing ! Don't I know 
 Ecelin ? now, I think, and years ago ! 
 What 's changed — the weakness ? did «iot I compound 
 For that, and undertake to keep him sound 
 Despite it ? Here 's Taurello hankering 
 After a boy's preferment — this plaything 
 To carry, Bacchus ! " And he laughed. 
 
 Remark 
 Why schemes wherein cold-blooded men embark 
 Prosper, when your enthusiastic sort 
 Fail : while these last are ever stopping short — 
 
112 liEiNG coxtentl:d with mere vengeance. 
 
 (So much they should — so little they can do !) 
 The careless tribe see nothing to pursue 
 If they desist ; meantime their scheme succeeds. 
 Thoughts were caprices in the course of deeds 
 Methodic with Taurello ; so, he turned, 
 Enough amused by fancies fairly earned 
 Of Este's horror-struck submitted neck, 
 And Richard, the cowed braggart, at his beck, — 
 To his own petty but immediate doubt 
 If he could pacify the League without 
 Conceding Richard ; just to this was brought 
 That interval of vain discursive thought ! 
 As, shall I say, some Ethiop, past pursuit 
 Of all enslavers, dips a shackled foot 
 Burnt to the blood, into the drowsy black 
 Enormous watercourse which guides him back 
 To his own tribe again, where he is king ; 
 And laughs because he guesses, numbering 
 The yellower poison-wattles on the pouch 
 Of tlie first lizard wrested from its couch 
 Under the slime (^hose skin, the while, he strips 
 To cure his nostril with, and festered lips, 
 And eyeballs bloodshot through the desert blast) 
 That he has reached its boundary, at last 
 May breathe ; — thinks o'er enchantments of the South 
 Sovereign to plague his enemies, their mouth, 
 Eyes, nails, and hair ; but, these enchantments tried 
 In fancy, puts them soberly aside 
 For truth, projects a cool return with friends, 
 
 
SORDKLLO, TAUGHT WRAT GHjE^BLtlNS ARE, 143 
 
 The likelihood of winning m^VQ aiiiends 
 Erelong ; thinks that, takes comfort silently, 
 Then, from the river's brink, his wrongs and he, 
 Hugging revenge close to their hearts, are soon 
 Off-striding for the Mountains of the Moon. 
 
 Midnight : the watcher nodded on his spear, 
 Since clouds dispersing left a passage clear, 
 For any meagre and discolored moon 
 To venture forth ; and such was peering soon 
 Above the harassed city — her close lanes 
 Closer, not half so tapering her fanes. 
 As though she shrunk into herself to keep 
 What little life was saved, more safely. Heap 
 By heap the watch-fires mouldered, and beside 
 The blackest spoke Sordello and replied 
 Palma with none to listen. " 'T is your Cause : 
 What makes a Ghibellin ? There should be laws — 
 (Remember how my youth escaped ! I trust 
 To you for manhood, Palma ; tell me just 
 As any child) — there must be laws at work 
 Explaining this. Assure me, good may lurk 
 Under the bad, — my multitude has part 
 In your designs, their welfare is at heart 
 With Salinguerra, to their interest 
 Refer the deeds he dwelt on, — so divest 
 Our conference of much that scared me. Why 
 Affect that heartless tone to Tito ? I 
 Esteemed myself, yes, in my inmost mind 
 TliivC morn, a recreant to my race — mankind 
 
144 AND WHAT GUELFS, APPROVES OF NEITHER. 
 
 O'erlooked till now : why boast my spirit's force, 
 
 — vSuch force denied its object? why divorce 
 These, then admire my spirit's flight the same 
 As though it bore up, helped some half-orbed flame 
 Else quenched in the dead void, to living space ? 
 
 — That orb cast ofl" to chaos and disgrace, 
 Why vaunt so much my unincumbered dance, 
 Making a feat's facilities enhance 
 Its marvel ? But I front Taurello, one 
 Of happier fate, and all I should have done. 
 He does ; the people's good being paramount 
 With him, their progress may perhaps account 
 For his abiding still : whereas you heard 
 The talk with Tito — the excuse preferred 
 For burning those five hostages, — and broached 
 By way of blind, as you and I approached, 
 
 I do believe." 
 
 She spoke : then he, " My thought 
 Plainlier expressed ! All to your profit — naught 
 Meantime of these, of conquests to achieve 
 For them, of wretchedness he might relieve 
 While profiting your party. Azzo, too, • 
 
 Supports a cause : what caus<> ? Do Guelfs pursue 
 Their ends by means like yours, or better ? " 
 
 Wlien 
 The Guelfs were proved alike, men weighed with men, 
 And deed with deed, blaze, blood, with blood and blaze 
 Morn broke : " Once more, Sordello, meet its gaze 
 Proudly — the people's charge against thee fails 
 
HAVE MEN A CAUSE DISTINCT FROM BOTH ? 145 
 
 In every point, while either party quails ! 
 These are the busy ones — be silent thou ! 
 Two parties take the world up, and allow 
 No third, yet have one principle, subsist 
 By the same injustice ; whoso shall enlist 
 "With either, ranks with man's inveterate foes. 
 So there is one less quarrel to compose : 
 The Guelf, the Ghibellin may be to curse — 
 I have done nothing, but both sides do worse 
 Than nothing. Nay, to me, forgotten, reft 
 Of insight, lapped by trees and flowers, was left 
 The notion of a service — ha ? What lured 
 Me here, what mighty aim was I assured 
 Must move Taurello ? What if there remained 
 A Cause, intact, distinct from these, ordained, 
 For me, its true discoverer ? " 
 
 Some one pressed 
 Before them here, a watcher, to suggest 
 The subject for a ballad : " They must know 
 The tale of the dead worthy, long ago 
 Consul of Rome — that 's long ago for us, 
 Minstrels and bowmen, idly squabbling thus 
 In the world's corner — but too late, no doubt, 
 For the brave time he sounrht to brin": about. 
 — Not know Crescentius Nomentanus ? " Then 
 He cast about for terms to tell him, when 
 Sordello disavowed it, how they used 
 Whenever their Superior introduced 
 A novice to the Brotherhood — (" for I 
 
 7 J 
 
 , ^XA^'^ 
 
146 WHO WAS THE FAMED ROMAN CRESOENTIUS ? 
 
 Was just a brown-sleeve brother, merrily 
 
 Appointed too," quoth he, " till Innocent 
 
 Bade me relinquish, to my small content, 
 
 My wife or my brown sleeves ") — some brother spoke 
 
 Ere nocturns of Crescentius, to revoke 
 
 The edict issued, after his demise. 
 
 Which blotted fame alike and effigies, 
 
 All out except a floating power, a name 
 
 Including, tending to pr(^duce the same 
 
 Great act. Rome, dead, forgotten, lived at least 
 
 Within that brain, though to a vulgar priest 
 
 And a vile stranger, — two not worth a slave 
 
 Of Rome's, Pope John, King Otho, — fortune gave 
 
 The rule there r so, Crescentius, haply drest 
 
 In white, called Roman Consul for a jest, 
 
 Taking the people at their word, forth stept 
 
 As upon Brutus' heel, nor ever kept 
 
 Rome waiting, — stood erect, and from his brain 
 
 Gave Rome out on its ancient place again, 
 
 Ay, bade proceed with Brutus' Rome, kings styled 
 
 Themselves mere citizens of, and, beguiled 
 
 Into great thoughts thereby, would choose the gem 
 
 Out of a lapful, spoil their diadem 
 
 — The Senate's cipher was so hard to scratch ! 
 
 He flashes like a phanal, all men catch 
 
 The flame, Rome's just accomplished ! when returned 
 
 Otho, with John, the Consul's step had spurned, 
 
 And Hugo Lord of Este, to redress 
 
 The wrongs of each. Crescentius in the stress 
 
HOW IF, IN THE RE-INTEGRATION OF ROME, 147 
 
 Of adverse fortune bent. " They crucified 
 Tlieir Consul in the Forum, and abide 
 E'er since such slaves at Rome, that I — (for I 
 Was once a brown-sleeve brother, merrily- 
 Appointed) — I had option to keep wife 
 Or keep brown sleeves, and managed in the strife 
 Lose both. A song of Rome ! " 
 
 And Rome, indeed, 
 Robed at Goito in fantastic weed. 
 The Mother- City of his Mantuan days, 
 Looked an established point of light whence rays 
 Traversed the world ; for, all the clustered homes 
 Beside of men, seemed bent on being Romes 
 In their degree ; the question was, how each 
 Should most resemble Rome, clean out of reach. 
 Nor, of the great Two, either principle. 
 Struggled to change — but to possess — Rome, still, 
 Guelf Rome or Gliibellin Rome. 
 
 Let Rome advance ! 
 Rome, as she struck Sordello's ignorance — 
 How could he doubt one moment ? Rome 's the Cause ! 
 Rome of the Pandects, all the world's new laws — 
 Of the Capitol, of Castle Angelo ; 
 New structures, that inordinately glow. 
 Subdued, brought back to harmony, made ripe 
 By many a relic of the archetype 
 Extant for wonder ; every upstart church 
 That hoped to leave old temples in the lurch, 
 Corrected by the Theatre forlorn 
 
148 BE TYPIFIED THE TRIUMPH OF MANKIND? 
 
 That, — as a mundane shell, its world late born, — 
 Lay and o'ershadowed it. These hints combined, 
 Kome typifies the scheme to put mankind 
 Once more in full possession of their rights. 
 " Let us have Rome again ! On me it lights 
 To build up Rome — on me, the first and last : 
 For such a Future was endured the Past ! " 
 And thus, in the gray twilight, forth he sprung 
 To give his thought consistency among 
 The very People — let their facts avail 
 Finish the dream grown from the archer's tale. 
 
BOOK THE FIFTH. 
 
 MANKIND TRIUMPH OF A SUDDEN? 
 
 Is it the same Sordello in the dusk 
 
 As at the dawn ? — merely a perished husk 
 
 Now, that arose a power fit to build 
 
 Up Rome again ? The proud conception chilled 
 
 So soon ? Ay, watch that latest dream of thine 
 
 — A Rome indebted to no Palatine, 
 
 Drop arch by arch, Sordello !• Art possest 
 
 Of thy wish now — rewarded for thy quest 
 
 To-day among Ferrara's squalid sons — 
 
 Are this and this and this the shining ones 
 
 Meet for the Shining City ? Sooth to say, 
 
 Your favored tenantry pursue their way 
 
 After a fashion ! This companion slips 
 
 On the smooth causey, t' other blinkard trips 
 
 At his mooned sandal. " Leave to lead the brawls 
 
 Here i' the atria ? " No, friend! He that sprawls 
 
 On aught but a stibadium . . what his dues 
 
 Who puts the lustral vase to such an use ? 
 
 O, huddle up the day's disasters ! March, 
 
 Ye rimagates, and drop thou, arch by arch, 
 
 Rome I 
 
 Yet before they quite disband — a whim- 
 Study mere shelter, now, for him, and him, 
 
150 WHY, THE WORK SHOULD BE ONE OP AGES 
 
 Nav. even the worst, — just house them ! Any cave 
 
 Suffices : throw out earth ! A loophole ? Brave ! 
 
 They ask to feel the sun shine, see the grass 
 
 Grow, hear the larks sing ? Dead art thou, alas, 
 
 And I am dead ! But here 's our son excels 
 
 At hurdle-weaving any Scythian, fells 
 
 Oak and devises rafters, dreams and shapes 
 
 His dream into a door-post, just escapes 
 
 The mystery of hinges. Lie we both 
 
 Perdue another age. The goodly growth 
 
 Of brick and stone ! Our building-pelt was rough, 
 
 But that descendant's garb suits well enough 
 
 A portico-contriver. Speed the years — 
 
 What 's time to us ? at last, a city rears 
 
 Itself ! nay, enter — what 's the grave to us ? 
 
 Lo, our forlorn acquaintance carry thus 
 
 The head ! Successively sewer, forum, cirque — 
 
 Last age, an aqueduct was counted work, 
 
 But now they tire the artificer upon 
 
 Blank alabaster, black obsidian, 
 
 — Careful, Jove's face be duly fulgurant. 
 
 And mother Venus' kiss-creased nipples pant 
 
 Back into pristine pulpiness, ere fixed 
 
 Above the baths. What difference betwixt 
 
 This Rome and ours — resemblance what, between 
 
 That scurvy dumb-show and this pageant sheen — 
 
 These Romans and our rabble ? Use thy wit ! 
 
 The work marched : step by step, — a workman fit 
 
 Took each, nor too fit, — to one task, one time, — 
 
IP PERFORMED EQUALLY AND THOROUGHLY ; 151 
 
 No leaping o'er the petty to the prime, 
 
 When just the substituting osier lithe 
 
 For brittle bulrush, sound wood for soft withe, 
 
 To further loam-and-roughcast-work a stage, — 
 
 Exacts an architect, exacts an age : 
 
 No tables of the Mauritanian tree 
 
 For men whose maple-log 's their luxury ! 
 
 That way was Rome built. "Better" (say you) 
 
 " merge 
 At once all workmen in the demiurge, 
 All epochs in a lifetime, every task 
 In one ! " So should the sudden city bask 
 r the day — while those we 'd feast there, want the knack 
 Of keeping fresh-chalked gowns from speck and brack, 
 Distinguish not rare peacock from vile swan, 
 Nor Mareotic juice from Coecuban. 
 " Enough of Rome ! 'T was happy to conceive 
 Rome on a sudden, nor shall fate bereave 
 Me of that credit : for the rest, her spite 
 Is an old story — serves my folly right 
 By adding yet another to the dull 
 List of abortions — things proved beautiful 
 Could they be done, Sordello cannot do." 
 
 He sat upon the terrace, plucked and threw 
 The powdery aloe-cusps away, saw shift 
 Rome's walls, and drop arch after arch, and drift 
 Mist-like afar those pillars of all stripe. 
 Mounds of all majesty. " Thou archetype, 
 Last of my dreams and loveliest, depart ! " 
 
152 AND A MAN CAN BUT DO A MAN's P ORTIO N. 
 
 And then a low voice wound into his heart : 
 " Sordello ! " (low as some old Pythoness 
 Conceding to a Lydian King's distress 
 The cause of his long error — one mistake 
 Of her past oracle) " Sordello, wake ! 
 God has conceded two sights to a man — 
 One, of men's whole work, time's completed plan, 
 The other, of the minute's work, man's first 
 Step to the plan's completeness : what 's dispersed 
 Save hope of that supreme step which, descried 
 Earliest, was meant still to remain untried 
 Only to give you heart to take your own 
 Step, and there stay — leaving the rest alone ? 
 Where is the vanity ? Why count as one 
 The first step, with the last step ? What is gone 
 Except Rome's aery magnificence, 
 That last step you 'd take first ? — an evidence 
 You were God : be man now ! Let those glances fall ! 
 The basis, the beginning step of all. 
 Which proves you just a man — is that gone too ? 
 Pity to disconcert one versed as you 
 In fate's ill-nature ! but its full extent 
 Eludes Sordello, even : the veil rent, ' 
 Read the black writing — that collective man 
 Outstrips the individual ! Who began 
 The acknowledged greatnesses ? Ay, your own art 
 Shall serve us : put the poet's mimes apart — 
 Close with the poet's self, and lo, a dim 
 Yet too plain form divides itself from him ! 
 
THE LAST OF EACH SERIES OF "WORKMEN 153 
 
 Alcarao's song enmeshes the lulled Isle, 
 
 Woven into the echoes left erewhile 
 
 By Nina, one soft web of song ; no more 
 
 Turning his name, then, flower-like o'er and o'er I 
 
 An elder poet in the younger's place — 
 
 Nina's the strength — but Alcamo's the grace : 
 
 Each neutralizes each then ! Search your fill ; 
 
 You get no whole and perfect Poet — still 
 
 New Ninas, Alcamos, till time's midnight 
 
 Shrouds all — or better say, the shutting light 
 
 Of a forgotten yesterday. Dissect 
 
 Every ideal workman — (to reject 
 
 In favor of your fearful ignorance 
 
 The thousand phantasms eager to advance. 
 
 And point you but to tliose within your reach) — 
 
 Were you the first who brought — (in modern speech) 
 
 Tlie Multitude to be materialized ? 
 
 Tliat loose eternal unrest — who devised 
 
 An apparition i' the midst ? The rout 
 
 Was checked, a breathless ring was formed about 
 
 That sudden flower ; get round at any risk 
 
 The gold-rough pointel, silver-blazing disk 
 
 O' the lily ! Swords across it ! Reign thy reign 
 
 And serve thy frolic service, Charlemagne ! 
 
 — The very child of over-joyousness. 
 
 Unfeeling the.nce, strong therefore : Strength by stress 
 
 Of Strength comes of that forehead confident, 
 
 Those widened eyes expecting heart's content, 
 
 A calm as out of just-quelled noise; nor swerves 
 
154 SUMS UP IN HIMSELF ALL PREDECESSORS. 
 
 For doubt, the ample cheek in gracious curves 
 
 Abutting on the upthrust nether lip : 
 
 He wills, how should he doubt then ? Ages slip : 
 
 "Was it Sordello pried into the work 
 
 So far accomplished, and discovered lurk 
 
 A company amid the other clans, 
 
 Only distinct in priests for castellans 
 
 And popes for suzerains (their rule confessed 
 
 Its rule, their interest its interest, 
 
 Living for sake of living — there an end, — 
 
 Wrapt in itself, no energy to spend 
 
 In making adversaries or allies), — 
 
 Dived you into its capabilities 
 
 And dared create, out of that sect, a soul 
 
 Should turn the multitude, already whole, 
 
 Into its body ? Speak plainer ! Is 't so sure 
 
 God's church lives by a King's investiture ? 
 
 Look to last step ! a staggering — a shock — 
 
 What 's mere sand is demolished, while the rock 
 
 Endures : a column of black fiery dust 
 
 Blots heaven — that help was prematurely thrust 
 
 Aside, perchance ! — but the air clears, naught 's erased 
 
 Of the true outline ! Thus much being firm based, 
 
 The other was a scaffold. See him stand 
 
 Buttressed upon his mattock, Hildebrand 
 
 Of the hugh brain-mask welded ply o'er ply 
 
 As in a forge ; it buries either eye 
 
 White and extinct, that stupid brow ; teeth clenched, 
 
 The neck tight-corded, too, the chin deep-trenched, 
 
 
WE JIJST SEE CHARLEMAGNE, HILDEBRAND, 155 
 
 As if a cloud enveloped him while fought 
 
 Under its shade, grim prizers, thought with thought 
 
 At dead-lock, agonizing he, until 
 
 The victor thought leapt radiant up, and Will, 
 
 The slave with folded arms and drooping lids 
 
 They fought for, lean forth flame-like as it bids. 
 
 Call him no flower — a mandrake of the earth, 
 
 Thwarted and dwarfed and blasted in its birth. 
 
 Rather, a fruit of suffering's excess. 
 
 Thence feeling, therefore stronger : still by stress 
 
 Of Strength, work Ejiowledge ! Full three hundred years 
 
 Have men to wear away in smiles and tears 
 
 Between the two that nearly seem to touch. 
 
 Observe you ! quit one workman and you clutch 
 
 Another, letting both their trains go by — 
 
 The actors-out of either's policy, 
 
 Heinrich, on this hand, Otho, Barbaross, 
 
 Carry the three Imperial crowns across, 
 
 Aix' Iron, Milan's Silver, and Rome's Gold — 
 
 While Alexander, Innocent uphold 
 
 On that, each Papal key — but, link on link, 
 
 Why is it neither chain betrays a chink ? 
 
 How coalesce the small and great ? Alack, 
 
 For one thrust forward, fifty such fall back ! 
 
 Do the popes coupled there help Gregory 
 
 Alone ? Hark — from the hermit Peter's cry 
 
 At Claremont, down to the first serf that says 
 
 Friedrich 's no liege of his while he delays 
 
 Getting the Pope's curse off him ! The Crusade ^ 
 
156 IN COMPOSITE WORK THEY END AND NAME. 
 
 Or trick of breeding strength by other aid 
 
 Than strength, is safe. Hark — from the wild harangue 
 
 Of Vimmercato, to the carroch's clang 
 
 Yonder ! The League — or trick of turning strength 
 
 Against pernicious strength, is safe at length. 
 
 Yet hark — from Mantuan Albert making cease 
 
 The fierce ones, to Saint Francis preaching peace 
 
 Yonder ! God's Truce — or trick to supersede 
 
 The very use of strength, is safe. Indeed 
 
 We trench upon the Future ! Who is found 
 
 To take next step, next age — trail o'er the ground — 
 
 Shall I say, gourd-like ? — not the flower's display 
 
 Nor the root's prowess, but the plenteous way 
 
 O' the plant — produced by joy and sorrow, whence 
 
 Unfeeling and yet feeling, strongest thence ? 
 
 Knowledge by stress of merely Knowledge ? No — 
 
 E'en were Sordello ready to forego 
 
 His life for this, 't were overleaping work 
 
 Some one has first to do, howe'er it irk, 
 
 Nor stray a foot's breadth from the beaten road. 
 
 Who means to help must still support the load 
 
 Hildebrand hfted — ' why hast Thou,' he groaned, 
 
 * Imposed on me a burden, Paul had moaned, 
 
 And Moses dropped beneath ? ' Much done — and yet 
 
 Doubtless, that grandest task God ever set 
 
 On man, left much to do : at his arm's wrench, 
 
 Charlemagne's scaffold fell ; but pillars blench 
 
 Merely, start back again — perchance have been 
 
 Taken for buttresses : crash every screen, 
 
 I 
 
IF ASSOCIATES TROUBLE YOU, STAND OFF ! 1'3< 
 
 Hammer the tenons better, and engage 
 
 A gung about your work, for the next age 
 
 Or two, of Knowledge, part by Strength and part 
 
 By Knowledge ! Then, indeed, perchance may start 
 
 Sordello on his race — would time divulge 
 
 Such secrets ! If one step *s awry, one bulge 
 
 Calls for correction by a step we thought 
 
 Got over long since, why, tiU that is wrought, 
 
 No progress ! and the scaffold in its turn 
 
 Becomes, its service o'er, a thing to spurn. 
 
 Meanwhile, if your half-dozen years of life 
 
 In store, dispose you to forego tlie strife. 
 
 Who takes exception ? Only bear in mind, 
 
 Ferrara 's reached, Goito 's left behind : 
 
 As you then were, as half yourself, desist ! 
 
 — Tiie warriop-part of you may, an it list, 
 
 Finding real faulohions difficult to poise. 
 
 Fling them afar and taste the cream of joys 
 
 By wieldmg such in fancy, — what is bard 
 
 Of you, may spurn the vehicle that marred 
 
 Elys so much, and in free fancy glut 
 
 His sense, yet write no verses — you have but 
 
 To please yourself for law, and once could please 
 
 What once appeared yourself, by dreaming these 
 
 Rather than doing these, in days gone by. 
 
 But all is changed the moment you descry 
 
 Mankind as half youi*self, — then, fancy's trade 
 
 Ends once and always : how may half evade 
 
 The other half? men are found half of you. 
 
158 SHOULD THE NEW SYMPATHIES ALLOW YOU. 
 
 Out of a thousand helps, just one or two 
 Can be accomplished presently : but flinch 
 From these (as from the faulchion, raised an inch, 
 Elys, described a couplet) and make proof 
 Of fancy, — then, while one half lolls aloof 
 r the vines, completing Rome to the tip-top — 
 See if, for that, your other half will stop 
 A tear, begin a smile ! The rabble's woes, 
 Ludicrous in their patience as they chose 
 To sit about their town and quietly 
 Be slaughtered, — the poor reckless soldiery, 
 With their ignoble rhymes on Richard, how 
 * Polt-foot,' sang they, ' was in a pitfall now,' 
 Cheering each other from the engine-mounts, — 
 That crippled spawling idiot who recounts 
 How, lopt of limbs, he lay, stupid as stone, 
 Till the pains crept from out him one by one. 
 And wriggles round the archers on his head 
 To earn a morsel of their chestnut bread, — 
 And Cino. always in the selfsame place 
 Weeping ; beside that other wretch's case, 
 Eyepits to ear, one gangrene since he plied 
 The engine in his coat of raw sheep's hide 
 A double watch in the noon sun ; and see 
 Lucchino, beauty, with the favors free. 
 Trim hacqueton, spruce beard and scented hair, 
 Campaigning it for the first time — cut there 
 In two already, boy enough to crawl 
 For latter orpine round the southern wall, 
 
TIME HAVING BEEN LOST, CHOOSE QUICK ! 159 
 
 Tomh, where Richard 's kept, because that whore 
 
 Marfisa, tlie fool never saw before, 
 
 Sickened for flowers this wearisomest siege : 
 
 And Tiso's wife — men liked their pretty liege, 
 
 Cared for her least of whims once, — Berta, wed 
 
 A twelvemonth gone, and, now poor Tiso 's dead, 
 
 Delivering herself of his first child 
 
 On that chance heap of wet filth, reconciled 
 
 To fifty gazers ! " — (Here a wind below 
 
 Made moody music augural of woe 
 
 From the pine barrier) — " What if, now the scene 
 
 Draws to a close, youi-self have really been 
 
 — You, plucking purples in Goito's moss 
 
 Like edges of a trabea (not to cross 
 
 Your consul-humor) or dry aloe-shafts 
 
 For fasces, at Ferrara — he, fate wafts, 
 
 This very age, her whole inheritance 
 
 Of opportunities ? Yet you advance 
 
 Upon the last ! Since talking is your trade, 
 
 There 's Salinguerra left you to persuade : 
 
 Fail! then" — 
 
 " No — no — which latest chance secure ! " 
 Leapt up and cried Sordello : " this made sure, 
 The Past were yet redeemable ; its work 
 Was — help the Guelfs, whom I, howe'er it irk, 
 Thus help ! " He shook the foolish aloe-haulm 
 Out of his doublet, paused, proceeded calm 
 To the appointed presence. The large head 
 Turned on its socket ; " And your spokesman," said 
 
160 HE TAKES HIS FIKST STEP AS A GUELF ; 
 
 The large voice, " is Elcorte's happy sprout ? 
 Few sucli " — (so finishing a speech no doubt 
 Addressed to Palma, silent at his side) 
 
 — " My sober councils have diversified. 
 Elcorte's son ! good : forward as you may, 
 Our lady's minstrel with so much to say ! " 
 The hesitating sunset floated back, 
 Rosily traversed in the wonted track 
 
 The chamber, from the lattice o'er the girth 
 
 Of pines, to the huge eagle blacked in earth 
 
 Opposite, — outlined sudden, spur to crest, 
 
 That solid Salinguerra, and caressed 
 
 Palraa's contour ; 't was Day looped back Night's pall ; 
 
 Sordello had a chance left spite of all. 
 
 And much he made of the convincing speech 
 He meant should compensate the Past and reach 
 Through his youth's daybreak of unprofit, quite 
 To his noon's labor, so proceed till night 
 Leisurely ! The great argument to bind 
 Taurello with the Guelf Cause, body and mind, 
 
 — Came the consummate rhetoric to that ? 
 Yet most Bordello's argument dropped flat 
 Through his accustomed fault of breaking yoke. 
 Disjoining him who felt from him who spoke. 
 Was 't not a touching incident — so prompt 
 
 A rendering the world its just accompt. 
 
 Once proved its debtor ? Who 'd suppose, before 
 
 This proof, that he, Goito's god of yore. 
 
 At duty's instance could demean himself 
 
BUT TO WILL AND TO DO ARE DIFFEREl^T : 161 
 
 So memorably, dwindle to a Guelf ? 
 
 Be sure, in such delicious flattery steeped, 
 
 His inmost self at the out-portion peeped 
 
 Thus occupied ; then stole a glance at those 
 
 Appealed to, curious if her color rose 
 
 Or his lip moved, while he discreetly urged 
 
 The need of Lombardy's becoming purged 
 
 At soonest of her barons ; the poor part 
 
 Abandoned thus, missing the blood at heart 
 
 And spirit in brain, unseasonably off 
 
 Elsewhere ! But, though his speech was worthy scoff, 
 
 Good-humored Salinguerra, famed for tact 
 
 And tongue, who, careless of his phrase, ne'er lacked 
 
 The right phrase, and harangued Honorius dumb 
 
 At his accession, — looked as all fell plumb 
 
 To purpose and himself found interest 
 
 In every point his new instructor pressed 
 
 — Left playing with the rescript's white wax seal 
 
 To scrutinize Sordello head and heel. 
 
 Then means he yield assent sure ? No, alas ! 
 
 All he replied was, " What, it comes to pass 
 
 That poesy, sooner than politics. 
 
 Makes fade young hair ? " To think such speech could fix 
 
 Taurello ! 
 
 Then a flash of bitter truth : 
 So fantasies could break and fritter youth 
 That he had long ago lost earnestness, 
 Lost will to work, lost power to even express 
 The need of working ! Earth was turned a grave : 
 
162 HE MAT SLEEP ON THE BED HE HAS MADE. 
 
 No more occasions now, though he should crave 
 
 Just one, in right of superhuman toil, 
 
 To do what was undone, repair such spoil, 
 
 Alter the Past — nothing would give the chance ! 
 
 Not that he was to die : he saw askance 
 
 Protract the ignominious years beyond 
 
 To dream in — time to hope and time despond, 
 
 Remember and forget, be sad, rejoice 
 
 As saved a trouble ; he might, at his choice, 
 
 One way or other, idle life out, drop 
 
 No few smooth verses by the way — for prop, 
 
 A thyrsus, these sad people, all the same, 
 
 Should pick up, and set store by, — far from blame, 
 
 Plant o'er his hearse, convinced his better part 
 
 Survived him. " Rather tear men out the heart 
 
 Of the truth ! " — Sordello muttered, and renewed 
 
 His propositions for the Multitude. 
 
 But Salinguerra, who at this attack 
 Had thrown great breast and ruffling corslet back 
 To hear the better, smilingly resumed 
 His task ; beneath, the carroch's warning boomed ; 
 He must decide with Tito ; courteously 
 He turned then, even seeming to agree 
 With his admonisher — " Assist the Pope, 
 Extend Guelf domination, fill the scope 
 Of the Church, thus based on All, by All, for All — 
 Change Secular to Evangelical " — 
 Echoing his very sentence : all seemed lost, 
 When sudden he looked up, laughingly almost, 
 
SCORN FLINGS COLD WATER IN HIS FACE, 163 
 
 To Palma : " This opinion of your friend's — 
 
 For instance, would it answer Palma's ends ? 
 
 Best, were it not, turn Guelf, submit our Strength " — 
 
 (Here he drew out his baldric to its length) 
 
 — " To the Pope's Knowledge — let our captive slip, 
 Wide to the walls throw ope our gates, equip 
 
 Azzo with . . . what I hold here ? Who 'U subscribe 
 To a trite censure of the minstrel tribe 
 Henceforward ? or pronounce, as Heinrich used, 
 * Spear-heads for battle, burr-heads for the joust ! ' 
 
 — Wlien Constance, for his couplets, would promote 
 Alcamo, from a parti-colored coat, 
 
 To holding her lord's stirrup in the wars. 
 Not that I see where couplet-making jars 
 With common sense : at Mantua I had borne 
 This chanted, better than their most forlorn 
 Of bull-baits, — that 's indisputable ! " 
 
 Brave ! 
 Whom vanity nigh slew, contempt shall save ! 
 All 's at an end : a Troubadour suppose 
 Mankind will class him with their friends or foes ? 
 A puny uncouth ailing vassal think 
 The world and him bound in some special link ? 
 Abrupt the visionary tether burst — 
 What were rewarded here, or what amerced 
 If a poor drudge, solicitous to dream 
 Deservingly, got tangled by his theme 
 So far as to conceit the knack or gift 
 Or whatsoe'er it be, of verse, might lift 
 
164 AROUSES HIM AT LAST, TO SOME PURPOSE, 
 
 The globe, a lever like the hand and head 
 Of — " Men of Action," as the Jongleurs said, 
 — " The Great Men," in the people's dialect ? 
 
 And not a moment did this scorn affect 
 Sordello : scorn the poet ? They, for once. 
 Asking " what was," obtained a full response. 
 Bid Naddo think at Mantua, he had but 
 To look into his promptuarj, put 
 Finger on a set thought in a set speech : 
 But was Sordello fitted thus for each 
 Conjecture ? Nowise ; since, within his soul, 
 Perception brooded unexpressed and whole. 
 A healthy spirit like a healthy frame 
 Craves aliment in plenty — all the same. 
 Changes, assimilates its aliment. 
 Perceived Sordello, on a truth intent ? 
 Next day no formularies more you saw 
 Than figs or olives in a sated maw. 
 'T is Knowledge, whither such perceptions tend ; 
 They lose themselves in that, means to an end, 
 The many old producing some one new, 
 A last unlike the first. If lies are true. 
 The Caliph's wheel-work man of brass receives 
 A meal, munched millet grains and lettuce leaves 
 Together in his stomach rattle loose — 
 You find them perfect next day to produce ; 
 But ne'er expect the man, on strength of that. 
 Can roll an iron camel-collar flat 
 Like Haroun's self ! I tell you, what was stored 
 
AND THUS GETS THE UTMOST OUT OP HIM. 165 
 
 Bit by bit through Sordello's life, outpoured 
 
 That eve, was, for that age, a novel thing : 
 
 And round those three the people fonned a ring, 
 
 Of visionary judges whose award 
 
 He recognized in full — faces that barred 
 
 Henceforth return to the old careless life, 
 
 In wliose great presence, therefore, his first strife 
 
 For their sake must not be ignobly fought. 
 
 All these, for once, approved of him, he thought, 
 
 Suspended their own vengeance, chose await 
 
 The issue of this strife to reinstate 
 
 Them in the right of taking it — in fact 
 
 He must be proved king ere they could exact 
 
 Vengeance for such king's defalcation. Last, 
 
 A reason why the phrases flowed so fast 
 
 Was in his quite forgetting for a time 
 
 Himself in his amazement that the rhyme 
 
 Disguised the royalty so much : he there — 
 
 And Salinguerra — and yet unaware 
 
 Who was the lord, who liegeman ! 
 
 "Thus I lay 
 On thine my spirit and compel obey 
 His lord, — my liegeman, — impotent to build 
 Another Rome, but hardly so unskilled 
 In what such builder should have been, as brook 
 One shame beyond the charge that I forsook 
 His function ! Free me from that shame, I bend 
 A brow before, suppose new years to spend, 
 Allow each chance, nor fruitlessly, recur — 
 
166 HE ASSERTS THE POET's RANK AND RIGHT, 
 
 Measure thee with the Minstrel, then, demur 
 
 At any crown he claims ! That I must cede 
 
 Shamed now, my right to my especial meed — 
 
 Confess thee fitter help the world than I 
 
 Ordained its champion from eternity, 
 
 Is much : but to behold thee scorn the post 
 
 I quit in thy behalf — to hear thee boast 
 
 What makes my own despair ! " And while he rung 
 
 The changes on this theme, the roof up-sprung, 
 
 The sad walls of the presence-chamber died 
 
 Into the distance, or embowering vied 
 
 With far-away Goito's vine-frontier ; 
 
 And crowds of faces — (only keeping clear 
 
 The rose-light in the midst, his vantage-ground 
 
 To fight their battle from) — deep clustered round 
 
 Bordello, with good wishes no mere breath, 
 
 Kind prayers for him no vapor, since, come death, 
 
 Come life, he was fresh-sinewed every joint, 
 
 Each bone new-marrowed as whom Gods anoint 
 
 Though mortal to their rescue : now let sprawl 
 
 The snaky volumes hither ! Is Typhon all 
 
 For Hercules to trample — good report 
 
 From Salinguerra only to extort ? 
 
 " So was I" (closed he his inculcating, 
 
 A poet must be eartns essential king) 
 
 " So was I, royal so, and if I fail, 
 
 'T is not the royalty, ye witness quail, 
 
 But one deposed who, caring not exert 
 
 Its proper essence, trifled malapert 
 
BASING THESE ON THEIR PROPER GROUND, 1G7 
 
 With accidents instead — good things assigned 
 
 As heralds of a better thing behind — 
 
 And, worthy through display of these, put forth 
 
 Never the inmost all-surpassing worth 
 
 That constitutes him Kling precisely since 
 
 As yet no other spirit may evince 
 
 Its like : the power he took most pride to test, 
 
 Whereby all forms of life had been professed 
 
 At pleasure, forms already on the earth, 
 
 Was but a means to power beyond, whose birth 
 
 Should, in its novelty, be kingship's proof. 
 
 Now, whether he came near or kept aloof 
 
 The several forms he longed to imitate. 
 
 Not there the kingship lay, he sees too late. 
 
 Those forms, unalterable first as last, 
 
 Proved him her copier, not the protoplast 
 
 Of nature : what could come of being free 
 
 By action to exhibit tree for tree. 
 
 Bird, beast, for beast and bird, or prove earth bore 
 
 One veritable man or woman more ? 
 
 Means to an end, such proofs are : what the end ? 
 
 Let essence, w^hatsoe'er it be, extend — 
 
 Never contract ! Already you include 
 
 The multitude ; then let the multitude 
 
 Include yourself; and the result were new : 
 
 Themselves before, the multitude turn you. 
 
 This were to live and move and have, in them, 
 
 Your being, and secure a diadem 
 
 You should transmit (because no cycle yearns 
 
168 RECOGNIZING TRUE DIGNIT Y IN SER VICE, 
 
 Beyond itself, but on itself returns) 
 
 Wlien, the full sphere in wane, the world o'erlaid 
 
 Long since with you, shall have in turn obeyed 
 
 Some orb still prouder, some displayer, still 
 
 More potent than the last, of human will. 
 
 And some new King depose the old. Of such 
 
 Am I — whom pride of this elates too much ? 
 
 Safe, rather say, 'mid troops of peers again ; 
 
 I, with my words, hailed brother of the train 
 
 Deeds once sufficed : for, let the world roll back. 
 
 Who fails, through deeds howe'er diverse, re-track 
 
 My purpose still, my task ? A teeming crust — 
 
 Air, flame, earth, wave at conflict ! Then, needs must 
 
 Emerge some Calm embodied, these refer 
 
 The brawl to ; — yellow-bearded Jupiter ? 
 
 No ! Saturn ; some existence like a pact 
 
 And protest against Chaos, some first fact 
 
 r the faint of time. JNIy deep of life, I know, 
 
 Is unavailing e'en to poorly show "... 
 
 (For here the Chief immeasurably yawned) 
 
 ..." Deeds in their due gradation till Song dawned— 
 
 The fullest effluence of the finest mind, 
 
 AU in degree, no way diverse in kind 
 
 From minds about it, minds which, more or less 
 
 Lofty or low, move seeking to impress 
 
 Themselves on somewhat ; but one mind has climbed 
 
 Step after step, by just ascent sublimed. 
 
 Thought is the soul of act, and, stage by stage, 
 
 Is soul from body still to disengage 
 
WHETHER SUCCESSIVELY THAT OF EPOIST, 169 
 
 As tending to a freedom which rejects 
 Such help and incorporeally affects 
 The world, producing deeds but not by deeds, 
 Swaying, in others, frames itself exceeds, 
 Assigning them the simpler tasks it used 
 To patiently perform till Song produced 
 Acts, by thoughts only, for the mind : divest 
 Mind of e'en Thought, and, lo, God's unexpressed 
 Will dawns above us ! All then is to win 
 Save that ! How much for me, then ? where begin 
 My work ? About me, faces ! and they flock, 
 The earnest faces ! What shall I unlock 
 By song ? behold me prompt, whate'er it be, 
 To minister : how much can mortals see 
 Of Life ? No more than so ? I take the task 
 And marshal you Life's elemental masque. 
 Show Men, on evil or on good lay stress, 
 This light, this shade make prominent, suppress 
 All ordinary hues that softening blend 
 Such natures with the level. Apprehend 
 Which sinner is, which saint, if I allot 
 Hell, Purgatory, Heaven, a blaze or blot. 
 To those you doubt concerning ! I enwomb 
 Some wretched Friedrich with his red-hot tomb ; 
 Some dubious spirit, Lombard Agilulph 
 With the black chastening river I engulph ; 
 Some unapproached Matilda I enshrine 
 With languors of the planet of decline — 
 These, fiil to recognize, to arbitrate 
 8 
 
170 DRAMATIST, OR, SO TO CALL HIM, ANALYST, 
 
 Between henceforth, to rightly estimate 
 
 Thus marshalled in the masque ! Myself, the while, 
 
 As one of you, am witness, shrink or smile 
 
 At my own showing ! Next age — what 's to do ? 
 
 The men and women stationed hitherto 
 
 Will I unstation, good and bad, conduct 
 
 Each nature to its farthest, or obstruct 
 
 At soonest, in the world : light, thwarted, breaks 
 
 A limpid purity to rainbow flakes, 
 
 Or shadow, massed, freezes to gloom : behold 
 
 How such, with fit assistance to unfold, 
 
 Or obstacles to crush them, disengage 
 
 Their forms, love, hate, hope, fear, peace make, war wage, 
 
 In presence of you all ! Myself, implied 
 
 Superior now, as, by the platform's side, 
 
 I bade them do and suffer, — would last content 
 
 The world ... no — that 's too far ! I circumvent 
 
 A few, my masque contented, and to these 
 
 Offer unveil the last of mysteries — 
 
 Man's inmost life shall have yet freer play : 
 
 Once more I cast external things away, 
 
 And natures composite, so decompose 
 
 That" . . . Why, he writes Sordello! 
 
 " How I rose, 
 And how have you advanced ! since evermore 
 Yourselves effect what I was fain before 
 Effect, what I supplied yourselves suggest. 
 What I leave bare yourselves can now invest. 
 How we attain to talk as brothers talk, 
 
AVIIO TURNS IN DUE COURSE SYNTHETIST. 17J 
 
 In half-words, call things by half-names, no balk 
 
 From discontinuing old aids. To-day 
 
 Takes in account the work of Yesterday : 
 
 Has not the world a Past now, its adept 
 
 Consults ere he dispense with or accept 
 
 New aids ? a single touch more may enhance, 
 
 A touch less turn to insignificance 
 
 Those structures' symmetry the Past has strewed 
 
 The world with, once so bare. Leave the mere rude 
 
 Explicit details ! 't is but brother's speech 
 
 We need, speech where an accent's change gives each 
 
 The other's soul — no speech to understand 
 
 By former audience : need was then to expand, 
 
 Expatiate — hardly were we brothers ! true — 
 
 Nor I lament my small remove from you, 
 
 Nor reconstruct what stands already. Ends 
 
 Accomplished turn to means : my art intends 
 
 New structure from the ancient : as they changed 
 
 The spoils of every clime at Venice, ranged 
 
 The horned and snouted Libyan god, upright 
 
 As in his desert, by some simple bright 
 
 Clay cinerary pitcher — Thebes as Rome, 
 
 Athens as Byzant rifled, till their Dome 
 
 From earth's reputed consummations razed 
 
 A seal, the all-transmuting Triad blazed 
 
 Above. Ah, whose that fortune ? ne'ertheless 
 
 E'en he must stoop contented to express 
 
 No tithe of what 's to say — the vehicle 
 
 Never sufficient : but his work is still 
 
172 THIS FOR ONE DAT: NOW, SERVE AS GUELf ! 
 
 For faces like the faces that select 
 
 The single service I am bound effect, 
 
 And bid me cast aside such fancies, bow 
 
 Taurello to the Guelf cause, disallow 
 
 The Kaiser's coming — which with heart, soul, strength, 
 
 I labor for, this eve, who feel at length 
 
 My past career's outrageous vanity. 
 
 And would, as it amends, die, even die 
 
 Now I first estimate the boon of life. 
 
 If death might win compliance — sure, this strife 
 
 Is right for once — the People my support." 
 
 My poor Sordello ! what may we extort 
 By this, I wonder ? Palma's lighted eyes 
 Turned to Taurello who, long past surprise, 
 Began, " You love him — what you 'd say at large 
 Let me say briefly. First, your father's charge 
 To me, his friend, peruse : I guessed indeed 
 You were no stranger to the course decreed. 
 He bids me leave his children to the saints : 
 As for a certain project, he acquaints 
 The Pope with that, and offers him the best 
 Of your possessions to permit the rest 
 Go peaceably — to Ecelin, a stripe 
 Of soil the cursed Vicentines will gripe, 
 — To Alberic, a patch the Trevisan 
 Clutches already ; extricate, who can, 
 Treville, Villarazzi, Puissolo, 
 Cartiglione, Loria ! — all go. 
 And with them go my hopes. 'T is lost, then ! Lost 
 
SALINGUERRA, DISLODGED FROM HIS POST, 173 
 
 This eve, our crisis, and some pains it cost 
 
 Procuring ; thirty years — as good I 'd spent 
 
 Like our admonisher ! But each his bent 
 
 Pursues : no question, one might live absurd 
 
 One's self this while, by deed as he by word, 
 
 Persisting to obtrude an influence where 
 
 'T is made account of, much as . . . nay, you fare 
 
 With twice the fortune, youngster ! — I submit, 
 
 Happy to parallel my waste of wit 
 
 With the renowned Bordello's : you decide 
 
 A course for me. Romano may abide 
 
 Romano, — Bacchus ! After all, what dearth 
 
 Of Ecelins and Alberics on earth ? 
 
 Say there 's a prize in prospect, must disgrace 
 
 Betide competitors, unless they style 
 
 Themselves Romano ? were it worth my while 
 
 To try my own luck ! But an obscure place 
 
 Suits me — there wants a youth to bustle, stalk 
 
 And attitudinize — some fight, more talk, 
 
 Most flaunting badges — how, I might make clear. 
 
 Since Friedrich's very purposes lie here 
 
 — Here, pity they are like to lie ! For me, 
 
 With station fixed unceremoniously 
 
 Long since, small use contesting ; I am but 
 
 The liegeman, you are bom the lieges — shut 
 
 That gentle mouth now ! or resume your kin 
 
 In your sweet self; were Palma Ecelin 
 
 For me to work with ! Could that neck endure 
 
 This bauble for a cumbrous garniture, 
 
174 IN MOVING, OPENS A DOOR TO SORDELLU^ 
 
 She should ... or might one bear it for her ? Stay — 
 
 I have not been so flattered many a day 
 
 As by your pale friend — Bacchus ! The least help 
 
 "Would lick the hind's fawn to a lion's whelp — 
 
 His neck is broad enough — a ready tongue 
 
 Beside — too writhled — but, the main thing, young — 
 
 I could . . . why, look ye ! " 
 
 And the badge was thrown 
 Across Sordello's neck : " This badge alone 
 Makes you Romano's Head — becomes superb 
 On your bare neck, which would, on mine, disturb 
 The pauldron," said Taurello. A mad act. 
 Not even dreamed about before — in fact, 
 Not when his sportive arm rose for the nonce — 
 But he had dallied overmuch, tliis once. 
 With power : the thing was done, and he, aware 
 The thing was done, proceeded to declare — 
 (So like a nature made to serve, excel 
 In serving, only feel by service well !) 
 — That he would make Sordello that and more. 
 " As good a scheme as any ! What 's to pore 
 At in my face ? " he asked — ponder instead 
 This piece of news ; you are Romano's Head ! 
 One cannot slacken pace so near the goal. 
 Suffer my Azzo to escape heart-whole 
 This time ! For you there 's Palma to espouse — 
 For me, one crowning trouble ere I house 
 Like my compeer." 
 
 On which ensued a strange 
 
WHO IS DECLARED SALINGUERRA's SON. 175 
 
 And solemn visitation ; there came change 
 O'er every one of them ; each looked on each : 
 Up in the midst a truth grew, without speech. 
 And when the giddiness sank and the haze 
 Subsided, they were sitting, no amaze, 
 Sordello with the baldric on, his sire 
 Silent, though his proportions seemed aspire 
 Momently ; and, interpreting the thrill 
 Nigh at its ebb, Palma was found there still 
 Relating somewhat Adelaide confessed 
 A year ago, while dying on her breast, — 
 Of a contrivance that Vicenza night. 
 When Ecelin had birth. " Their convoy's flight, 
 Cut off a moment, coiled inside the flame 
 That wallowed like a dragon at his game 
 The toppling city through — San Biagio rocks ! 
 And wounded lies in her delicious locks 
 Retrude, the frail mother, on her face, 
 None of her wasted, just in one embrace 
 Covering her child : when, as they lifted her, 
 Cleaving the tumult, mighty, mightier 
 And mightiest Taurello's cry outbroke, 
 Leapt like a tongue of fire that cleaves the smokt 
 IVIidmost to cheer his Mantuans onward — drown 
 His colleague Ecelin's clamor, up and down 
 The disarray : failed Adelaide see then 
 Who was the natural chief, the man of men ? 
 Outstripping time, her infant there burst swathe. 
 Stood up with eyes haggard beyond the scathe 
 
176 HIDDEN HITHERTO BY ADELAIDE'S POLICY. 
 
 From wandering after his heritage 
 
 Lost once and lost for aye — and why that rage. 
 
 That deprecating glance ? A new shape leant 
 
 On a familiar shape — gloatingly bent 
 
 O'er his discomfiture ; 'mid wreaths it wore, 
 
 Still one outflamed the rest — her child's before 
 
 'T was Salinguerra's for his child : scorn, hate 
 
 Rage, startled her from Ecelin — too late ! 
 
 Then was the moment ! rival's foot had spurned 
 
 Never that brow to earth ! Ere sense returned — 
 
 The act conceived, adventured, and complete, 
 
 They bore away to an obscure retreat 
 
 Mother and child — Retrude's self not slain " 
 
 (Nor even here Taurello moved) " though pain 
 
 Was fled ; and what assured them most 't was fled. 
 
 All pain, was, if they raised the pale hushed head 
 
 'T would turn this way and that, waver awhile, 
 
 And only settle into its old smile — 
 
 (Graceful as the disquieted water-flag 
 
 Steadying itself, remarked they, in the quag 
 
 On either side their path) — when suffered look 
 
 Down on her child. They marched : no sign once shook 
 
 The company's close litter of crossed spears 
 
 Till, as they reached Goito, a few tears 
 
 Slipt in the sunset from her long black lash, 
 
 And she was gone. So far the action rash — 
 
 No crime. They laid Retrude in the font, 
 
 Taurello's very gift, her child was wont 
 
 To sit beneath — constant as eve he came 
 
HOW THE DISCOYERT MOVES SA.LINGUERRA, 177 
 
 To sit bj its attendant girls the same 
 
 As one of them. For Palma, she would blend 
 
 With this magnific spirit to the end, 
 
 That ruled her first — but scarcely had she dared 
 
 To disobey the Adelaide who scared 
 
 Her into vowing never to disclose 
 
 A secret to her husband, which so froze 
 
 His blood at half recital, she contrived 
 
 To hide from Jiim Taurello's infant lived, 
 
 Lest, by revealing that, himself should mar 
 
 Romano's fortunes. And, a crime so far, 
 
 Palma received that action : she was told 
 
 Of Salinguerra*s nature, of his cold 
 
 Calm acquiescence in his lot ! But free 
 
 To impart the secret to Romano, she 
 
 Engaged to repossess Sordello of 
 
 His heritage, and hers, and that way doff 
 
 The mask, but after years, long years ! — while now, 
 
 Was not Romano's sign-mark on that brow ? " 
 
 Across Taurello's heart his arms were locked : 
 And when he did speak 't was as if he mocked 
 The minstrel, " who had not to move," he said, 
 " Not stir — should Fate defraud him of a shred 
 Of his son's infancy ? much less of his youth ! '* 
 (Laughingly all this) — " which to aid, in truth, 
 Himself, reserved on purpose, had not grown 
 Old, not too old — 't was best they kept alone 
 Till now, and never idly met till now " ; 
 — Then, in the same breath, told Sordello how 
 
 6* L 
 
178 AND SORDELLO THE FINALLY-DETERMINED, 
 
 All intimations of this eve's event 
 
 Were lies, for Friedrich must advance to Trent, 
 
 Thence to Verona, then to Rome, there stop, 
 
 Tumble the Church down, institute a-top 
 
 The Alps a Prefecture of Lombardy : 
 
 ' — " That 's now ! — no prophesying what may be 
 
 Anon, with a new monarch of the clime, 
 
 Native of Gesi, passing his youth's prime 
 
 At Naples. Tito bids my choice decide 
 
 On whom ..." 
 
 " Embrace him, madman ! " Palma cried. 
 Who through the laugh saw sweatdrops burst apace, 
 And his lips' blanching : he did not embrace 
 Sordello, but he laid Bordello's hand 
 On his own eyes, mouth, forehead. 
 
 Understand, 
 This while Sordello was becoming flushed 
 Out of his whiteness : thoughts rushed, fancies rushed ; 
 He pressed his hand upon his head and signed 
 Both should forbear him. " Nay, the best 's behind ! " 
 Taurello laughed, — not quite with the same laugh : 
 " The truth is, thus we scatter, ay, like chaff 
 These Guelfs, a despicable monk recoils 
 From : nor expect a fickle Kaiser spoils 
 Our triumph ! — Friedrich ? Think you, I intend 
 Friedrich shall reap the fruits of blood I spend 
 And brain I waste ? Think you, the people clap 
 Their hands at my out-hewing this wild gap 
 For any Friedrich to fill up ? 'T is mine — 
 
THE DEVIL PUTTING FORTH HIS POTENCY: 179 
 
 That 's yours : I tell you, towards some such design 
 
 Have I worked blindly, yes, and idly, yes. 
 
 And for another, yes — but worked no less 
 
 With instinct at my heart ; I else had swerved, 
 
 While now — look round ! My cunning has preserved 
 
 Samminiato — that 's a central place 
 
 Secures us Florence, boy, — in Pisa's case. 
 
 By land as she by sea ; \\^th Pisa oui-s. 
 
 And Florence, and Pistoia, one devours 
 
 The land at leisure ! Gloriously dispersed — 
 
 Brescia, observe, Milan, Piacenza first 
 
 That flanked us (ah, you know not !) in the March ; 
 
 On these we pile, as keystone of our arch, 
 
 Romagna and Bologna, whose first span 
 
 Covered the Trentine and the Valsugan ; 
 
 Sofia's Egna by Bolgiano 's sure ! " . . . 
 
 So he proceeded : half of all this, pure 
 
 Delusion, doubtless, nor the rest too true, 
 
 But what was undone he felt sure to do. 
 
 As ring by ring he wrung ofi^, flung away 
 
 The pauldron-rings to give liis sword-arm play — 
 
 Need of the sword now ! That would soon adjust 
 
 Aught wrong at present ; to the sword intrust 
 
 Sordello's whiteness, undersize : 't was plain 
 
 He hardly rendered right to his own brain — 
 
 Like a brave hound, men educate to pride 
 
 Himself on speed or scent nor aught beside. 
 
 As though he could not, gift by gift, match men ! 
 
 Palma had listened patiently : but when 
 
180 SINCE SORDELLO, WHO BEGAN BY RHYMING, 
 
 'T was time expostulate, attempt withdraw 
 
 Taurello from his child, she, without awe 
 
 Took off his iron arms from, one by one, 
 
 Sordello's shrinking shoulders, and, that done, 
 
 Made him avert his visage and relieve 
 
 Sordello (you might see his corselet heave 
 
 The while) who, loose, rose — tried to speak, then sank ! 
 
 They left him in the chamber. All was blank. 
 
 And even reeling down the narrow stair 
 Taurello kept up, as though unaware 
 Palma was by to guide him, the old device 
 — Something of Milan — " how we muster thrice 
 The Torriani's strength there — all along 
 Our own Visconti cowed them " — thus the song 
 Continued even while she bade him stoop, 
 Thrid somehow, by some glimpse of arrow-loop, 
 The turnings to the gallery below, 
 Where he stopped short as Palma let him go. 
 When he had sat in silence long enough 
 Splintering the stone bench, braving a rebuff 
 She stopt the truncheon ; only to commence 
 One of Sordello's poems, a pretence 
 For speaking, some poor rliyme of " Elys' hair 
 And head that 's sharp and perfect like a pear. 
 So smooth and close are laid the few fine locks 
 Stained like pale honey oozed from topmost rocks 
 Sun-blanched the livelong Summer " — from his worst 
 Performance, the Goito, as his first : 
 And that at end, conceiving from the brow 
 
MAT, EYEN FROM THE DEPTHS OF FAILURE, 181 
 
 And open mouth no silence would serve now, 
 Went on to say the whole world loved that man 
 And, for that matter, thought his face, tho' wan, 
 Eclipsed the Count's — he sucking in each phrase 
 As if an angel spoke. The foohsh praise 
 Ended, he drew her on his mailed knees, made 
 Her face a framework with his hands, a shade, 
 A crown, an aureole : there must she remain 
 (Her httle mouth compressed with smiling pain 
 As in his gloves she felt her tresses twitch) 
 To get the best look at, in fittest niche 
 Dispose his saint. That done, he kissed her brow, 
 
 — " Lauded her father for his treason now," 
 He told her, " only, how could one suspect 
 The wit in him ? — whose clansman, recollect, 
 Was ever Salinguerra — she, the same, 
 Romano and his lady — so, might claim 
 
 To know all, as she should " — and thus begun 
 Schemes with a vengeance, schemes on schemes, " not one 
 Fit to be told that foolish boy," he said, 
 " But only let Sordello Palma wed, 
 
 — Then!" 
 
 'T was a dim long narrow place at best : 
 Midway a sole grate showed the fiery West, 
 As shows its corpse the world's end some split tomb — 
 A gloom, a rift of fire, another gloom. 
 Faced Palma — but at length Taurello set 
 Her free ; the grating held one ragged jet 
 Of fierce gold fire : he lifted her within 
 
182 YET SPRING TO THE SUM]\nT OF SUCCESS, 
 
 The hollow underneath — how else begin 
 
 Fate's second marvellous cycle, else renew 
 
 The ages than with Palraa plain in view ? 
 
 Then paced the passage, hands clenched, head erect, 
 
 Pursuing his discourse ; a grand unchecked 
 
 Monotony made out from his quick talk 
 
 And the recurring noises of his walk ; 
 
 — Somewhat too much like the o'ercharged assent 
 
 Of two resolved friends in one danger blent. 
 
 Who hearten each the other against heart — 
 
 Boasting there 's naught to care for, when, apart 
 
 The boaster, all 's to care for. He, beside 
 
 Some shape not visible, in power and pride 
 
 Approached, out of the dark, ginglingly near, 
 
 Nearer, passed close in the broad h'ght, his ear 
 
 Crimson, eyeballs suffused, temples full-fraught, 
 
 Just a snatch of the rapid speech you caught. 
 
 And on he strode into the opposite dark 
 
 Till presently the harsh heel's turn, a spark 
 
 T' the stone, and whirl of some loose embossed thong 
 
 That crashed against the angle aye so long 
 
 After the last, punctual to an amount 
 
 Of mailed great paces you could not but count, — 
 
 Prepared you for the pacing back again 
 
 And by the snatches you might ascertain 
 
 That, Friedrich's Prefecture surmounted, left 
 
 By this alone in Italy, they cleft 
 
 Asunder, crushed together, at command 
 
 Of none, were free to break up Hildebrand, 
 
IF HE CONSENT TO OPPRESS THE WORLD. 183 
 
 Rebuild, he and Sordello, Charlemagne — 
 
 But garnished, Strength with Knowledge, " if we deign 
 
 Accept that compromise and stoop to give 
 
 Rome law, the Caesars' Representative." 
 
 — Enough, that the illimitable flood 
 
 Of triumphs after triumphs, understood 
 
 In its faint reflux (you shall hear) suflSced 
 
 Young Ecelin for appanage, enticed 
 
 Him on till, these long quiet in their graves, 
 
 He found 't was looked for that a whole life's braves 
 
 Should somehow be made good — so, weak and worn, 
 
 Must stagger up at Milan, one gray morn 
 
 Of the To-Come, and fight his latest fight. 
 
 But, Salinguerra's prophecy at height — 
 
 He voluble with a raised arm and stiff, 
 
 A blaring voice, a blazing eye, as if 
 
 He had our very Italy to keep 
 
 Or cast away, or gather in a heap 
 
 To garrison the better — ay, his word 
 
 Was, " run the cucumber into a gourd, 
 
 Drive Trent upon Apulia " — at their pitch 
 
 Who spied the continents and islands which 
 
 Grew mulberry-leaves and sickles, in the map — 
 
 (Strange that three such confessions so should hap 
 
 To Palma, Dante spoke with in the clear 
 
 Amorous silence of the Swooning-sphere, — 
 
 Cunizza, as he called her ! Never ask 
 
 Of Palma more ! She sat, knowing her task 
 
 Was done, the labor of it — for, success, 
 
184 JUST THIS DECIDED, AND WE HAVE DONE. 
 
 Concerned not Palma, passion's votaries) 
 
 Triumph at height, and thus Sordello crowned — 
 
 Above the passage suddenly a sound 
 
 Stops speech, stops walk : back shrinks Taurello, bids 
 
 With large involuntary asking lids, 
 
 Palma interpret. " 'T is his own foot-stamp — 
 
 Your hand ! His summons ! Nay, this idle damp 
 
 Befits not ! " Out they two reeled dizzily. 
 
 " Visconti 's strong at Milan," resumed he. 
 
 In the old, somewhat insignificant Avay — 
 
 (Was Palma wont, years afterward, to say) 
 
 As though the spirit's flight, sustained thus far, 
 
 Dropped at that very instant. Gone they are — 
 
 Palma, Taurello ; Eglamor anon, 
 
 Ecelin, — only Naddo 's never gone ! 
 
 — Labors, this moonrise, what the Master meant 
 
 " Is Squarcialupo speckled ? — purulent, 
 
 I 'd say, but when was Providence put out ? 
 
 He carries somehow handily about 
 
 His spite nor fouls himself I " Goito's vines 
 
 Stand like a cheat detected — stark rough lines. 
 
 The moon breaks through, a gray mean scale against 
 
 The vault where, this eve's Maiden, thou remain'st 
 
 Like some fresh martyr, eyes fixed — who can tell ? 
 
 As Heaven, now all 's at end, did not so well, 
 
 Spite of the faith and victory, to leave 
 
 Its virgin quite to death in the lone eve. 
 
 While the persisting hermit-bee ... ha ! wait 
 
 No longer — these in compass, forward fate ! 
 
BOOK THE SIXTH. 
 
 AT THE CLOSE OF A DAY OE A LIIV, 
 
 The thought of Eglamor 's least like a thought, 
 
 And yet a false one, was, " Man shrinks to naught 
 
 If matched with sjonbols of immensity — 
 
 Must quail, forsooth, before a quiet sky 
 
 Or sea, too little for theii* quietude " ; 
 
 And, truly, somewhat in SordeUo's mood 
 
 Confirmed its speciousness, while eve slow sank 
 
 Down the near terrace to the farther bank. 
 
 And only one spot left out of the night 
 
 Glimmered upon the river opposite — 
 
 A breadth of watery heaven like a bay, 
 
 A sky-like space of water, ray for ray. 
 
 And star for star, one richness where they mixed 
 
 As this and that wing of an angel, fixed, 
 
 Tumultuary splendors folded in 
 
 To die. Nor turned he till Ferrara's din 
 
 (Say, the monotonous speech from a man's lip 
 
 Who lets some first and eager purpose slip 
 
 In a new fancy's birth ; the speech keeps on 
 
 Though elsewhere its informing soul be gone) 
 
 — Aroused him, — surely offered succor. Fate 
 
 Paused with this eve ; ere she precipitate 
 
 Herself, — put off strange after-thoughts awhile. 
 
 That voice, those large hands, that poi*tentous smile, 
 
186 PAST PROCEDURE IS FITLIEST REVIEWED,' 
 
 What help to pierce the Future as the Past, 
 Lay in the plaining city ? 
 
 And at last 
 The main discovery and prime concern, 
 All that just now imported him to learn, 
 His truth, like yonder slow moon to complete 
 Heaven, rose again, and, naked at his feet, 
 Lighted his old life's every shift and change. 
 Effort with counter-effort ; nor the range 
 Of each looked wrong except wherein it checked, 
 Some other — which of these could he suspect, 
 Prying into them by the sudden blaze ? 
 The real way seemed made up of all the ways — 
 Mood after mood of the one mind in him ; 
 Tokens of the existence, bright or dim, 
 Of a transcendent all-embracing sense 
 Demanding only outward influence, 
 A soul, in Palma's phrase, above his soul, 
 Power to uplift his power, — this moon's control. 
 Over the sea-depths, — and their mass had swept 
 Onward from the beginning and still kept 
 Its course : but years and years the sky above 
 Held none, and so, untasked of any love, 
 His sensitiveness idled, now amort, 
 Alive now, and to sullenness or sport 
 Given wholly up, disposed itself anew 
 At every passing instigation, grew 
 And dwindled at caprice, in foam-showers spilt, 
 Wedge-like insisting, quivered now a gilt 
 
AS MORE APPRECIABLE IN ITS ENTIRETY. 187 
 
 Shield in the sunshine, now a blinding race 
 Of whitest ripples o'er the reef — found place 
 For much display ; not gathered up and, hurled 
 Right from its heart, encompassing the world. 
 So had Sordello been, by consequence, 
 Without a function : others made pretence 
 To strength not half his own, yet had some core 
 Within, submitted to some moon, before 
 Them still, superior still whate'er their force, — 
 Were able therefore to fulfil a course, 
 "Nor missed life's crown, authentic attribute. 
 To each who lives must be a certain fruit 
 Of having lived in his degree, — a stage, 
 Eai'lier or later in men's pilgrimage. 
 To stop at ; and to this the spirits tend 
 Who, still discovering beauty without end. 
 Amass the scintillations, make one star 
 
 — Something unlike them, self-sustained, afar, — 
 And meanwhile nurse the dream of being blest 
 By winning it to notice and invest 
 
 Their souls with alien glory, some one day 
 Whene'er the nucleus, gathering shape alway, 
 Round to the perfect circle — soon or late, 
 According as themselves are formed to wait ; 
 Wliether mere human beauty will suffice 
 
 — The- yellow hair and the luxurious eyes, 
 Or human intellect seem best, or each- 
 Combine in some ideal form past reach 
 
 On earth, or else some shade of these, some aim, 
 
188 STRONG, HE NEEDED EXTERNAL STRENGTH: 
 
 Some love, hate even, take their place, the same, 
 
 And may be served — all this they do not lose. 
 
 Waiting for death to live, nor idly choose 
 
 What must be Hell — a progress thus pursued 
 
 Through all existence, still above the food 
 
 That 's offered them, still towering beyond 
 
 The widened range, in virtue of their bond 
 
 Of sovereignty. Not that a Palma's Love, 
 
 A Salinguerra's Hate, would equal prove 
 
 To swaying all Sordello : wherefore doubt, 
 
 That Love meet for such Strength, some moon without 
 
 Would match his sea ? — or fear, Good manifest. 
 
 Only the Best breaks faith ? — Ah, but the Best 
 
 Somehow eludes us ever, still might be 
 
 And is not ! crave we gems ? no penury 
 
 Of their material round us ! pliant earth, 
 
 The plastic flame — what balks the mage his birth 
 
 — Jacynth in balls, or lodestone by the block ? 
 
 Flinders enrich the strand, and veins the rock — 
 
 Naught more ! Ask creatures ? Life 's i' the tempest, 
 
 Thought 
 Clothes the keen hill-top, midday woods are fraught 
 With fervors : ah, these forms are well enough ! 
 But we had hoped, encouraged by the stuff 
 Profuse at Nature's pleasure, men beyond 
 These men ! and thus, perchance, are over-fond 
 In arguing, from Good the Best, from force 
 Divided — force combined, an ocean's course 
 From this our sea whose mere intestine pants 
 
EVEN NOW, ^YHERE CAN HE PERCEIVE SUCH? 189 
 
 Might seem at times sufficient to our wants. 
 — External Power ? If none be adequate 
 And he stand forth ordained (a prouder fate) 
 A law to his own sphere ? — need to remove 
 All incompleteness, for that law, that love ? 
 Nay, if all other laws be such, though veiled 
 In mercy to each vision that had failed 
 If unassisted by its want, — for lure. 
 Embodied ? Stronger vision could endure 
 The unbodied want : no bauble for a truth ! 
 Tlie People were himself; and, by the ruth 
 At their condition, was he less impelled 
 To alter the discrepancy beheld, 
 Than if, from the sound Whole, a sickly Part 
 Subtracted were transformed, decked out with art, 
 Then palmed on him as alien woe — the Guelf 
 To succor, proud that he foi-sook himself? 
 No ! All 's himself; all service, therefore, rates 
 Alike, nor serving one part, immolates 
 The rest : but all in time ! " That lance of yours 
 Makes havoc soon with Malek and his Moors, 
 That buckler 's lined with many a giant's beard 
 Ere long, O champion, be the lance upreared, 
 The buckler wielded handsomely as now ! 
 But view your escort, bear in mind your vow, 
 G)unt the pale tracts of sand to pass ere that, 
 And, if you hope we struggle through the flat. 
 Put lance and buckler by ! Next half-month lacks 
 Mere sturdy exercise of mace and axe 
 
190 INTERNAL STRENGTH MUST SUFFICE THEN, 
 
 To cleave this dismal brake of prickly-pear 
 Which bristling holds Cydippe by the hair, 
 Lames barefoot Agathon : this felled, we '11 try 
 The picturesque achievements by and by — 
 Next life!" 
 
 Ay, rally, mock, O People, urge 
 Your claims ! — for thus he ventured, to the verge, 
 Push a vain mummery which perchance distrust 
 Of his fast-slipping resolution thrust 
 Likewise : accordingly the Crowd — as yet 
 He had inconsciously contrived forget 
 I' the whole, to dwell o' the points . . . one might 
 
 assuage 
 The signal horrors easier than engage 
 With a dim vulgar vast unobvious grief 
 Not to be fancied off, nor gained relief 
 In brilliant fits, cured by a happy quirk, 
 But by dim vulgar vast unobvious work 
 To correspond . . . this Crowd then, forth they stood. 
 " And now content thy stronger vision, brood 
 On thy bare want ; uncovered, turf by turf. 
 Study the corpse-face thro' the taint- worms' scurf ! " 
 
 Down sank the People's Then ; uprose their Now. 
 These sad ones render service to ! And how 
 Piteously little must that service prove 
 — Had surely proved in any case ! for, move 
 Each other obstacle away, let youth 
 Have been aware it had surprised a truth 
 'T were service to impart — can truth be seized, 
 
niS SYMPATHY WITH THE PEOPLE, TO WIT; 19) 
 
 Settled forth \\^th, and, of the captive eased, 
 
 Its captor find fresh prey, since this alit 
 
 So happily, no gesture luring it, 
 
 The earnest of a flock to follow ? Vain, 
 
 Most vain ! a life 's to spend ere this he chain, 
 
 ^o the poor crowd's complacence ; ere the crowd 
 
 Pronounce it captured, he descries a cloud 
 
 Its kin of twice the plume — which he, in turn. 
 
 If he shall live as many lives, may learn 
 
 How to secure — not else. Then Mantua called 
 
 Back to his mind how certain bai*ds were thralled 
 
 — Buds blasted, but of breath more like perfume 
 Than Naddo's staring nosegay's carrion bloom : 
 Some insane rose that burnt heart out in sweets, 
 A spendthrift in the Spring, no Summer greets — 
 Some Dularete, drunk with truths and wine. 
 Grown bestial, dreaming how become divine. 
 
 " Yet to surmount this obstacle, coimnence 
 
 "With the conamencement, merits crowning ! Hence 
 
 ^lust truth be casual truth, elicited 
 
 In sparks so mean, at intervals dispread 
 
 So rarely, that 't is like at no one time 
 
 Of the world's story has not truth, the prime 
 
 Of truth, the very truth which, loosed, had hurled 
 
 The world's course right, been really in the world 
 
 — Content the while with some mean spark by dint 
 Of some chance-blow, the solitary hint 
 
 ( )f buried fire, which, rip its breast, would stream 
 Skv-ward!" 
 
192 OF WHICH, TRY NOW THE INHERENT FORCE ! 
 
 Sordello's miserable gleam 
 Was looked for at the moment : he would dash 
 This badge, and all it brought, to earth, — abash 
 Taurello thus, perhaps persuade him wrest 
 The Kaiser from his purpose, — would attest 
 His own belief, in any case. Before 
 He dashes it, however, think once more ! 
 For, were that little, truly service ? " Ay — 
 r the end, no doubt ; but meantime ? Plain you spy 
 Its ultimate effect, but many flaws 
 Of vision blur each intervening cause. 
 Were the day's fraction clear as the life's sum 
 Of service, Now as filled as the To-come 
 With evidence of good — nor too minute 
 A share to vie with evil ! No dispute, 
 'T were fitliest maintain the Guelfs in rule : 
 That makes your life's work : but you have to school 
 Your day's work on these natures circumstanced 
 Thus variously, which yet, as each advanced 
 Or might impede the Guelf rule, must be moved 
 Now, for the Then's sake, — hating what you loved, 
 Loving old hatreds ! nor if one man bore 
 Brand upon temples while his fellow wore 
 The aureole, would it task you to decide — 
 But, portioned duly out, the Future vied 
 Never with the unparcelled Present ! Smite 
 Or spare so much on warrant all so slight ? 
 The Present's complete sympathies to break, 
 Aversions bear with, for a Future's sake 
 
HOW MUCH OP man's ILL MAT BE REMOVED? 193 
 
 So feeble ? Tito ruined through one speck, 
 
 The Legate saved by his sole lightish fleck ? 
 
 This were work, true — but work performed at cost 
 
 Of other work — aught gained here, elsewhere lost. 
 
 For a new segment spoil an orb half done ? 
 
 Rise with the People one step, and sink — one ? 
 
 Were it but one step — less than the whole face 
 
 Of things, your novel duty bids erase ! 
 
 Harms to abolish ! what ? the prophet saith. 
 
 The minstrel singeth vainly then ? Old faith, 
 
 Old courage, only born because of harms, 
 
 Were not, from highest to the lowest, charms ? 
 
 Flame may persist but is not glare as stanch ? 
 
 Where the salt marshes stagnate, crystals branch — 
 
 Blood dries to crimson — Evil 's beautified 
 
 In every shape. Thrust Beauty then aside 
 
 And banish Evil ! wherefore ? After all, 
 
 Is Evil a result less natural 
 
 Than Good ? For, overlook the seasons* strife 
 
 With tree and flower, — the hideous animal life, 
 
 (Of which who seeks shall find a grinning taunt 
 
 For his solution, and endure the vaunt 
 
 Of nature's angel, as a child that knows 
 
 Himself befooled, unable to propose 
 
 Aught better than the fooling) — and but care 
 
 For Men, for the mere People then and there, — 
 
 In these, could you but see that Good and 111 
 
 Claimed you alike '. Whence rose their claim but still 
 
 From 111, as fruit of 111 — what else could knit 
 
194 pOW MUCH OF ILL OUGHT TO BE REMOVED { 
 
 You theirs but Sorrow ? Any free from it 
 
 Were also free from you ! Whose happiness 
 
 Could be distinguished in this morning's press 
 
 Of miseries ? — the fool's who passed a gibe 
 
 ' On thee,' jeered he, ' so wedded to thy tribe, ♦ 
 
 Thou earnest green and yellow tokens in 
 
 Thy very face that thou art Ghibellin ! ' — 
 
 Much hold on you that fool obtained ! Nay mount 
 
 Yet higher — and upon men's own account 
 
 Must Evil stay : for, what is Joy ? — to heave 
 
 Up one obstruction more, and common leave 
 
 What was peculiar — by such act destroy 
 
 Itself; a partial death is every joy ; 
 
 The sensible escape, enfranchisement 
 
 Of a sphere's essence : once the vexed — content, 
 
 The cramped — at large, the growing circle — round, 
 
 All 's to begin again — some novel bound 
 
 To break, some new enlargement to entreat, 
 
 The sphere though larger is not more complete. 
 
 Now for Mankind's experience : who alone 
 
 Might style the unobstructed world his own ? 
 
 Whom palled Goito with its perfect things ? 
 
 Sordello's self! whereas for mankind springs 
 
 Salvation by each hindrance interposed ; 
 
 They climb, life's view is not at once disclosed 
 
 To creatures caught up, on its summit left, 
 
 Heaven plain above them, yet of wings bereft — 
 
 But lower laid, as at the mountain's foot. 
 
 While, range on range, the girdling forests shoot 
 
^JI- REMOVED, AT WHATCOST T O SORDELLO ? lO.'i 
 
 'Twixt your plain prospect and the throngs who scale 
 
 Height after height, and pierce mists, veil by veil, 
 
 Heartened with each discovery ; in their soul, 
 
 The Whole they seek by Parts — but, found that Whole, 
 
 Could they revert, enjoy past gains ? The space 
 
 Of time you judge so meagre to embrace 
 
 The Parts, were more than plenty, once attained 
 
 The Whole, to quite exhaust it : naught were gained 
 
 But leave to look — not leave to do : Beneath 
 
 Soon sates the looker — look Above, and Death 
 
 Tempts ere a tithe of Life be tasted. Live 
 
 First, and die soon enough, Sordello ! Give 
 
 Body and spirit the first right they claim, 
 
 And pasture thee on a voluptuous shame 
 
 That thou, a pageant-city's denizen, 
 
 Art neither vilely lodged midst Lombard men — 
 
 Canst force joy out of sorrow, seem to truck 
 
 Thine attributes away for sordid muck. 
 
 Yet manage from that very muck educe 
 
 Gold ; then subject, nor scruple, to thy cruce 
 
 The world's discardings ! Though real ingots pay 
 
 Thy pains, the clods that yielded them are clay 
 
 To all save thee, — would clay remain, though quenched 
 
 Thy purging-fire ; who 's robbed then ? Had you 
 
 wrenched 
 An ampler treasure forth ! — As 't is, they crave 
 A share that ruins you and will not save 
 Them. Why should sympathy command you quit 
 The course that makes your joy, nor will remit 
 
196 MEN WIN LITTLE THEREBY; HE LOSES ALL: 
 
 Their woe ? "Would all arrive at joy ? Reverse 
 
 The order (time instructs you) nor coerce 
 
 Each unit till, some predetermined mode, 
 
 The total be emancipate ; men's road 
 
 Is one, men's times of travel many ; thwart 
 
 No enterprising soul's precocious start 
 
 Before the general march ! if slow or fast 
 
 All straggle up to the same point at last, 
 
 Why grudge your having gained, a month ago, 
 
 The brakes at balm-shed, asphodels in blow, 
 
 While they were landlocked ? Speed there Then, but how 
 
 This badge would suffer you improve your Now ! ' " 
 
 His time o!" action for, against, or with 
 Our world (1 tabor to extract the pith 
 Of this his problem) grew, that even-tide. 
 Gigantic with its power of joy, beside 
 The world's eternity of impotence . 
 To profit though at his whole joy's expense. 
 "Make nothing of my day because so brief? 
 Rather make more — instead of joy, use grief 
 Before its novelty liave time subside ! 
 Wait not for the late savour — leave untried 
 Virtue, the creaming honey-wine, quick squeeze 
 Vice like a biting spirit from the lees 
 Of life ! — together let wrath, hatred, lust, 
 All tyrannies in every shape, be thrust 
 Upon this Now, which time may reason out 
 As mischiefs, far from benefits, no doubt — 
 But long ere then Sordello will have slipt 
 
FOR HE CAN INFINITELY ENJOY HIMSELF, 197 
 
 Away — you teach him at Goito's crypt, 
 
 There 's a blank issue to that fiery thrill ! 
 
 Stirring, the few cope with the many, still : 
 
 So much of sand as, quiet, makes a mass 
 
 Unable to produce three tufts of grass. 
 
 Shall, troubled by the whirlwind, render void 
 
 The whole calm glebe's endeavor : be employed ! 
 
 And e'en though somewhat smart the Crowd for this, 
 
 Contribute each his pang to make your bliss, 
 
 'T is but one pang — one blood-drop to the bowl 
 
 Which brimful tempts the sluggish asp uncowl 
 
 At last, stains ruddily the dull red cape, 
 
 And, kindling orbs gray as the unripe grape 
 
 Before, avails forthwith to disentrance 
 
 The portent — soon to lead a mystic dance 
 
 Among you ! For, who sits alone in Rome ? 
 
 Have those great hands indeed hewn out a home, 
 
 And set me there to live ? O life, life-breath, 
 
 Life-blood, — ere sleep, come travail, life ere death ! 
 
 This life stream on my soul, direct, oblique. 
 
 But always streaming ! Hindrances ? They pique — 
 
 Helps ? such . . . but why repeat, my soul o'ertops 
 
 Each height, than every depth profoundlier drops ? 
 
 Enough that I can live, and would live ! Wait 
 
 For some transcendent life reserved by Fate 
 
 To follow this ? O, never ! Fate, I trust 
 
 The same, my soul to ; for, as who flings dust, 
 
 Perchance — so facile was the deed, she checked 
 
 The void with these materials to affect 
 
198 FREED FROM A PROBLEMATIC OBLIGATION. 
 
 My soul diversely — these consigned anew_ 
 
 To nauglit by death, what marvel if she threw 
 
 A second and superber spectacle 
 
 Before it ? What may serv^e for sun — what still 
 
 Wander a moon above me — what else wind 
 
 About me like the pleasures left behind, 
 
 And how shall some new flesh that is not flesh 
 
 Cling to me ? what 's new laughter — soothes the fresh 
 
 Sleep like sleep ? Fate's exhaustless for my sake 
 
 In brave resource, but whether bids she slake 
 
 My thirst at this first rivulet, or count 
 
 No draught worth lip save from the rocky fount 
 
 Above i' the clouds, while here she 's provident 
 
 Of pure loquacious pearl, the soft tree-tent 
 
 Guards, with its face of reate and sedge, nor fail 
 
 The silver globules and gold-sparkling grail 
 
 At bottom. O, 't were too absurd to slight 
 
 For the hereafter the to-day's delight ! 
 
 Quench thirst at this, then seek next well-spring — wear 
 
 Home-lilies ere strange lotus in ray hair ! 
 
 Here is the Crowd, whom I with freest heart 
 
 Offer to serve, contented for my part 
 
 To give life up in service, — only grant 
 
 That I do serve ; if otherwise, why want 
 
 Aught further of me ? If men cannot choose 
 
 But set aside life, why should I refuse 
 
 The gift ? I take it — I, for one, engage 
 
 Never to falter through my pilgrimage — 
 
 Nor end it howling that the stock or stone 
 
AND ACCEPTING LIFE ON ITS OWN TERMS, 199 
 
 Were enviable, truly : I, for one, 
 
 Will praise the world, you style mere anteroom 
 
 To the palace — be it so ! shall I assume 
 
 — My foot the courtly gait, my tongue the trope, 
 My mouth the smirk, before the doors fly ope 
 
 One moment ? What — with guarders row on row, 
 Gay swarms of varletry that come and go, 
 Pages to dice with, waiting-girls unlace 
 The plackets of, pert claimants help displace, 
 Heart-heavy suitors get a rank for, — laugh 
 At yon sleek parasite, break his own staff 
 'Cross Beetle-brows the Usher's shoulder, — why, 
 Admitted to the presence by and by. 
 Should thought of having lost these make me grieve 
 Among new joys T reach, for joys I leave ? 
 
 — Cool citrine-crystals, fierce pyropus-stone, 
 Are floor-work here ! — But did I let alone 
 That black-eyed peasant in the vestibule 
 
 Once and forever ? — Floor- work ? No such fool ! 
 Rather, were heaven to forestall earth, I 'd say 
 I, is it, must be blessed? Then, my own way 
 Bless me ! give finner arm and fleeter foot, 
 I '11 thank you : but to no mad wings transmute 
 These limbs of mine — our greensward was so soft ! 
 Nor camp I on the thunder-cloud aloft : 
 We feel the bliss distinctlier, having thus 
 Engines subservient, not mixed up with us. 
 Better move palpably through heaven — nor, freed 
 Of flesh, forsooth, from space to space proceed 
 
200 WHICH, YET, OTHERS ttWE RENOUNCED: HOW? 
 
 'Mid flying synods of worlds ! No ! In heaven's marge 
 Show Titan still, recumbent o'er his targe 
 Solid with stars — the Centaur at his game, 
 Made tremulously out in hoary flame ! 
 
 Life ! Yet the very cup whose extreme dull 
 Dregs, even, I would quaff, was dashed, at full, 
 Aside so oft ; the death I fly, revealed ' 
 So oft a better life this life concealed, 
 And which sage, champion, martyr, through each path 
 Have hunted fearlessly — the horrid bath, 
 The crippling-irons and the fiery chair. 
 
 — 'T was well for them ; let me become aware 
 As they, and I relinquish life, too ! Let 
 What masters life disclose itself! Forget 
 Vain ordinances, I have one appeal — 
 
 I feel, am what I feel, know what I feel 
 
 — So much is truth to me. What Is, then ? Since 
 One object, viewed diversely, may evince 
 
 Beauty and ugliness — this way attract, 
 That way repel, wliy gloze upon the fact ? 
 Why must a single of the sides be right ? 
 What bids choose this and leave the opposite ? 
 Where 's abstract Right for me ? — in youth endued 
 With Right still present, still to be pursued, 
 Thro' all the interchange of circles, rife 
 Each with its proper law and mode of life, 
 Each to be dwelt at ease in : where, to sway 
 Absolute with the Kaiser, or obey 
 Implicit with his serf of fluttering heart, 
 
BECAUSE THERE IS A LIFE BEYOND LIFE, 201 
 
 Or, like a sudden thought of God's, to start 
 
 Up, Brutus in the presence, then go shout 
 
 That some should pick the unstrung jewels out — 
 
 Each, Avell!" 
 
 And, as in moments when the Past 
 
 Gave partially enfranchisement, he cast 
 
 Himself quite through mere secondary states 
 
 Of his soul's essence, little loves and hates, 
 
 Into the mid deep yearnings overlaid 
 
 By these; as who should pierce hill, plain, grove, 
 
 glade, 
 
 And on into the very nucleus probe - 
 
 That first determined there exist a globe. 
 
 As that were easiest, half the globe dissolved, 
 
 So seemed Sordello's closing-truth evolved 
 
 By his flesh-half's break up — the sudden swell 
 
 Of his expanding soul showed 111 and Well, 
 
 Sorrow and Joy, Beauty and Ugliness, 
 
 Virtue and Vice, the Larger and the Less, 
 
 All qualities, in fine, recorded here. 
 
 Might be but modes of Time and this one sphere, 
 
 Urgent on these, but not of force to bind 
 
 Eternity, as Time — as Matter — Mind, 
 
 If Mind, Eternity, should choose assert 
 
 Their attributes within a Life : thus girt 
 
 With circumstance, next change beholds them cinct 
 
 Quite otherwise — with Good and 111 distinct, 
 
 Joys, sorrows, tending to a like result — 
 
 Contrived to render easy, difficult, 
 9* 
 
202 AND WITH NEW CONDITIONS OF SUCCESS, 
 
 This or tlie other course of . . . what new bond 
 
 In place of flesh may stop their flight beyond 
 
 Its new sphere, as that course does harm or good 
 
 To its arrangements. Once this understood, 
 
 As suddenly he felt himself alone. 
 
 Quite out of Time and this world : all was known. 
 
 "What made the secret of his past despair ? 
 
 — Most imminent when he seemed most aware 
 
 Of his own self-sufficiency ; made mad 
 
 By craving to expand the power he had. 
 
 And not new power to be expanded ? — just 
 
 This made it ; Soul on Matter being thrust, 
 
 Joy comes when so much Soul is wreaked in Time 
 
 On Matter, — let the Soul's attempt sublime 
 
 Matter beyond the scheme and so prevent 
 
 By more or less that deed's accomplishment, 
 
 And Sorrow follows : Sorrow how avoid ? 
 
 Let the employer match the thing employed, 
 
 Fit to the finite his infinity. 
 
 And thus proceed forever, in degree 
 
 Changed but in kind the same, still limited 
 
 To the appointed circumstance and dead 
 
 To all beyond. A sphere is but a sphere — 
 
 Small, Great, are merely terms we bandy here — 
 
 Since to the spirit's absoluteness all 
 
 Are like : now, of the present sphere we call 
 
 Life, are conditions — take but this among 
 
 Many ; the body was to be so long 
 
 Youthful, no longer — but, since no control 
 
I 
 I 
 
 NOR SUCH AS, IN THIS, PRODUCE FAILURE. 203 
 
 Tied to that body's purposes his soul. 
 
 She chose to understand the body's trade 
 
 More than the body's self — had fain conveyed 
 
 Her boundless, to the body's bounded lot : 
 
 Hence, the soul permanent, the body not, — 
 
 Scarce the one minute for enjoying here, 
 
 The soul must needs instruct her weak compeer, 
 
 Run o'er its capabilities and wring 
 
 A joy thence, the held worth experiencing — 
 
 Which, far from half discovered even, — lo, 
 
 The minute gone, the body's power let go 
 
 That 's portioned to that joy's acquirement ! Broke 
 
 Morning o'er earth, he yearned for all it woke — 
 
 From the volcano's vapor-flag, winds hoist 
 
 Black o'er the spread of sea, — down to the moist 
 
 Dale's silken barley-spikes sullied with rain, 
 
 Swayed earthwards, heavily to rise again — 
 
 (The Small, a sphere as perfect as the Great 
 
 To the soul's absoluteness) — meditate 
 
 Too long on such a morning's cluster-chord 
 
 And the whole music it was framed afford, — 
 
 The chord's might half discovered, what should pluck 
 
 One string, his finger, was found palsy-struck. 
 
 And then no marvel if the spirit, shone 
 
 A saddest sight — the body lost alone 
 
 Through her officious proffered help, deprived 
 
 Of this and that enjoyment Fate contrived, 
 
 Virtue, Good, Beauty, each allowed slip hence, — 
 
 Vain-gloriously were fain, for recompense, 
 
204 BUT, EVEN HERE, IS FAILURE INEVITABLE? 
 
 To stem the ruin even yet, protract 
 
 The body's term, supply the power it lacked 
 
 From her infinity, compel it learn 
 
 These qualities were only Time's concern, 
 
 And body may, with spirit helping, barred — 
 
 Advance the same, vanquished — obtain reward, 
 
 Reap joy where sorrow was intended grow. 
 
 Of Wrong make Right, and turn 111 Good below. 
 
 And the result is, the poor body soon 
 
 Sinks under what was meant a wondrous boon, 
 
 Leaving its bright accomplice all aghast. 
 
 So much was plain then, proper in the Past ; 
 To be complete for, satisfy the whole 
 Series of spheres — Eternity, his soul 
 Exceeded, so was incomplete for, each 
 Single sphere — Time. But does our knowledge reach 
 No farther ? Is the cloud of hindrance broke 
 But by the failing of the fleshly yoke. 
 Its loves and hates, as now when death lets soar 
 Sordello, self-sufficient as before. 
 Though during the mere space that shall elapse 
 'Twixt his enthralment in new bonds, perhaps ? 
 Must life be ever just escaped, which should 
 Have been enjoyed ? — nay, might have been and would, 
 Each purpose ordered right — the soul 's no whit 
 Beyond the body's purpose under it — 
 Like yonder breadth of watery heaven, a bay, 
 And that sky-space of water, ray for ray 
 And star for star, one richness where they mixed 
 
OR FAILURE HERE MAY BE SUCCESS ALSO 205 
 
 As this and that wing of an angel, fixed, 
 
 Tumultuary splendors folded in 
 
 To die — would soul, proportioned thus, begin 
 
 Exciting discontent, or surelier quell 
 
 The body if, aspiring, it rebel ? 
 
 But how so order life ? Still brutalize 
 
 The soul, the sad world's way, with muffled eyes 
 
 To all that was before, all that shall be 
 
 After this sphere — and every quality 
 
 Save some sole and immutable Great and Good 
 
 And Beauteous whither fate has loosed its hood 
 
 To follow ? Never may some soul see All 
 
 — The Great Before and After, and the Small 
 
 Now, yet be saved by this the simplest lore, 
 
 And take the single ooui*se prescribed before. 
 
 As the king-bird with ages on his plumes 
 
 Travels to die in liis ancestral glooms ? 
 
 But where descry the Love that sliall select 
 
 That course ? Here is a soul whom, to affect. 
 
 Nature has plied with all her means — fix)m trees 
 
 And flowers — e'en to the Multitude ! — and these, 
 
 Decides he save or no ? One word to end ! " 
 
 All my Sordello, I this once befriend 
 And speak for you. Of a Power above you still 
 "Wliich, utterly incomprehensible, 
 Is out of rivalry, which thus you can 
 Love, tho' unloving all conceived by man — 
 What need ! And of — none the minutest duct 
 To that out-nature, nau^rht that would instruct 
 
206 WHEN INDUCED BY LOVE? SORDELLO KNOWS 
 
 And so let rivalry begin to live — 
 
 But of a Power its representative 
 
 Who, being for authority the same, 
 
 Communication different, should claim 
 
 A course, the first chose and this last revealed — 
 
 This Human clear, as that Divine concealed — 
 
 What utter need ! 
 
 What has Sordello found ? 
 Or can his spirit go the mighty round, 
 End where poor Eglamor begun ? as says 
 Old fable, the two eagles went two ways 
 About the world : where, in the midst, they met, 
 Though on a shifting waste of sand, men set 
 Jove's temple. Quick, what has Sordello found ? 
 For they approach — approach — that foot's rebound . 
 Palma? No, Salinguerra though in mail ; 
 They mount, have reached the threshold, dash the veil 
 Aside — and you divine who sat there dead, 
 Under his foot the badge : still, Palma said, 
 A triumph lingering in the wide eyes. 
 Wider than some spent swimmer's if he spies 
 Help from above in his extreme despair, 
 And, head far back on shoulder thrust, turns there 
 With short, quick, passionate cry : as Palma prest 
 In one great kiss her lips upon his breast 
 It beat. By this, the hei-mit-bee has stopped 
 His day's toil at Goito : the new-cropped 
 Dead vine-leaf answers, now 't is eve, he bit. 
 Twirled so, and filed all day : the mansion 's fit. 
 
BUT TOO LATE : AN INSECT KNOWS SOONER. 207 
 
 God counselled for. As easy guess the word 
 That passed betwixt them and become the third 
 To the soft small unfrighted bee, as tax 
 Him with one fault — so, no remembrance racks 
 Of the stone maidens and the font of stone 
 He, creeping through the crevice, leaves alone. 
 Alas, my friend — alas Sordello, whom 
 Anon they laid within that old font-tomb — 
 And, yet again, alas ! 
 
 And now is 't worth 
 Our while bring back to mind, much less set forih 
 How Salinguerra extricates himself 
 Without Sordello ? Ghibellin and Guelf 
 May fight their fiercest out ? If Richard sulked 
 In durance or the Marquis paid his mulct, 
 Who cares, Sordello gone ? The upshot, sure, 
 Was peace ; our chief made some fi*ank overture 
 That prospered ; compliment fell tliick and fast 
 On its disposer, and Taurello passed 
 With foe and friend for an outstripping soul, 
 Nine days at least. Then, — fairly reached the goal, — 
 He, by one effort, blotted the great hope 
 Out of his mind, nor further tried to cope 
 With Este, that mad evening's style, but sent 
 Away the Legate and the League, content 
 No blame at least the brothers had incurred, 
 — Despatched a message to the Monk, hesheard 
 Patiently first to last, scarce shivered at. 
 Then curled his limbs up on his wolfskin mat 
 
208 ON HIS DISAPPEARANCE FROM THE STAGE, 
 
 And ne'er spoke more, — informed the Ferrarese 
 
 He but retained their rule so long as these 
 
 Lingered in pupilage, — and last, no mode 
 
 Apparent else of keeping safe the road 
 
 From Germany direct to Lombardy 
 
 For Friedrich, — none, that is, to guarantee 
 
 The faith and promptitude of who should next 
 
 Obtain Sofia's dowry, — sore perplexed — 
 
 (Sofia being youngest of the tribe 
 
 Of daughters, Ecelin was wont to bribe 
 
 The envious magnates with — nor, since he sent 
 
 Henry of Egna this fair cliild, had Trent 
 
 Once failed the Kaiser's purposes — " we lost 
 
 Egna last year, and who takes Egna's post — 
 
 Opens the Lombard gate if Friedrich knock ? ") 
 
 Himself espoused the Lady of the Rock 
 
 In pure necessity, and so destroyed 
 
 His slender last of chances, quite made void 
 
 Old prophecy, and spite, of all the schemes 
 
 Overt and covert, youth's deeds, age's dreams, 
 
 Was sucked into Romano. And so hushed 
 
 He up this evening's work that, when 't was brushed 
 
 Somehow against by a blind chronicle 
 
 Which, chronicling whatever woe befell 
 
 Ferrara, noted this the obscure woe 
 
 Of " Salinguerra's sole son Giacomo 
 
 Deceased, fatuous and doting, ere his sire," 
 
 The townsfolk rubbed their eyes, could but admire 
 
 Which of Sofia's five was meant. 
 
THE NEXT ASPIRANT CAN PRESS FORWARD, 209 
 
 The chaps 
 Of earth's dead hope were tardy to collapse, 
 Obliterated not the beautiful 
 Distinctive features at a crash — but dull 
 And duller, next year, as Guelf chiefs withdrew 
 Each to his stronghold. Then (securely too 
 Ecelin at Campese slept — -close by, 
 Who likes may see him in Solagna lie 
 "With cushioned head and gloved hand to denote 
 The cavalier he was) — then his heart smote 
 Yoang Ecelin at last ! — long since adult, 
 And, save Vicenza's business, what result 
 In blood and blaze ? ('t was hard to intercept 
 Sordello till his plain withdrawal.) Stept, 
 Then, its new lord on Lombardy. I' the nick 
 Of time when Ecelin and Alberic 
 Closed with Taurello, come precisely news 
 That in Verona half the souls refuse 
 Allegiance to the Marquis and the Count — 
 Have cast them from a throne they bid him mount, 
 Their Podesta, thro' his ancestral worth. 
 Ecelin flew there, and the town henceforth 
 Was wholly his — Taurello sinking back 
 From temporary station to a track 
 That suited. News received of this acquist, 
 Friedrich did come to Lombardy : who missed 
 Taurello then ? Another year : they took 
 Vicenza, left the Marquis scarce a nook 
 For refuge, and, when hundreds two or three 
 
210 salinguerra's part lapsing to ecelin, 
 
 Of Guelfs conspired to call themselves " the Free/* 
 
 Opposing Alberic, — vile Bassanese, — 
 
 ("Without Sordello !) — Ecelin at ease 
 
 Slaughtered them so observably, that oft 
 
 A little Salinguerra looked with soft 
 
 Blue eyes up, asked his sire the proper age 
 
 To get appointed his proud uncle's page. 
 
 More years passed, and that sire had dwindled down 
 
 To a mere showy turbulent soldier, grown 
 
 Better through age, his parts still in repute, 
 
 Subtle — how else ? — but hardly so astute 
 
 As his contemporaneous friends professed ; 
 
 Undoubtedly a brawler : for the rest, 
 
 KJiown by each neighbor, and allowed for, let 
 
 Keep his incorrigible ways, nor fret 
 
 Men who had missed their boyhood's bugbear — " trap 
 
 The ostrich, suffer our bald osprey flap 
 
 A battered pinion " — was the word. In fine, 
 
 One flap too much and Venice's marine 
 
 Was meddled with ; no overlooking that ! 
 
 She captured him in his Ferrara, fat 
 
 And florid at a banquet, more by fraud 
 
 Than force, to speak the truth ; there 's slender laud 
 
 Ascribed you for assisting eighty years 
 
 To pull his death on such a man — fate shears 
 
 The life-cord prompt enough whose last fine threads 
 
 You fritter : so, presiding his board-head, 
 
 The old smile, your assurance all went well 
 
 With Friedrich (as if he were like to tell !) 
 
WHO, WITH HIS BROTHER, PLAYED IT OUT, 211 
 
 In rushed (a plan contrived before) our friends, 
 
 Made some pretence at fighting, some amends 
 
 For the shame done his eighty years — (apart 
 
 The principle, none found it in his heart 
 
 To be much angry with Taurello) — gained 
 
 Their galleys with the prize, and what remained 
 
 But carry him to Venice for a show ? 
 
 — Set him, as 't were, down gently — free to go 
 
 His gait, inspect our square, pretend observe 
 
 The swallows soaring their eternal curve 
 
 'Twixt Theodore and Mark, if citizens 
 
 Gathered importunately, fives and tens, 
 
 To point their children the Magnifico, 
 
 All but a monarch once in firm-land, go 
 
 His gait among them now — " it took, indeed, 
 
 Fully this Ecelin to supersede 
 
 That man," remarked the seniors. Singular ! 
 
 Sordello's inability to bar 
 
 Rivals the stage, that evening, mainly brought 
 
 About by his strange disbelief that aught 
 
 Was ever to be done, — this thrust the Twain 
 
 Under Taurello's tutelage, — whom, brain 
 
 And heart and hand, he forthwith in one rod 
 
 Indissolubly bound to baffle God 
 
 Who loves the world — and thus allowed the thiii 
 
 Gray wizened dwarfish devil Ecelin, 
 
 And massy-muscled big-boned Alberic 
 
 (Mere man, alas !) to put his problem quick 
 
 To demonstration — prove wherever 's will 
 
212 AND WENT HOME DULY TO THEIR REWARD. 
 
 To do, there 's plenty to be done, or ill 
 
 Or good. Anointed, then, to rend and rip — 
 
 Kings of the gag and flesh-hook, screw and whip, 
 
 They plagued the world : a touch of Hildebrand 
 
 (So far from obsolete !) made Lombards band 
 
 Together, cross their coats as for Christ's cause, 
 
 And saving Milan win the world's applause. 
 
 Ecelin perished : and I think grass grew 
 
 Never so pleasant as in Valley Rii 
 
 By San Zenon where Alberic in turn 
 
 Saw his exasperated captors burn 
 
 Seven children and their mother ; then, regaled 
 
 So far, tied on to a wild horse, was trailed 
 
 To death through raunce and bramble-bush. I take 
 
 God's part and testify that mid the brake 
 
 Wild o'er his castle on the pleasant knoll. 
 
 You hear its one tower left, a belfry, toll — 
 
 The earthquake spared it last year, laying flat 
 
 The modern church beneath, — no harm in that I 
 
 Cherups the contumacious grasshopper. 
 
 Rustles the lizard and the cushats chirre 
 
 Above the ravage : there, at deep of day 
 
 A week since, heard I the old Canon say 
 
 He saw with his own eyes a barrow burst 
 
 And Alberic's huge skeleton unhearsed 
 
 Only five years ago. He added, " June 's 
 
 The month for carding off our first cocoons 
 
 The silkworms fabricate " — a double news, 
 
 Nor he nor I could tell the worthier. Choose I 
 
GOOD WILL — ILL LUCK, GET SECOND PRIZE. 213 
 
 And Naddo gone, all 's gone ; not Eglamor ! 
 Believe, I knew the face I waited for, 
 A guest my spirit of the golden courts ! 
 O strange to see how, despite ill-reports, 
 Disuse, some wear of years, that face retained 
 Its joyous look of love ! Suns waxed and waned, 
 And still my spirit held an upward flight, 
 Spiral on spiral, gyres of life and light 
 More and more gorgeous — ever that face there 
 The last admitted ! crossed, too, with some care 
 As perfect triumph were not sure for all. 
 But, on a few, enduring damp must fall, 
 — A transient struggle, haply a painful sense 
 Of the inferior nature's clinging — whence 
 Slight starting tears easily wiped away, 
 Fine jealousies soon stifled in the play 
 Of irrepressible admiration — not 
 Aspiring, all considered, to their lot 
 Who ever, just as they prepare ascend 
 Spiral on spiral, wish thee well, impend 
 Thy frank deliglit at their exclusive track, 
 That upturned fervid face and hair put back ! 
 
 Is there no more to say ? He of the rhymes — 
 Many a tale, of this retreat betimes, 
 Was born : Sordello die at once for men ? 
 The Chroniclers of Mantua tired their pen 
 Telling how Sordello Prince Visconti saved 
 Mantua, and elsewhere notably behaved — 
 Who thus, by fortune's ordering events, 
 
214 WHAT LEAST ONE MAY I AWARD S0RI>E1.L0? 
 
 Passed with posterity, to all intents. 
 
 For just the God he never could become. 
 
 As Knight, Bard, Gallant, men were never dumb 
 
 In praise of him : while what he should have been, 
 
 Could be, and was not — the one step too mean 
 
 For him to take, — we suffer at this day 
 
 Because of: Ecelin had pushed away 
 
 Its chance ere Dante could arrive and take 
 
 That step Sordello spurned, for the world's sake : 
 
 He did much — but Sordello's chance was gone. 
 
 Thus, had Sordello dared that step alone, 
 
 Apollo had been compassed — 't was a fit 
 
 He wished should go to him, not he to it 
 
 — As one content to mei-ely be supposed 
 
 Singing or fighting elsewhere, while he dozed 
 
 Really at home — one who was chiefly glad 
 
 To have achieved the few real deeds he had, 
 
 Because that way assured they were not worth 
 
 Doing, so spared from doing tJiem henceforth — 
 
 A tree that covets fruitage and yet tastes 
 
 Never itself, itself: had he embraced 
 
 Their cause then, men had plucked Hesperian fruit 
 
 And, praising that, just thrown him in to boot 
 
 All he was anxious to appear, but scarce 
 
 Solicitous to be. A sorry farce 
 
 Such life is, after all ! cannot I say 
 
 He lived for some one better thing ? this way. — 
 
 Lo, on a heathy brown and nameless hill 
 
 By sparkling Asolo, in mist and chill, 
 
THIS THAT MUST PERFORCE CONTENT HIM, 2ir> 
 
 Morninir just up, higher and higher runs 
 
 A child barefoot and rosy. She ! the sun 's 
 
 On the square castle's inner-court's low wall 
 
 Like the chine of some extinct animal 
 
 Half turned to earth' and flowers ; and through the 
 
 haze 
 (Save where some slender patches of gray maize 
 Are to be overleaped) that boy has crost 
 The whole hill-side of dew and powder-frost 
 Matting the balm and mountain camomile. 
 Up and up goes he, singing all the while 
 Some unintelligible words to beat 
 The lark, God's poet, swooning at his feet, 
 So worsted is he at " the few fine locks 
 Stained like pale lioney oozed from topmost rocks 
 Sunblanched the livelong summer," — all that 's left 
 Of the Goito lay ! And tlius bereft, 
 Sleep and forget, Sordello ! In effect 
 He sleeps, the feverish poet — I suspect 
 Not utterly companionless ; but, friends, 
 Wake up ; tlie ghost 's gone, and the story ends 
 I'd fain hope, sweetly — seeing, peri or ghoul, 
 That spirits are conjectured fair or foul, 
 Evil or good, judicious authors think. 
 According as they vanish in a stink 
 Or in a perfume. Friends, be frank ! ye snuff 
 Civet, I warrant. Really ? Like enough ! 
 Merely the savour's rareness ; any nose 
 May ravage with impunity a rose : 
 
216 AS NO PRIZE AT ALL, HAS CONTENTED ME. 
 
 Rifle a musk-pod and 't -wall ache like yours ! 
 I 'd tell you that same pungency insures 
 An after-gust — but that were overbold. 
 Who would has heard Sordello's story told. 
 
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