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BROWNING BROWNING A GRAMMARIAN'S FUNERAL. SHORTLY AFTER THE REVIVAL OF LEARNING IN EUROPE. Let 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 be not day again Rimming the rock-row! That's the appropriate country; there, man's thought, Rarer, intenser, 10 Self-gathered for an outbreak, as it ought, Chafes in the censer. Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop; Seek we sepulture On a tall mountain, citied to the top, Crowded with culture! All the peaks soar, but one the rest excels; Clouds overcome it ; No! yonder sparkle is the citadel's Circling its summit. 20 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 each head, 'Ware the beholders ! This is our master, famous, calm and dead, Borne on our shoulders.

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Page 1: BROWNING - University of Toronto T-Space 316... · BROWNING BROWNING A GRAMMARIAN'S FUNERAL. SHORTLY AFTER THE REVIVAL OF LEARNING IN EUROPE. Let us begin and carry up this corpse,

BROWNING

BROWNING

A GRAMMARIAN'S FUNERAL.

SHORTLY AFTER THE REVIVAL OF LEARNING IN EUROPE.

Let 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 be not day again Rimming the rock-row!

That 's the appropriate country; there, man's thought, Rarer, intenser, 10

Self-gathered for an outbreak, as i t ought, Chafes in the censer.

Leave we the unlettered plain its herd and crop; Seek we sepulture

On a tall mountain, citied to the top, Crowded with culture!

All the peaks soar, but one the rest excels; Clouds overcome it ;

No! yonder sparkle is the citadel's Circling its summit. 20

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 each head, 'Ware the beholders !

This is our master, famous, calm and dead, Borne on our shoulders.

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Sleep, crop and herd! sleep, darkling thorpe and croft, Safe from the weather! 30

He, whom we convoy to his grave aloft, Singing together,

He was a man born 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? " 40

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 :

"What's 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, 50

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, Still there's the comment. 60

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."

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3 18 BROWNING

Oh, such a life as he resolved to live, When he had learned it ,

When he had gathered all books had to give! Sooner, he spurned it.

Image the whole, then execute the parts- Fancy the fabric 70

Quite, ere you build, ere steel strike fire from quartz, Ere mortar dab brick!

(Here's the town-gate reached: there's the market- place

Gaping before us.) Yea, this in him was the peculiar grace

(Hearten our chorus !) That before living he'd learn how to live-

No end to learning: Earn the means first-God surely will contrive

Use for our earning. 80 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 little rest! "-not he! (Caution redoubled, 90

Step two abreast, the way winds narrowly!) Not a whit troubled,

Back to his studies, fresher than a t first, Fierce as a dragon

He (soul-hydroptic with a sacred thirst) Sucked a t the flagon.

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Oh, if we draw a circle premature, Heedless of far gain,

Greedy for quick returns of profit, sure Bad is our bargain ! 100

Was it not great? did not he throw on God, (He loves the burthen)-

God's task to make the heavenly period Perfect the earthen?

Did not he magnify the mind, show clear Just what i t 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: 110

"Wilt thou trust death or not? " He answered "Yes! Hence with iife's pale lure!"

That low man seeks a little thing to do, Sees i t 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 a t a million, Misses a n unit. 120

That, has the world here-should he need the next, Let the world mind him!

This, throws himself on God, and unperplexed Seeking shall find him.

So, with the throttling hands of death a t strife, Ground he a t grammar;

Still, through the rattle, parts of speech were rife: While he could stammer

He settled Hoti's business-let it be!- Properly based Oun- 130

Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic De, Dead from the waist down.

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320 BROWNING

Well, here's the platform, here's the proper place: Hail to your purlieus,

All ye highfliers 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? 140

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 effects:

Loftily lying, Leave him-still loftier than the world suspects,

Living and dying.

FRA 1,IPPO LIPPI.

I am poor brother Lippo, by your leave! You need not clap your torches to my face. Zooks, what's to blame? you think you see a monk! What, ' t is past midnight, and you go the rounds, And here you catch me a t an alley's end Where sportive ladies leave their doors ajar? The Carmine's my cloister: hunt i t up, Do,-harry out, if you must show your zeal, Whatever rat, there, haps on his wrong hole, And nip each softling of a wee white mouse, 10 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 call?

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FRA LIPPO LIPPI 32 1

Master-a. . . Cosimo of the Medic;, I' the house that caps the corner. Boll! you were best! Remember and tell me, the day you 're hanged, How you affected such a gullet's-gripe! 2 0 But you, sir, i t concerns you that your knaves 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 harbors me (And many more beside, lads! more beside!) 30 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! I t '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 40 You know them and they take you? like enough! I saw the proper twinkle in your eye- 'Tell you, I liked your looks a t 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 witliin my mew, A-painting for the great man, saints and saints And saints again. I could not paint all night- Ouf! I leaned out of window for fresh air. 50 There came a hurry of feet and little feet,

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322 BROWNING

A sweep of lute strings, laughs, and whifts of song,- Flower o' the broom, Take away love, and our earth i s a tomb! Flower o' the quince, I let Lisa go, and what good in life since? Flower o' the thyme-and so on. Round they went. Scarce had they turned the corner when a titter Like the skipping of rabbits by moonlight,-three slim

shapes, And a face that looked u p . . .zooks, sir, flesh and

blood, . 60 That 's all I 'm made of ! Into shreds i t 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 Saint Laurence, hail fellow, well met,- Flower o' the rose, If I'z~e been merry, what matter who knows ? And so as I was stealing back again 70 T o get to bed and have a bit of sleep Ere I rise up to-morrow and go to work On Jerome knocking a t his poor old breast With his great round stone to subdue the flesh, You snap me of the sudden. Ah, I see! Though your eyes twinkle still, you shake your head- Mine 's shaved-a monk, you say-the sting 's in that! If Master Cosimo announced himself, Mum 's the word naturally; but a monk! Come, what am I a beast for? tell us, now! 80 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,

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F R A LIPPO LIPPI

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, 90 By the straight cut t o 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, ' t was refection-time,- "To quit this very miserable world? Will 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 100 . Have given their hearts to-all a t eight years old. Well, sir, I found in time, you may be sure, 'T was not for nothing!-the good bellyful, The warm serge and the rope that goes all round, And day-long blessed idleness beside! "Let 's see what the urchin 's fit forH-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, 110 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

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324 BROWNING

The droppings of the wax to sell again, 120 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,- Why, soul and sense of him grow sharp alike, He learns the look of things, and none the less For admonition 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, 4 130 Joined legs and arms to the long music-notes, Found eyes and nose and chin for A's and B's, And make a string of pictures of the world Betwixt the ins and outs of verb and noun, On the wall, the bench, the door. The monks looked

black. "Nay," quoth the Prior, "turn him out, d ' ye say? In no wise. Lose a crow and catch a lark. What if a t last we get our man of parts, We Carmelites, like those Camaldolese And Preaching Friars, to do our church up fine 140 And put the front on i t that ought to be!" And hereupon he bade me daub away. Thank you! my head being crammed, the walls a

blank, Never was such prompt disemburdening. First, every sort of monk, the black and white, I drew them, fat and lean: then, folk a t church, From good old gossips waiting to confess Their cribs of barrel-droppings, candle-ends,- T o the breathless fellow a t the altar-foot, Fresh from his murder, safe and sitting there 150 With the little children round him in a row Of admiration, half for his beard and half For that white anger of his victim's son

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FRA LIPPO LIPPI 325

Shaking a fist a t 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 a t eve On tiptoe, said a word, dropped in a loaf, 160 Her pair of earrings and a bunch of flowers (The brute took growling), prayed, and so was gone. I painted all, then cried "'T is ask and have; Choose, for more's ready ! "-laid the laddei- flat, And showed my covered bit of cloister-wall, The monks closed in a circle and praised loud Till checked, taught what to see and not t o see, Being simple bodies,-" That 's the very man ! Look a t the boy who stoops to pat the dog! That woman 's like the Prior's niece who comes 170 T o care about his asthma: i t '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! i t 's devil's-game! Your business is not to catch men with show, With homage to the perishable clay, 180 But lift them over it, ignore i t all, Make them forget there 's such a thing as flesh. Your business is to paint the souls of men- Man's soul, and i t 's a fire, smoke. . . no, i t 's not. . . I t 's vapour done up like a new-born babe-; (In that shape when you die i t leaves your mouth)' It 's. . .well, what matters talking, i t 's the soul! Give us no more of body than shows soul! Here ' s Giotto, with his Saint a-praising God,

22

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326 BROWNING

That sets us praising,-why not stop with him? 190 Why put all thoughts of praise out of our head With wonder a t lines, colours, and what not? Paint the soul, never mind the legs and arms! Rub all out, t ry a t i t 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 i t all out!" Now, is this sense, I ask? A fine way t o paint soul, by painting body So ill, the eye can't stop there, must go further 200 And can't fare worse! Thus, yellow does for white When what you put for yellow 's simply black, And any sort of meaning looks intense When all beside itself means and looks naught. 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 i t so pretty You can't discover if i t means hope, fear, Sorrow or joy? won't beauty go with these? 210 Suppose I 've made her eyes all right and blue, Can't I take breath and t ry to add life's flash, And then add soul and heighten them three-fold? Or say there 's beauty with no soul a t all- (I never saw it-put the case the same-) If you get simple beauty and naught else, You get about the best thing God invents: Tha t 's somewhat: and you '11 find the soul you-have

missed, Within yourself, when you return him thanks. 220 "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

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FRA LIPPO LIPPI 327

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 Corner-house! Lord, i t 's fast holding by the rings in front- Those great rings serve more purposes than just T o plant a flag in, or tie up a horse! 230 And yet the old schooling sticks, the old grave eyes Are peeping o'er my shoulder as I work, The heads shake still-" I t '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 a t flesh, you '11 never make the third!" Flower o' the pine, You keep your mistr . . .manners, and I '11 stick to mine! I 'm not the third, then: bless us, they must know! 240 Don't you think they 're the likeliest t o know, They with their Latin? So, I swallow my rage, Clench my teeth, suck my lips in tight, and paint T o please them--sometimes do and sometimes don't; For, doing most, there 's pretty sure to come A turn, some warm eve finds me a t my saints- A laugh, a cry, the business of the world- (Flower o' the Peach, Death for u s all, and his own life for each !') And my whole soul revolves, the cup runs over, 250 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 a t , In pure rage! The old mill-horse, out a t 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 may n't they? all I want 's the thing Settled forever ope way. As i t is, 260

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3 28 BROWNING

You tell too many lies and hurt yourself: You don't like what you only like too much, You do like what, if given you a t 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 afterwards.

You understand me: I 'm a beast, I know. 270 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: . 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! 280 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 i t 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 i t all about? 290 T o be passed over, despised? or dwelt upon, Wondered a t ? 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 i t? God's works-paint any one, and count i t crime

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FRA LIPPO LIPPI 329

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 300 First when we see them painted, things we have passed Perhaps a hundred times nor cared to see; And so they are better, painted-better t o us, Which is the same thing. Art was given for that ; 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, 310 Interpret God to all of you! Oh, oh, I t makes me mad to see what men shall do And we in our graves! This world 's no blot for us, Nor blank; i t 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 I t does not say to folk-remember matins, Or, mind you fast next Friday!" Why, for this What need of ar t a t all? A skull and bones, 320 Two bits of stick nailed crosswise, or, what 's best, A bell to chime the hour with, does as well. I painted a Saint 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 Who 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 330

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330 BROWNING

With coming to say prayers there in a rage: We get on fast to see the bricks beneath. Expect another job this time next year, For pity and religion grow i' the crowd- Your painting serves its purpose !" Hang the fools!

-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! IF 'S natural a poor monk out of bounds 340 Should have his ap t 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, see Something in Sant' Ambrogio's! Bless the nuns ! They want a cast o' 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 350 As puff on puff of grated orris-root When ladies crowd to Church a t midsummer. And then i' 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 a t their devotion, up shall come 360 Out of a corner when you least expect, As one by a dark stair into a great light, Music and talking, who but Lippo! I!- Mazed, motionless, and moonstruck-I 'm the man! Back I shrink-what is this I see and hear?

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ANDREA DEL SARTO 33 1

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 370 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, Iste perfecit o@us! " 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 380 And play hot cockles, all the doors being shut, Till, wholly unexpected, in there pops The hothead husband! Thus I scuttle off T o 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-by: no lights, no lights! 390 The street 's hushed, and I know my own way back, Don't fear me ! There 's the gray beginning. Zooks !

ANDREA DEL SARTO.

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 i t bring your heart?

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332 BROWNING

I'll 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 i t takes mine. Will i t ? tenderly? Oh, I'll content him,-but to-morrow, Love! 10 I often am much wearier than you think, This evening more than usual, and i t 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 t o my work Cheerful and fresh as ever. Let us try. To-morrow, how you shall be glad for this! 20 Your soft hand is a woman of itself, And mine the man's bared breast she curls inside. Don't count the time lost, neither; you must serve For each of the five pictures we require: I t saves a model. So! keep looking so- M y serpentining beauty, rounds on rounds! -How could you ever prick those perfect ears, Even to put the pearl there! oh, so sweet- M y face, my moon, my everybody's moon, Which everybody looks on and calls his, 30 And, I suppose, is looked on by in turn, While she looks-no one's: very dear, no less. You smile? why, there 's my picture ready made, There 's what we painters call our harmony! A common grayness silvers everything,- All in a twilight, y o ~ l and I alike -You, a t the point of your first pride in me (That 's gone you know),-but I , a t every point; '

M y youth, my hope, my art , being all toned down T o yonder sober pleasant Fiesole. 40

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ANDREA DEL SARTO 333

There 's the bell clinking from the chapel-top; The 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 everything, 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. How strange now looks the life he makes us lead; 50 So free we seem, so fettered fast we are! I feel he laid the fetter: let i t 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 a t 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, 60 What I see, what a t 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 listened to the Legate's talk last week, And just as much they used to say in France. At any rate 't is easy, all of i t ! 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, 70 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 T o paint a little thing like that you smeared Carelessly passing with your robes afloat,- Yet do much less, so much less, Someone says,

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334 BROWNING

(I know his name, no matter)-so much less! Well, less is more, Lucrezia : I am judged. There burns a truer light of God in them, In their vexed beating stuffed and stopped-up brain,80 Heart, or whate'er else, than goes on to prompt This low-pulsed forthright craftsman's hand of mine. Their works drop groundward, 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. M y works are nearer heaven, but I sit here. The sudden blood of these men! a t a word- Praise them, i t boils, or blame them, i t boils too. I , painting from myself and to myself, Know what I do, am unmoved by men's blame 90 Or their praise either. Somebody remarks Morello's outline there is wrongly traced, -

His hue mistaken; what of tha t? or else, Rightly traced and well ordered; what of tha t? Speak as they please, what does the mountain care? Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, Or what 's a heaven for? All is silver-gray, Placid and perfect with my ar t : the worse! I know both what I want and what might gain, And yet how profitless t o know, to sigh 100 "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. ( 'T is copied, George Vasari sent it me.) Well, I can fancy how he did it all, Pouring his soul, with kings and popes to see, Reaching, that heaven might so replenish him, Above and through his art-for i t gives way; That arm is wrongly put-and there again- 110

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ANDREA D E L SARTO 335

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 i t : 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. 120 But had you-oh, with the same perfect brow, And perfect eyes, and more than perfect mouth, 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! Some women do so. Had the mouth there urged God and the glory! never care for gain. The present by the future, what is tha t? Live for fame, side by side with Agnolo! Rafael is waiting: up to God, all three! " 130 I might have done it for you. So i t 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 Agnolo? In 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. 140 'T is 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;

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336 BROWNING

But they speak sometimes; I must bear i t all. Well may they speak! That Francis, that first time, And that long-festal year a t Fontainebleau! I surely then could sometimes leave the ground, Put on the glory, Rafael's daily wear, 150 In that humane great monarch's golden look,- One finger in 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, I 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, 160 This in the background, waiting on my work, To crown the issue with a last reward! A good time, was i t not, my kingly days? And had you not grown restless. . .bu t I know- 'T is done and past; 't was 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 i t end in any other way? 170 You called me, and I came home to your heart. The triumph was-to reach and stay there; since I reached it ere the triumph, what is lost? Let my hands frame your face in your hair's gold, You beautiful Lucrezia that are mine! "Rafael did this, Andrea painted tha t ; 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 180 M y better fortune, I resolve to think. For, do you know, Lucrezia, as God lives,

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ANDREA DEL SARTO 337

Said one day Agnolo, his very self, T o Rafael. . . I have known i t 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 i t ) " Friend, there's a certain sorry little scrub Goes up and down our Florence, none cares how, Who, were he set t o plan and execute 190 As you are, pricked on by your popes and kings, Would bring the sweat into that brow of yours!"

. T o Rafael's!-And indeed the arm is wrong. I hardly dare. . .yet, only you to see, Give the chalk here-quick, thus the line should go! Ay, but the soul! he 's Rafael! rub i t out! Still, all I care for, if he spoke the truth, (What he? why, who but Michel Agnolo? Do you forget already words like those?) If really there was such a chance, so lost,- 200 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 compreliend? 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, a t last, 210 Inside the melancholy little house We built to be so gay with. God is just. King Francis may forgive me: oft a t 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?

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338 BROWNING

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? 220 Well, let smiles buy me! have you more to spend? While hand and eye and something of a heart Are left me, work 's my ware, and what 's i t worth? 1'11 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 yours this time! I want you a t my side 230 To hear them-that is, Michel Agnolo- Judge all I do and tell you of its worth. Will you? To-morrow, satisfy your friend. I 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 T o 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! 240 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. Since there my past life lies, why alter i t? The very wrong to Francis!-it is true I 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 250 How one gets rich ! Let each one bear his lot. They were born poor, lived poor, and poor they died; And I have laboured somewhat in my time

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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, 260 Meted on each side by the angel's reed, For Leonard, Rafael, Agnolo and me To cover-the three first without a wife, While I have mine! So-still they overcome Because there's still Lucrezia,-as I choose.

Again the Cousin's whistle! Go, my Love.

AMONG THE ROCKS. Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth,

This autumn morning! How he sets his bones To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet For the ripple to run over in its mirth;

Listening the while, where on the heap of stones The white breast of the sea-lark twitters sweet.

That is the doctrine, simple, ancient, true; Such is life's trial, as old earth smiles and knows.

If you loved only what were worth your love, Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you: 10

Make the low nature better by your throes! Give earth yourself, go up for gain above!

CONFESSIONS. What is he buzzing in my ears?

"Now that I come to die, Do I view the world as a vale of tears?"

Ah, reverend sir, not I !

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340 BROWNING

What I viewed there once, what I view again Where the physic bottles stand

On the table's edge,-is a suburb lane, With a wall to my bedside hand.

That lane sloped, much as the bottles do, From a house you could descry 10

O'er the garden-wall ; is the curtain blue Or green to a healthy eye?

T o mine, i t serves for the old June weather Blue above lane and wall ;

And that farthest bottle labelled "Ether" Is the house o'ertopping all.

At a terrace, somewhere near the stopper, There watched for me, one June,

A girl: I know, sir, i t 's improper, My poor mind 's out of tune. 20

Only, there was a way. . .you crept Close by the side, t o dodge

Eyes in the house, two eyes except: They styled their house "The Lodge."

What right had a lounger up their lane? But, by creeping very close,

With the good wall's help,-their eyes might strain

And stretch themselves to Oes,

Yet never catch her and me together, As she left the attic, there, 30

By the rim of the bottle labelled "Ether," And stole from stair to stair,

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YOUTH AND ART 34 1

And stood by the rose-wreathed gate. Alas, We loved, sir-used to meet :

How sad and bad and mad i t was- But, then, how i t was sweet!

YOUTH AND ART.

I t once might have been, once only: We lodged in a street together,

You, a sparrow on the housetop lonely, I, a lone she-bird of his feather.

Your trade was with sticks and clay, You thumbed, thrust, patted and polished,

Then laughed "They will see some day Smith made, and Gibson demolished."

My busines,~ was song, song, song; I chirped, cheeped, trilled and twittered, 10

"Kate Brown's on the boards ere long, And Grisi's existence embittered ! "

I earned no more by a warble Than you by a sketch in plaster:

You wanted a piece of marble, I needed a music-master.

We studied hard in our styles, Chipped each a t a crust like Hindoos,

For air, looked out on the tiles, For fun, watched each other's windows. 20

You lounged, like a boy of the South, Cap and blouse-nay, a bit of beard too: '

Or you got it, rubbing your mouth With fingers the clay adhered to.

23

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342 BROWNING

And I-soon managed to find Weak points in the flower-fence facing,

Was forced to put up a blind And be safe in my corset-lacing.

No harm! I t was not my fault If you never turned your eye's tail up 3 0

As I shook upon E i n alt., Or ran the chromatic scale up:

For spring bade the sparrows pair, And the boys and girls gave guesses,

And stalls in our street looked rare With bulrush and watercresses.

Why did not you pinch a flower In a pellet of clay and fling i t?

Why did not I put a power Of thanks in a look, or sing i t?

I did look, sharp as a lynx, (And yet the memory rankles,)

When models arrived, some minx Tripped up-stairs, she and her ankles.

But I think I gave you as good! "That foreign fellow,-who can know

How she pays, in a playful mood, For his tuning her that piano?"

Could you say so, and never say, "Suppose we join hands and fortunes, 50

And I fetch her from over the way, Her, piano, and long tunes and short tunes?"

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AN EPISTLE

No, no: you would not be rash, Nor I rasher and something over:

You've to settle yet Gibson's hash, And Grisi yet lives in clover.

But you meet the Prince a t the Board, I'm queen myself a t bals-park,

I 've married a rich old lord, And you 're dubbed knight and an R.A. 60

Each life unfulfilled, you see ; I t hangs still, patchy and scrappy:

We have not sighed deep, laughed free, Starved, feasted, despaired,-been happy.

And nobody calls you a dunce, And people suppose me clever:

This could but have happened once, And we missed it, lost it forever.

AN EPISTLE.

CONTAINING THE STRANGE MEDICAL EXPERIENCE OF KARSHISH, T H E ARAB PHYSICIAN.

Karshish, 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, To coop up and keep down on earth a space That puff of vapour 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 Befall the flesh through too much stress and strain, 10 Whereby the wily vapour fain would slip

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344 BROWNING

Back and rejoin its source before the term,- And aptest in contrivance, under God, T o baffle i t by deftly stopping such:- The vagrant Scholar to his Sage a t home Sends greeting (health and knowledge, fame with

peace) Three samples of true snake-stone-rarer still One of the other sort, the melon-shaped, (But fitter, pounded fine, for charms than drugs) And writeth now the twenty-second time. 20

My journeyings 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 On many a flinty furlong of this land. Also the country-side is all on fire With rumours of a marching hitherward- Some say Vespasian cometh, some, his son. A black lynx snarled and pricked a tufted ear; Lust of my blood inflamed his yellow balls: 30 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 a t the end, I reached Jerusalem, Since this poor covert where I pass the night, This Bethany, lies scarce the distance thence A man with plague-sores a t the third degree Runs till he drops down dead. Thou laughest here! 'Sooth, i t elates me, thus reposed and safe, T o void the stuffing of my travel-scrip 40 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

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AN EPISTLE 345

Weaves no web, watches on the ledge of tombs, Sprinkled with mottles on an ash-grey back; Take five and drop them. . .bu t who knows his mind, The Syrian run-a-gate I trust this to? His service payeth me a sublimate 50 Blown up his nose to help the ailing eye. Best wait: I reach Jerusalem at morn, There set in order my experiences, Gather what most deserves, and give thee all- Or I might add, Judea's gum-tragacanth Scales off in purer flakes, shines clearer-gahed, 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 a t Zoar- 60 But zeal outruns discretion. Here I end.

Yet stay: my Syrian blinketh gratefully, Protesteth his devotion is my price- Suppose I write what harms not, though he steal? I half resolve to tell thee, yet I blush, What set me off a-writing first of all. An itch I had, a sting to write, a tang! For, be it this town's barrenness-or else The Man had something in the look of him- His case has struck me far more than 'tis worth. 70 So, pardon if (lest presently I lose In the great press of novelty a t hand The care and pains this somehow stole from me) I bid thee take the thing while fresh in mind, Almost in sight-for, wilt thou have the t ruth? The very man is gone from me but now, Whose ailment is the subject of discourse, Thus then, and let thy better wit help all.

'Tis but a case of mania-subinduced By epilepsy, a t the turning-point 80

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346 BROWNING

Of trance prolonged unduly some three days, When by the exhibition of some drug, Or spell, exorcisation, stroke of ar t Unknown to me and which 'twere well to know, The evil thing out-breaking all a t 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 i t too suddenly, The first conceit that entered might inscribe Whatever i t was minded on the wall 90 So plainly a t that vantage, as i t were, (First come, first served) that nothing subsequent Attaineth to erase those fancy scrawls The just-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: 100 -'Sayeth, the same bade' "Rise," and he did rise. "Such cases are diurnal," thou wilt cry. Not so this figment!-not, that such a fume, Instead of giving way to time and health, Should eat itself into the life of life, As saffron tingeth flesh, blood, bones and all! For see, how he takes up the after-life. The man-it is one Lazarus a Jew, Sanguine, ~roportioned, fifty years of age, The body's habit wholly laudable, 110 As much, indeed, beyond the common health As he were made and put aside to shew. Think, could we penetrate by any drug And bathe the wearied soul and worried flesh, And bring i t clear and fair, by three days' sleep! .

Whence has the man the balm that brightens all?

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AN EPISTLE 347

This grown man eyes the 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, 120 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 habits and with tastes starved

small, And take a t once to his impoverished brain The sudden element that changes things, 130 That sets the undreamed-of rapture a t 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 a t undue times? All prudent counsel as to what befits The golden mean, is lost on such an one: The man's fantastic will is the man's law. So here-we'll call the treasure knowledge, say, Increased beyond the fleshly faculty- &j 140 Heaven opened to a soul while yet on earth,:A Earth forced 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 i t 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- 'Tis one! Then take it on the other side, Speak of some trifling fact-he will gaze rapt 150 With stupor a t its very littleness-

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348 BROWNING

(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. Wonder and doubt come wrongly into play, Preposterously, a t cross purposes. Should his child sicken unto death,-why, look For scarce abatement of his cheerfulness, 160 Or pretermission of the 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 why-"'Tis but a word," object- "A gesture "-he regards thee as our lord Who lived there in the pyramid alone, Looked a t us, dost thou mind, when being young We both would unadvisedly recite 170 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- ( I t is the life to lead perforcedly) Which runs across some vast distracting orb 180 Of glory on either side that meagre thread, Which, conscious of, he must not enter yet- The spiritual life around the earthly life: The law of that is known to him as this- His heart and brain move there, his feet stay here. So is the man perplext with impulses Sudden to start off crosswise, not straight on,

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AN EPISTLE 349

Proclaiming what is right and wrong across, And not along, this black thread through the blaze- " I t should be" balked by "here it cannot be." 190 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 a t once T o ashes, that was very fire before, In sedulous recurrence to his trade Whereby he earneth him the daily bread; And studiously the humbler for that pride, Professedly the faultier that he knows 200 God's secret, while he holds the thread of life. Indeed the especial marking of the man Is prone submission to the heavenly will- Seeing it , what i t is, and why i t is. 'Sayeth, he will wait patient to the last For that same death which will restore his being T o equilibrium, body loosening soul Divorced even now by premature full growth: He will live, nay, i t pleaseth him to live So long as God please, and just how God please. 210 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 i t as God please" reassureth him. I probed the sore as thy disciple should- 220 l i HOW, beast," said I , "this stolid carelessness Sufficeth thee, when Rome is on her march To stamp out like a little spark thy town,

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350 BROWNING

Thy tribe, thy crazy tale and thee a t once?" He merely looked with his large eyes on me. The man is apathetic, you deduce? Contrariwise, he loves both old and young, Able and weak, affects the very brutes And birds-how say I ? flowers of the field- As a wise workman recognises tools 230 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 T o be an ignoramus in our a r t According t o some preconceived design, And happed to hear the land's practitioners Steeped in conceit sublimed by ignorance, 240 Prattle fantastically on disease, Its cause and cure-and I must h,old my peace!

Thou wilt object-why have I not ere this Sought out the sage himself, the Nazarene Who wrought this cure, enquiring a t 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 250 And creed prodigious as described to me. His death which happened when the earthquake fell (Prefiguring, as soon appeared, the loss T o occult learning in our lord the sage That lived there in the pyramid alone) Was wrought by the mad people-that's their wont! On vain recourse, as I conjecture it, T o his tried virtue, for miraculous help-

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AN EPISTLE 351

How could he stop the earthquake? That's their way! The other imputations must be lies: 260 But take one-though I loathe to give i t 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 t o 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 i t awhile! 2 70 -'Sayeth that such an one was born and lived, Taught, healed the sick, broke bread a t 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 a t every moment for remark? I noticed on the margin of a pool 280 Blue-flowering borage, the Aleppo sort, Aboundeth, very nitrous. I t is strange!

Thy pardon for this long and tedious case, Which, 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- 290 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

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352 MATTHEW ARNOLD

Multiform, manifold, and menacing: Then a wind rose behind me. So we met In this old sleepy town a t unaware, The man and I. I send thee what is writ. Regard i t as a chance, a matter risked T o this ambiguous Syrian-he may lose, Or steal, or give i t thee with equal good. 300 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 think? So, the All-Great, were the All-Loving too- So, through the thunder comes a human voice Saying, "0 heart I made, a heart beats here! Face, my hands fashioned, see i t in myself. Thou hast no power nor may'st conceive of mine, But love I gave thee, with myself to love, 310 And thou must love me who have .died for thee !" The madman saith he said so: i t is strange.

MATTHEW ARNOLD

THE FORSAKEN MERMAN.

Come, dear children, let us away; Down and away below! Now my brothers call from the bay, Now the great winds shoreward blow, Now the salt tides seaward flow; Now the wild white horses play, Champ and chafe and toss in the spray. Children dear, let us away! This way, this way!

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THE FORSAKEN MERMAN

Call her once before you go- Call once yet! In a voice that she will know: " Margaret ! Margaret ! " Children's voices should be dear (Call once more) to a mother's ear; Children's voices, wild with pain- Surely she will come again! Call her once and come away; This way, this way! " Mother dear, we cannot stay! 20 The wild white horses foam and fret." Margaret ! Margaret !

Come, dear children, come away down; Call no more ! One last look a t the white-wall'd town, And the little gray church on the windy shore, Then come down ! She will not come though you call all day; Come away, come away!

Children dear, was it yesterday 30 We heard the sweet bells over the bay? In the caverns where we lay, Through the surf and through the swell,

, The far-off sound of a silver bell? Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, Where the winds are all asleep ; Where the spent lights quiver and gleam, Where the salt weed sways in the stream, Where the sea-beasts, ranged all round, Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground ; Where the sea-snakes coil and twine, 40 Dry their mail and bask in the brine;

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354 MATTHEW ARNOLD

Where the great whales come sailing by, Sail and sail, with unshut eye, Round the world for ever and aye? When did music come this way? Children dear, was i t yesterday?

Children dear, was it yesterday (Call yet once) that she went away? Once she sate with you and me, 50 On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea, And the youngest sate on her knee. She comb'd its bright hair, and she tended i t well, When down swung the sound of a far-off bell. She sigh'd, she look'd up through the clear green sea; She said: " I must go, for my kinsfolk pray In the little gray church on the shore to-day. 'T will be Easter-time in the world-ah me! And I lose my poor soul, Merman! here with thee." I said: "Go up, dear heart, through the waves; 60 Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind sea-caves!" She smiled, she went up through the surf in the bay. Children dear, was it yesterday?

Children dear, were we long alone? "The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan; Long prayers," I said, "in the world they say; Come ! " I said; and we rose through the surf in the bay. We went up the beach, by the sandy down Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-wall'd town; Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still, T o the little gray church on the windy hill. 71 From the chur5h came a murmur of folk a t their

prayers, But we stood without in the cold blowing airs.

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THE FORSAKEN ME-RMAN 355

We climb'd on the graves, on the stones worn with rains, And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded

panes. She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear: "Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here! Dear fieart;" 'I said, "we are long alone ; The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan." But, ah, she gave me never a look, 80 For her eyes were seal'd to the holy book! Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door. Come away, children, call no more! Come away, come down, call no more!

Down, down, down! Down to the depths of the sea! She sits a t her wheel in the humming town, Singing most joyfully. Hark what she sings: "0 joy, 0 joy, For the humming street, and the child with its toy! 90 For the priest and the bell, and the holy well; For the wheel where I spun, And the blessed light of the sun!" And so she sings her fill, Singing most joyfully, Till the spindle drops from her hand, And the whizzing wheel stands still. She steals to the window, and looks a t the sand, And over the sand a t the sea; And her eyes are set in a stare; 100 And anon there breaks a sigh, And anon there drops a tear, From a sorrow-clouded eye, And a heart sorrow-laden, A long, long sigh ; For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden And the gleam of her golden hair.

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MATTHEW ARNOLD

Come away, away, children; Come, children, come down ! The hoarse wind blows coldly; 110 Lights shine in the town. She will start from her slumber When gusts shake the door; She mill hear the winds howling, Will hear the waves roar. We shall see, while above us The waves roar and whirl, A ceiling of amber, A pavement of pearl. Singing: "Here came a mortal, 120 But faithless was she! And alone dwell for ever The kings of the sea."

But, children, a t midnight, When soft the winds blow, When clear falls the moonlight, When spring tides are low; When sweet airs come seaward From heaths starr'd with broom, And high rocks throw mildly 130 On the blanch'd sands a gloom; Up the still, glistening beaches, Up the creeks we will hie, Over banks of bright seaweed The ebb-tide leaves dry. We will gaze, from the sand hills, At the white, sleeping town; At the church on the hill-side- And then come back down. Singing: "There dwells a loved one, 140 But cruel is she! She left lonely for ever The kings of the sea."

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LINES WRITTEN I N KENSINGTON GARDENS 357

LINES WRITTEN IN KENSINGTON GARDENS.

In this bne , open glade I lie, Screen'd by deep boughs on either hand ; And a t its end, to stay the eye, Those black-crown'd, red-boled pine-trees stand!

Birds here make song, ,each bird has his, Across the girdling city's hum. How green under the boughs it is! How thick the tremulous sheep-cries come!

Sometimes a child will cross the glade T o take his nurse his broken toy; 10 Sometimes a thrush flit overhead Deep in her unknown day's employ.

Here a t my feet what wonders pass, What endless, active life is here! What blowing daisies, fragrant grass! An air-stirr'd forest, fresh and clear.

Scarce fresher is the mountain-sod Where the tired angler lies, stretch'd out, And, eased of basket and of rod, Counts his day's spoil, the spotted trout. 20

In the huge world, which roars hard by, Be others happy if they can! But in my helpless cradle I Was breathed on by the rural Pan.

I, on men's impious uproar hurl'd, Think often, as I hear them rave, That peace has left the upper world And now keeps only in the grave.

24

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358 MATTHEW ARNOLD

Yet here is peace for ever new! When I who watch them am away, 30 Still all things in this glade go t h r o ~ g h The changes of their quiet day.

Then to their happy rest (they pass ! The flowers upclose, the birds are fed, The night comes down upon the grass, The child sleeps warmly in his bed.

Calm soul of all things! make it mine T o feel, amid the city's jar, That there abides a peace of thine, Man did not make, and cannot mar. 40

The will t o neither strive nor cry, The power to feel with others give! Calm, calm me more! nor let me die Before I have begun to live.

SOHRAB AND RUSTUM.

And the first gray of morning fill'd the east, And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream. But all the Tartar camp along the stream Was hush'd, and still the men were plunged in sleep; Sohrab alone, he slept not; all night long He had lain wakeful, tossing on his bed; But when the gray dawn stole into his tent, He rose, and clad himself, and girt his sword, And took his horseman's cloak, and left his tent; And went abroad into the cold wet fog, 10 Through the dim camp to Peran-Wisa's tent. ,

Through the black Tartar tents he pass'd, which stood

Clustering like beehives on the low flat strand

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SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 359

Of Oxus, where the summer-floods o'erflow When the sun melts the snows in high Pamere; Through the black tents he pass'd, o'er that low

strand, And to a hillock came, a little back From the stream's brink-the spot where first a boat, Crossing the stream in summer, scrapes the land. The men of former times had crown'd the top With a clay fort; but that was fall'n, and now 20 The Tartars built there Peran-Wisa's tent, A dome of laths, and o'er i t felts were spread. And Sohrab came there, and went in, and stood Upon the thick piled carpets in the tent, And found the old man sleeping on his bed Of rugs and felts, and near him lay his arms; And Peran-Wisa heard him, though the step Was dull'd; for he slept light, an old man's sleep; And he rose quickly on one arm, and said:-

"Who art thou? for i t is not yet clear dawn. Speak! is there news, or any night alarm?"

But Sohrab came to the bedside, and said:- "Thou know'st me, Peran-Wisa! i t is I. The sun is not yet risen, and the foe Sleep; but I sleep not; all night long I lie Tossing and wakeful, and I come to thee. For so did King Afrasiab bid me seek Thy counsel, and to heed thee as thy son, In Samarcand, before the army march'd; 40 And I will tell thee what my heart desires. Thou know'st if, since from Ader-baijan first I came among the Tartars and bore arms, I have still served Afrasiab well, and shown, At my boy's years, the courage of a man. This too thou know'st, that while I still bear on The conquering Tartar ensigns through the world, And beat the Persians back on every field,

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360 R AT THEW ARNOLD

I seek one man, one man, and one alone- Rustum, my father; who I hoped should greet, 56 Should one day greet, upon some well-fought field, His not unworthy, not inglorious son. So I long hoped, but him I never find. Come then, hear now, and grant me what I ask. Let the two armies rest to-day; but I Will challenge forth the bravest Persian lords T o meet me, man to man; if I prevail, Rustum will surely hear i t ; if I fall- Old man, the dead need no one, claim no kin. Dim is the rumour of a common fight, 6 0 Where host meets host, and many names are sunk; But of a single combat fame speaks clear."

He spoke; and Peran-Wisa took the hand Of the young man in his, and sigh'd, and said:-

" 0 Sohrab, an unquiet heart is thine! Canst thou not rest among the Tartar chiefs, And share the battle's common chance with us Who love thee, but must press for ever first, In single fight incurring single risk, T o find a father thou hast never seen? 70 That were far best, my son, to stay with us Unmurmuring; in our tents, while i t is war, And when ' t is truce, then in Afrasiab's towns. But, if this one desire indeed rules all, T o seek out Rustum-seek him not through fight! Seek him in peace, and carry to his arms, 0 Sohrab, carry an unwounded son! But far hence seek him, for he is not here. For now i t is not as when I was young, When Rustum was in front of every fray; 80 But now he keeps apart, and sits a t home, '

In Seistan, with Zal, his father old. Whether that his own mighty strength a t last .

Feels the abhorr'd approaches of old age,

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SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 361

Or in some quarrel with the Persian King. There go!-Thou wilt not? Yet my heart forebodes Danger or death awaits thee on this field. Fain would I know thee safe and well, though lost T o us; fain therefore, send thee hence in peace T o seek thy father, not seek single fights 90 In vain;-but who can keep the lion's cub From ravening, and who govern Rustum's son? Go, I will grant thee what thy heart desires."

So said he, and dropp'd Sohrab's hand, and left His bed, and the warm rugs whereon he lay; And o'er his chilly limbs his woollen coat He pass'd, and tied his sandals on his feet, And threw a white cloak round him, and he took In his right hand a ruler's staff, no sword; And on his head he set his sheep-skin cap, 100 Black, glossy, curl'd, the fleece of Kara-Kul; And raised the curtain of his tent, and call'd His herald to his side, and went abroad.

The sun by this had risen, and clear'd the fog From the broad Oxus and the glittering sands. And from their tents the Tartar horsemen filed Into the open plain; so Haman bade- Haman, who next t o Peran-Wisa ruled The host, and still was in his lusty prime. From their black tents, long files of horse, they

stream'd ; 110 As when some gray November morn the files, In marching order spread, of long-neck'd cranes Stream over Casbin and the southern slopes Of Elbruz, from the Aralian estuaries, Or some frore Caspian reed-bed, southward bound For the warm Persian sea-board-so they stream'd. The Tartars of the Oxus, the King's guard, First, with black sheep-skin caps and with long spears; Large men, large steeds; who from Bokhara come

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362 MATTHEW ARNOLD

And Khiva, and ferment the milk of mares. Next, the more temperate Toorkmuns of the south,l20 The Tukas, and the lances of Salore, And those from Attruck and the Caspian sands; Light men and on light steeds, who only drink The acrid milk of camels, and their wells. And then a swarm of wandering horse, who came From far, and a more doubtful service own'd; The Tartars of Ferghana, from the banks Of the Jaxartes, men with scanty beards And close-set skull-caps; and those wilder hordes 130 Who roam o'er Kipchak and the northern waste, Kalmucks and unkempt Kuzzaks, tribes who stray Nearest the Pole, and wandering Kirghizzes, Who come on shaggy ponies from Pamere; These all filed out from camp into the plain. And on the other side the Persians form'd;- First a light cloud af horse, Tartars they seem'd, The Ilyats of Khorassan; and behind, The royal troops of Persia, horse and foot, Marshall'd battalions bright in burnish'd steel. But Peran-Wisa with his herald came, Threading the Tartar squadrons to the front, And with his staff kept back the foremost ranks. And when Ferood, who led the Persians, saw Tha t Peran-Wisa kept the Tartars back, He took his spear, and to the front he came, And check'd his ranks,and fixed them where they stood. And the old Tartar came upon the sand Betwixt the silent hosts, and spake, and said:

"Ferood, and ye, Persians and Tartars, hear! Let there be a truce between the hosts to-day. 150 But choose a champion from the Persian lords T o fight our champion Sohrab, man to-man."

As, in the country, on a morn in June, When the dew glistens on the pearled ears,

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SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 363

A shiver runs through the deep corn for joy- So, when they heard what Peran-Wisa said, A thrill through all the Tartar squadrons ran Of pride and hope for Sohrab, whom they loved.

But as a troop of pedlars, from Cabool, Cross underneath the Indian Caucasus, 160 That vast sky-neighbouring mountain of milk snow; Crossing so high, that, as they mount, they pass Long flocks of travelling birds dead on the snow, Choked by the air, and scarce can they themselves Slake their parch'd throats with sugar'd mulberries- In single file they move, and stop their breath, For fear they should dislodge the o'erhanging snows- So the pale Persians held their breath with fear. And to Ferood his brother chiefs came up T o counsel: Gudurz and Zoarrah came, 170 And Feraburz, who ruled the Persian host Second, and was the uncle of the King; These came and counsell'd, and then Gudurz said:-

" Ferood, shame bids us take their challenge up, Yet champion have we none to match this youth. He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart; But Rustum came last night; aloof he sits And sullen, and has pitch'd his tents apart. Him will I seek, and carry to his ear 180 The Tartar challenge, and this young man's name. Haply he will forget his wrath, and fight. Stand forth the while, and take their challenge up."

So spake he; and Ferood stood forth and-cried:- "Old man, be it agreed as thou hast said! Let Sohrab arm, and we will find a man." He spake: and Peran-Wisa turn'd, and strode Back through the opening squadrons to his tent. But through the anxious Persians Gudurz ran, Arid cross'd the camp which lay behind, and reach'd, Out on the sands beyond it , Rustum's tents. 190

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364 MATTHEW ARNOLD

Of scarlet cloth they were, and glittering gay, Just pitch'd; the high pavilion in the midst Was Rustum's, and his men lay camp'd around. And Gudurz enter'd Rustum's tent, and found Rustum; his morning meal was done, but still The table stood beside him, charged with food- A side of roasted sheep, and cakes of bread, And dark green melons; and there Rustum sate Listless, and held a falcon on his wrist, 200 And play'd with i t ; but Gudurz came and stood Before him; and he look'd, and saw him stand, And with a cry sprang up and dropp'd the bird, And greeted Gudurz with both hands, and said :-

"Welcome! these eyes could see no better sight. What news? but sit down first, and eat and drink."

But Gudurz stood in the tent door, and said :- "Not now! a time will come to eat and drink, But not to-day; to-day has other needs. The armies are drawn out, and stand a t gaze; For from the Tartars is a challenge brought T o pick a champion from the Persian lords T o fight their champion-and thou know'st his

name- Sohrab men call him, but his birth is hid. 0 Rustum, like thy might is this young man's! He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart; And he is young, and Iran's chiefs are old, Or else too weak; and all eyes turn to thee. Come down and help us, Rustum, or we lose!"

He spoke; but Rustum answer'd with a smile :- 220 " Go to! if Iran's chiefs are old, then I Am older; if the young are weak, the King Errs strangely; for the King, for Kai Khosroo, Himself is young, and honours younger men, And lets the ag&d moulder to their graves. Rustum he loves no more, but loves the young-

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SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 365

The young may rise a t Sohrab's vaunts, not I. For what care I , though all speak Sohrab's fame? For would that I myself had such a son, And not that one slight helpless girl 1 have- 230 A son so famed, so brave, to send to war, And I to tarry with the snow-hair'd Zal, My father, whom the robber Afghans vex, And clip his borders short, and drive his herds, And he has none to guard his weak old age. There would I go, and hang my armour up, And with my great name fence that weak old man, And spend the goodly treasures I have got, And rest my age, and hear of Sohrab's fame, And leave to death the hosts of thankless kings, 240 And with these slaughterous hands draw sword no

more." He spoke and smiled; and Gudurz made reply :-

"What then, 0 Rustum, will men say to this, When Sohrab dares our bravest forth, and seeks Thee most of all, and thou, whom most he seeks, Hidest thy face? Take heed lest men should say: Like some old miser, Rustum hoards his fame, And shuns to peril it with younger men."

And greatly moved, then Rustum made reply:- "0 Gudurz, wherefore dost thou say such words? 250 Thou knowest better words than this to say. What is one more, one less, obscure or famed, Valiant or craven, young or old, to me? Are not they mortal, am not I myself? But who for men of nought would do great deeds? Come, thou shalt see how Rustum hoards his fame! But I will fight unknown, and in plain arms; Let not men say of Rustum, he was match'd In single fight with any mortal man."

He spoke, and frown'd; and Gudurz turn'd, and ran 260

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366 MATTHEW ARNOLD

Back quickly through the camp in fear and joy- Fear a t his wrath, but joy that Rustum came. But Rustum strode to his tent-door, and call'd His followers ih, and bade them bring his arms, And clad himself in steel; the arms he chose Were plain, and on his shield was no device, Only his helm was rich, inlaid with gold, And, from the fluted spine atop, a plume Of horsehair waved, a scarlet horsehair plume. So arm'd, he issued forth; and Ruksh, his horse, Follow'd him like a faithful hound a t heel- Ruksh, whose renown was noised through all the earth, The horse, whom Rustum on a foray once Did in Bokhara by the river find A colt beneath its dam, and drove him home, And rear'd him; a bright bay, with lofty crest, Dight with a saddle-cloth of broider'd green Crusted with gold, and on the ground were work'd All beasts of chase, all beasts which hunters know. So follow'd, Rustum left his tents, and cross'd 200 The camp, and to the Persian host appear'd. And all the Persians knew him, and with shouts Hail'd; but the Tartars knew not who he was. And dear as the wet diver to the eyes Of his pale wife who waits and weeps on shore, By sandy Bahrein, in the Persian Gulf, Plunging all day in the blue waves, a t night, *

Having made up his tale of precious pearls, Rejoins her in their hut upon the sands- So dear to the pale Persians Rustum came. 290

And Rustum to the Persian front advanced, And Sohrab arm'd in Haman's tent, and came. And as afield the reapers cut a swath Down through the middle of a rich man's corn, And on each side are squares of standing corn, And in the midst a stubble, short and bare-

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SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 4 .

367

So on each side were squares of men, with spears Bristling, and in the midst, the open sand. And Rustum came upon the sand, and cast His eyes toward the Tartar tents, and saw 300 Sohrab come forth, and eyed him as he came.

As some rich woman, on a winter's morn, Eyes through her silken curtains the poor drudge 61

Who with numb blacken'd fingers makes her fire- At cock-crow, on a starlit winter's morn, When the frost flowers the whiten'd window-panes- And wonders how she lives, and what the thoughts Of that poor drudge may be; so Rustum eyed The unknown adventurous youth, who from afar Came seeking Rustum, and defying forth 310 All the most valiant chiefs; long he perused His spirited air, and wonder'd who he was. For very young he seem'd, tenderly rear'd; Like some young cypress, tall, and dark, and straight, Which in a queen's secluded garden throws Its slight dark shadow on the moonlit turf, By midnight, to a bubbling fountain's sound- So slender Sohrab seem'd, so softly rear'd. And a deep pity enter'd Rustum's soul As he beheld him coming; and he stood, 320 And beckon'd to him with his hand, and said:-

" 0 thou young man, the air of Heaven is soft, And warm, and pleasant; but the grave is cold! Heaven's air is better than the cold dead grave. Behold me! I a.m vast, and clad in iron, And tried; and I have stood on many a field Of blood, and I have fought with many a foe- Never was that field lost, or that foe saved. 0 Sohrab, wherefore wilt thou rush on death? Be govern'd! quit the Tartar host,'and come 330 To Iran, and be as my son to me, And fight beneath my banner till I die!

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There are flo youths in Iran brave as thou." So he spake, mildly; Sohrab heard his voice,

The mighty voice of Rustum; and he saw His giant figure planted on the sand, Sole, like some single tower, which a chief Hath builded on the waste in former years Against the robbers; and he saw that head, Streak'd with its first gray hairs;-hope filled his soul, And he ran forward and embraced his knees, 340 And clasp'd his hand within his own, and said:-

"0, by thy father's head! by thine own soul! Art thou not Rustum? speak! ar t thou not he?"

But Rustum eyed askance the kneeling youth, And turn'd away, and spake to his own soul:- "Ah me, I muse what this young fox may mean. False, wily, boastful, are these Tartar boys. For if I now confess this thing he asks, And hide i t not, but say: Rustum is here! He will not yield indeed, nor quit our foes, 350 But he will find some pretext not to fight, And praise my fame, and proffer courteous gifts, A belt or sword perhaps, and go his waj7. And on a feast-tide, in Afrasiab's hall, In Samarcand, he will arise and cry: ' I challenged once, when the two armies camp'd Beside the Oxus, all the Persian lords T o cope with me in single fight; but they Shrank, only Rustum dared; then he and I Changed gifts, and went on equal terms away.' 360 So will he speak, perhaps, while men applaud; Then were the chiefs of 1t;an shamed through me."

And then he turn'd, and sternly spake aloud :- " Rise! wherefore dost thou vainly question thus Of Rustum? I am'here, whom thou hast call'd By challenge forth; make good thy vaunt, or yield! Is i t with Rustum only thou wouldst fight?

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Rash boy, men look on Rustum's face and flee. For well I know, that did great Rustum stand Before thy face this day, and were reveal'd, 3 70 There would .be then no talk of fighting more. But being what I am, I tell thee this- Do thou record i t in thine inmost soul: Either thou shalt renounce thy vaunt and yield, Or else thy bones shall strew this sand, till winds Bleach them, or Oxus with his summer-floods, , Oxus in summer wash them all away."

He spoke; and Sohrab answer'd, on his feet:- "Art thou so fierce? Thou wilt not fright me so! I am no girl, to be made pale by words. 380 Yet this thou hast said well, did Rustum stand Here on this field, there were no fighting then. But Rustum is far hence, and we stand here. Begin! thou art more vast, more dread than I , And thou art proved, I know, and I am young- But yet success sways with the breath of Heaven. And though thou thinkest that thou knowest sure Thy victory, yet thou canst not surely know. For we are all, like swimmers in the sea, Poised on the top of a huge wave of fate, 390 Which hangs uncertain to which side to fall. And whether i t will heave us up to land, Or whether i t will roll us out to sea, Back out to sea, to the deep waves of death, We know not, and no search will make us know; Only the event will teach us in its hour."

He spoke; and Rustum answered not, but hurl'd His spear; down from the shoulder, down i t came, As on some partridge in the corn a hawk, That long has tower'd in the airy clouds, 400 Drops like a plummet; Sohrab saw i t come, And sprang aside, quick as a flash; the spear Hiss'd, and went quivering down into the sand,

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370 -MATTHEW ARNOLD

Which i t sent flying wide;-then Sohrab threw In turn, and full struck Rustum's shield; sharp rang, The iron plates rang sharp, but turn'd the spear. And Rustum seized his club, which none but he Could wield; an unlopp'd trunk i t was, and huge, Still rough-like those which men in treeless plains T o build them boats fish from the flooded rivers, 410 Hyphasis or Hydaspes, when, high up By.their dark springs, the wind in winter-time Hath made in Himalayan forests wrack, And strewn the channels with torn boughs--so huge The club which Rustum lifted now, and struck One stroke; but again Sohrab sprang aside, Lithe as the glancing snake, and the club came Thundering to earth, and leapt from Rustum's hand. And Rustum follow'd his own blow, and fell 419 T o his knees, and with his fingers clutch'd the sand: And now might Sohrab have unsheathed his sword,

. And pierced the mighty Rustum while he lay Dizzy, and on his knees, and choked with sand; Rut he look'd on, and smiled, nor bared his sword, But courteously drew back, and spoke, and said:-

"Thou strik'st too hard; that club of thine will float Upon the summer-floods, and not my bones. But rise, and be not wroth; not wroth am I ; No, when I see thee, wrath forsakes my soul. Thou say'st, thou art not Rustum; be i t so! 430 UTho art thou then, that canst so touch my soul? Boy as I am, I have seen battles too- Have waded foremost in their bloody waves, And heard their hollow roar of dying men; But never was my heart thus touch'd before. Are they from Heaven, these softenings of the heart? O thou old warrior, let us yield to Heaven ! Come, plant we here in earth our angry spears, And make a truce, and sit upon this sand,

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SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 37 1

And pledge each other in red wine, like friends, 440 And thou shalt talk to me of Rustum's deeds. There are enough foes in the Persian host Whom I may meet, and strike, and feel no pang; Champions enough Afrasiab has, whom thou Mayst fight; fight them, when they confront thy spear. But oh, let there be peace 'twixt thee and me!"

He ceased; but while he spake, Rustum had risen, And stood erect, trembling with rage; his club He left to lie, but had regain'd his spear, Whose fiery point now in his mail'd right-hand 450 Blazed bright and baleful, like that autumn-star, The baleful sign of fevers; dust had soil'd His stately crest, and dimm'd his glittering arms. His breast heaved, his lips foam'd, and twice his voice Was choked with rage; a t last these words broke

way :- "Girl! nimble with thy feet, not with thy hands!

Curl'd minion, dancer, coiner of sweet words! Fight, let me hear thy hateful voice no more! Thou art not in Afrasiab's gardens now 459 With Tartar girls, with whom thou art wont t o dance; But on the Oxus-sands, and in the dance Of battle, and with me, who make no play Of war; I fight i t out, and hand to hand. Speak not to me of truce, and pledge, and wine! Remember all thy valour; t ry thy feints And cunning; all the pity I had is gone; Because thou hast shamed me before both the hosts With thy light skipping tricks, and thy girl's wiles."

He spoke; and Sohrab kindled a t his taunts, And he too drew his sword ; a t once they rush'd 470 Together, as two eagles on one prey Come rushing down together from the clouds, One from the east, one from the west; their shields Dash'd with a clang together, and a din

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372 MATTHEW ARNOLD

Rose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters Make often in the forest's heart a t morn,

I Of hewing axes, crashing trees-such blows Rustum and Sohrab on each other hail'd. And you would say that sun and stars took part In that unnatural conflict; for a cloud 480 Grew suddenly in Heaven, and dark'd the sun Over the fighters' heads; and a wind rose Under their feet, and moaning swept the plain, And in a sandy whirlwind wrapp'd the pair. In gloom they twain were wrapp'd, and they alone; For both the on-looking hosts on either hand Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure, And the sun sparkled on the Oxus stream. But in the gloom they fought, with bloodshot eyes 489 And labouring breath; first Rustum struck the shield Which Sohrab held stiff out ; the steel-spiked spear Rent the tough plates, but fail'd to reach the skin, And Rustum pluck'd it back with angry groan. Then Sohrab with his sword smote Rusturn's helm, Nor clove its steel quite through; but all the crest He shore away, and that proud horsehair plume, Never till now defiled, sank to the dust; And Rustum bow'd his head; but then the gloom Grew blacker, thunder rumbled in the air, 499 And lightnings rent the cloud; and Ruksh, the horse, Who stood a t hand, utter'd a dreadful 'cry;-- No horse's cry was that, most like the roar Of some pain'd desert-lion, who all day Hath trail'd the hunter's jairelin in his side, And comes a t night to die upon the sand. The two hosts heard that cry, and quaked for fear, And Oxus curdled as i t cross'd his stream. But Sohrab heard, and quail'd not, but rush'd on, And struck again; and again Rustum bow'd His head; but this time all the blade, like glass, 510

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SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 373

Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm, And in the hand the hilt remain'd alone. Then Rustum raised his head; his dreadful eyes Glared, and he shook on high his menacing spear, And shouted, Rusturn!-Sohrab heard that shout, And shrank amazed; back he recoil'd one step, And scann'd with blinking eyes the advancing form; And then he stood bewilder'd; and he dropp'd 518 His covering shield, and the spear pierced his side. He reel'd, and staggering back, sank to the ground. And then the gloom dispersed, and the wind fell, And the bright sun broke forth, and melted all The cloud ; and the two armies saw the pair- Saw Rustum standing, safe upon his feet, And Sohrab, wounded, on the bloody sand.

Then, with a bitter smile, Rustum began:- "Sohrab, thou thoughtest in &y mind to kill A Persian lord this day, and strip his corpse, And bear thy trophies to Afrasiab's tent. Or else that the great Rustum would come down 530 Himself to fight, and that thy wiles would move His heart to take a gift, and let thee go. And then that all the Tartar host would praise Thy courage or thy craft, and spread thy fame, T o glad thy father in his weak old age. Fool, thou art slain, and by an unknown man! Dearer to the red jackals shalt thou be Than to thy friends, and to thy father old."

And, with a fearless mien, Sohrab replied:- 539 "Unknown thou ar t ; yet thy fierce vaunt is vain. Thou dost not slay me, proud and boastful man! No! Rustum slays me, and this filial heart. For were I match'd with ten such men as thou, And I were that which till to-day I was, They should be lying here, I standing there. But that belov2d name unnerved my arm- 25

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That name, and something, I confess, in thee, Which troubles all my heart, and made my shield Fall; and thy spear transfix'd an unarm'd foe. And now thou boastest, and insult'st my fate. 550 But hear thou this, fierce man, tremble to hear! The mighty Rustum shall avenge my death! My father, whom I seek through all the world, He shall avenge my death, and punish thee!"

As when =me hunter in the spring hath fourid A breeding eagle sitting on her nest, Upon the craggy isle of a hill-lake, And pierced her with an arrow as she rose, And follow'd her to find her where she fel! Far off ;--anon her mate comes winging back 560 From hunting, and a great way off descries His huddling young left sole; a t that, he checks His pinion, and with short uneasy sweeps Circles above his eyry, with loud screams Chiding his mate back to her nest; but she Lies dying, with the arrow in her side, In some far stony gorge out of his ken, A heap of fluttering feathers-never more Shall the lake glass her, flying over i t ; Never the black and dripping precipices 5 70 Echo her stormy scream as she sails by- As that poor bird flies home, nor knows his loss, So Rustum knew not his own loss, but stood Over his dying son, and knew him not.

But, with a cold incredulous voice, he said:- "What prate is this of fathers and revenge? The mighty Rustum never had a son."

And, with a failing voice, Sohrab replied:- "Ah yes, he had! and that lost son am I. Surely the news will one day reach his ear, 580 Reach Rustum, where he sits, and tarries long, Somewhere, I know not where, but far from here

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SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 375

And pierce him like a stab, and make him leap T o arms, and cry for vengeance'upon thee. Fierce man, bethink thee, for an only son! What will that grief, what will that vengeance be! Oh, could I live, till I that grief had seen! Yet him I pity not so much, but her, My mother, who in Ader-baijan dwells With that old king, her father, who grows gray 590 With age, and rules over the valiant Koords. Her most I pity, who no more will see Sohrab returning from the Tartar camp, With spoils and honour, when the war is done. But a dark rumour will be bruited up, From.tribe to tribe, until it reach her ear; And then will that defenceless woman learn That Sohrab will rejoice her sight no more; But that in battle with a nameless foe, By the far-distant Oxus, he is slain." 600

He spoke; and as he ceased, he wept aloud, Thinking of her he left, and his own death. He spoke; but Rustum listen'd, plunged in thought. Nor did he yet believe i t was his son Who spoke, although he call'd back names he knew; For he had had sure tidings that the babe, Which was in Ader-baijan born to him, - Had been a puny girl, no boy a t all- So that sad mother sent him word, for fear Rustum should seek the boy, to train in arms. 610 And so he deem'd that either Sohrab took, By a false boast, the style of Rustum's son; Or that men gave i t him, to swell his fame. So deem'd he; yet he listen'd, plunged in thought And his soul set to grief, as the vast tide Of the bright rocking Ocean sets to shore At the full moon; tears gather'd in his eyes; For he remember'd his own early youth,

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And all its bounding rapture; as, a t dawn, The shepherd from his mountain-lodge descries 620 A far, bright city, smitten by the sun, Through many rolling clouds-so Rustum saw His youth; saw Sohrab's mother, in her bloom; And that old king, her father, who loved well His wandering guest, and gave him his fair child With joy; and all the pleasant life they led, They three, in that long-distant summer-time- The cast!e, and the dewy woods, and hunt And hound, and morn on those delightful hills In Ader-baijan. And he saw that Youth, 630 Of age and looks to be his own dear son, Piteous and lovely, lying on the sand, Like some rich hyacinth which by the scythe Of an unskilful gardener has been cut, Mowing the garden grass-plots near its bed, And lies, a fragrant tower of purple bloom,

- On the mown, dying g r a s s s o Sohrab lay, Lovely in death, upon the common sand. . And Rustum gazed on him with grief, and said:-

"0 Sohrab, thou indeed art such a son 640 Whom Rustum, wert thou his, might well have loved. Yet here thou errest, Sohrab, or else men Have told thee false-thou ar t not Rustum'<son. For Rustum had no son; one child he had- But one-a girl; who with her mother now Plies some light female task, nor dreams of us- Of us she dreams not, nor of wounds, nor war."

But Sohrab answer'd him in wrath; for now The anguish of the deep-fix'd spear grew fierce, And he desired to draw forth the steel, 650 And let the blood flow free, and so to die- But first he would convince his stubborn foe; And, rising sternly on one arm, he said:-

"Man, who art thou who dost deny my words?

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SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 377

Truth sits upon the lips of dying men, And falsehood, while 1 lived, was far from mine. I tell thee, prick'd upon this arm I bear That seal which Rustum to my mother gave, That she might prick i t on the babe she bore." 659

He spoke; and all the blood left Rustum's cheeks, And his knees totter'd, and he smote his hand Against his breast, his heavy mailed hand, That the hard iron corslet clank'd aloud; And to his heart he press'd the other hand, And in a hollow voice he spake, and said :-

"Sohrab, that were a proof which could not lie. If thou show this, then art thou Rustum's son."

Then, with weak hasty fingers, Sohrab loosed His belt, and near the shoulder bared his arm, And show'd a sign in faint vermilion points 670 Prick'd; as a cunning workman, in Pekin, Pricks with vermilion some clear porcelain vase, An emperor's gift-at early morn he paints, And all day long, and, when night comes, the lamp Lights up his studious forehead and thin hands- So delicately prick'd the sign appear'd On Sohrab's arm, the sign of Rustum's seal. I t was that griffin, which of old rear'd Zal, Rustum's great father, whom they left to die, A helpless babe, among the mountain-rocks; 680 Him that kind creature found, and rear'd, and loved- Then Rustum took i t for his glorious sign. And Sohrab bared that image on his arm, And himself scann'd it long with mournful eyes, And then he touch'd i t with his hand and said:-

" How say'st thou? Is that sign the proper sign Of Rustum's son, or of some other man's?"

He spoke; but Rustum gazed, and gazed, and stood Speechless; and then he utter'd one sharp cry: 0 boy-thy father!-and his voice choked there. 690

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And then a dark cloud pass'd before his eyes, And his head swam, and he sank down to earth. But Sohrab crawl'd to where he lay, and cast His arms about his neck, and kiss'd his lips, And with fond faltering fingers stroked his cheeks, Trying to call him back to life; and life Came back to Rustum, and he oped his eyes, And they stood wide with horror; and he seized In both his hands the dust which lay around, And threw i t on his head, and smirch'd his hair,- 700 His hair, and face, and beard, and glittering arms; And strong convulsive groanings shook his breast, And his sobs choked him; and he clutch'd his sword, T o draw it , and for ever let life out. But Sohrab saw his thought, and held his hands, And with a soothing voice he spake, and said:-

"Father, forbear! for I but meet to-day The doom which a t my birth was written down In Heaven, and thou art Heaven's unconscious hand. Surely my heart cried out that i t was thou, 710 When first I saw thee; and thy heart spoke too, I know i t ; but fate trod those promptings down Under its iron heel; fate, fate engaged The strife, and hurl'd me on my father's spear. But let us speak no more of this! I find My father; let me feel that I have found. Come, sit beside me on this sand, and take My head betwixt thy hands, and kiss my cheeks, And wash them with thy tears, and say: My son! Quick! quick! for number'd are my sands of life, 720 And swift; for like the lightning to this field I came, and like the wind I go away- Sudden, and swift, and like a passing wind. But i t was writ in Heaven that this should be."

So said he, and his voice released the heart Of Rustum, and his tears broke forth; he cast

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SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 379

His arms round his son's neck, and wept aloud, And kiss'd him. And awe fell on both the hosts, When they saw Rustum's grief; and Ruksh, the horse, With his head bowing to the ground and mane 730 Sweeping the dust, came near, and in mute woe First to the one, then to the other moved His head, as if inquiring what their grief Might mean; and from his dark, compassionate eyes, The big warm tears roll'd down, and caked the sand. But Rustum chid him with stern voice, and said :-

"Ruksh, now thou grievest; but, 0 Ruksh; thy feet

Should first have rotted on their nimble joints, Or ere they brought thy master to this field!"

But Sohrab look'd upon the horse and said:- 740 "Is this, then, Ruksh? How often, in past days, My mother told me of thee, thou brave steed, My terrible father's terrible horse! and said That I should one day find thy lord and thee. Come, let me lay my hand upon thy mane. 0 Ruksh, thou art more fortunate than I ; For thou hast gone where I shall never go, And snuff'd the breezes of my father's home, And thou hast trod the sands of Seistan, And seen the River of Helmund, and the Lake 750 Of Zirrah; and the aged Zal himself Has often stroked thy neck, and given thee food, Corn in a golden platter soak'd with wine, And,said, 0 Ruksh! bear Rustum well !-but I Have never known my grandsire's furrow'd face, Nor seen his lofty house in Seistan, Nor slaked my thirst a t the clear Helmund stream; But lodged among my father's foes, and seen Afrasiab's cities only, Samarcand, Bokhara, and lone Khiva in the waste, 760 And the black Toorkmun tents; and only drunk

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The desert rivers, Moorghab and Tejend, Kohik, and where the Kalmuks feed their sheep, The northern Sir; and this great Oxus stream, The yellow Oxus, by whose brink I die."

Then, with a heavy groan, Rustum bewai1'd:- "Oh, that its waves were flowing over me! Oh, that I saw its grains of yellow silt Roll tumbling in the current o'er my head!"

But, with a grave mild voice, Sohrab replied:-770 "Desire not that, my father! thou must live. For some are, born to do great deeds, and live, As some are born to be obscured, and die. Do thou the deeds I die too young to do, And reap a second glory in thine age; Thou art my father, and thy gain is mine. But come! thou seest this great host of men Which follow me; I pray thee, slay not these; Let me entreat for them; what have they done? They follow'd me, my hope, my fame, my star. 780 Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace. But me thou must bear hence, not send with them, But carry me with thee to Seistan, And place me on a bed, and mourn for me, Thou, and the snow-hair'd Zal, and all thy friends. And thou must lay me in that lovely earth, And heap a stately mound above my bones, And plant a far-seen pillar over all; That so the passing horseman on the waste May see my tomb a great way off, and cry: 790 Sohrab, the mighty Rusturn's son, lies there, Whom his great father did i n ignorance kill! And I be not forgotten in my grave."

And, with a mournful voice, Rustum replied:- "Fear not, as thou hast said, Sohrab, my son, So shall i t be; for I will burn my tents And quit the host, and bear thee hence with me,

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SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 381

And carry thee away to Seistan, And place thee on a bed, and mourn for thee, . With the snow-headed Zal, and all my friends, 800 And I will lay thee in that lovely earth, And heap a stately mound above thy bones, And plant a far-seen pillar over all; And men shall not forget thee in thy grave. And I will spare thy host; yea, let them go; Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace! What should I do with slaying any more? , For would that all that I have ever slain Might be once more alive; my bitterest foes, - 809 And they who were call'd champions in their time, And through whose death I won that fame I have- And I were nothing but a common man, A poor, mean soldier, and without renown; So thou mightest live too, my son, my son! Or rather would that I , even I myself, A4ight now be lying on this bloody sand, Near death, and by an ignorant stroke of thine, Not thou of mine! and I might die, not thou; And I , not thou, be borne to Seistan; And Zal might weep above my grave, not thine; 820 And say: 0 son, I weep thee not too sore, For willingly, I know, thou met'st thine end. But now in blood and battles was my youth, And full of blood and battles is my age, And I shall never end this life of blood."

Then, a t the point of death, Sohrab replied:- " A life of blood indeed, thou dreadful man! But thou shalt yet have peace; only not now, Not yet! but thou shalt have i t on that day, When thou shalt sail in a high-masted ship, 830 Thou and the other peers of Kai Khosroo, Returning home over the salt blue sea, From laying thy dear master in his grave."

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And Rustum gazed in Sohrab's face, and said :- ''Soon be that day, my son, and deep that sea! Till then, if fate so wills, let me endure.",

He spoke; and Sohrab smiled on him, and took The spear, and drew i t from his side, and eased His wound's imperious anguish; but the blood Came welling from the open gash, and life 840 Flow'd with the stream;-all down his cold white side The crimson torrent ran, dim now and soil'd, Like the soil'd tissue of white violets Left, freshly gather'd, on the native bank, By children whom their nurses call with haste Indoors from the sun's eye; his head droop'd low, His limbs grew slack; motionless, white, he lay- White, with eyes closed; only when heavy gasps, Deep heavy gasps quivering through all his frame, Convulsed him back to life, he open'd them, 850 And fix'd them feebly on his father's face; Till now all strength was ebb'd, and from his limbs Unwillingly the spirit fled away, Regretting the warm mansion which i t left, And youth, and bloom, and this delightful world.

So, on the bloody sand, Sohrab lay dead; And the great Rustum drew his horseman's cloak Down o'er his face, and sate by his dead son. As those black granite pillars, once high-rear'd By Jemshid in Persepolis, to bear 860 His house, now 'mid their broken flights of steps Lie prone, enormous, down the mountain side- So, in the sand lay Rustum by his son.

And night came down over the solemn waste, And the two gazing hosts, and that sole pair, And darken'd all; and a cold fog, with night, Crept from the Oxus. Soon a hum arose, As of a great assembly loosed, and fires Began to twinkle through the fog; for now

*

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WORLDLY PLACE 383

Both armies moved to camp, and took their mea1;870 The Persians took i t on the open sands Southward, the Tartars by the river marge; And Rustum and his son were left alone.

But the majestic river floated on, Out of the mist and hum of that low land, Into the frosty starlight, and there moved, Rejoicing, through the hush'd Chorasmian waste, Under the solitary moon;-he flow'd Right for the polar star, past Orgunjh, Brimming, and bright, and large; then sands begin T0'he.m his watery march, and dam his streams, 881 And split his currents; that for many a league The shorn and parcell'd Oxus strains along Through beds of sand and matted rushy isles- Oxus, forgetting the bright speed he had In his high mountain-cradle in Pamere, A foil'd circuitous wanderer-till a t last The long'd-for dash of waves is heard, and wide His luminous home of waters opens, bright And tranquil, from whose floor the new-bathed stars Emerge, and shine upon the Aral Sea. 89 1

WORLDLY PLACE.

Even i n a palace, life may be led well ! So spake the imperial sage, purest of men, Marcus Aurelius. But the stifling den Of common life, where, crowded up pell-mell, Our freedom for a little bread we sell, And drudge under some foolish master's ken Who rates us if we peer outside our pen- Match'd with a palace, is not this a hell? Eaen i n a palace! On his truth sincere, Who spoke these words, no shadow ever came; 10 And when my ill-school'd spirit is aflame

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. 384 MATTHEW ARNOLD

Some nobler, ampler stage of life to win, 1'11 stop, and say: "There were no succour here! The aids to noble life are all within."

T H E BETTER PART. Long fed on boundless hopes, 0 race of man, How angrily thou spurn'st all simpler fare! "Christ," some one says, "was human as we are; No judge eyes us from Heaven, our sin to scan; We live no more, when we have done our span.'' "Well, then, for Christ," thou answerest, "who :an

care ? From sin, which Heaven records not, why forbear? Live we like brutes our life without a plan!" So answerest thou; but why not rather say: " Hath man no second life?-Pitch this one high ! Sits there no judge in Heaven, our sin to see?- 10 More strictly, then, the inward judge obey 1 Was Christ a man like us? Ah ! let us try I f we then, too, can be such men as he!"

IMMORTALITY. Foil'd by our fellow-men, depress'd, outworn, We leave the brutal world to take its way, And, Patience, i n another life ! we say, The world shall be thrust down, and we up-borne. And will not, then, the immortal armies scorn The world's poor, routed leavings? or will they, Who fail'd under the heat of this life's day, Support the fervours of the heavenly morn? No, no! the energy of life may be Kept on after the grave, but not begun; 10 And he who flagg'd not in the earthly strife, From strength to strength advancing-only he, His soul well-knit, and all hissbattles won, Mounts, and that hardly, to eternal life.

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ROSSETTI

MY SISTER'S SLEEP.

She fell asleep on Christmas Eve: At length the long-ungranted shade Of weary eyelids overweigh'd

The pain nought else might yet relieve.

Our mother, who had leaned all day Over the bed from chime to chime, Then raised herself for the first time,

And as she sat her down, did pray.

Her little work-table was spread With work to finish. For the glare 10 Made by her candle, she had care

T o work some distance from the bed.

Without, there was a cold moon up, Of winter radiance sheer and thin ; The hollow halo i t was in

Was like an icy crystal cup.

Through the small room, with subtle sound Of flame, by vents the fireshine drove And reddened. In its dim alcove

The mirror shed a clearness round. 20

I had been sitting up some nights, And my tired mind felt weak and blank; Like a sharp strengthening wine i t drank

The stillness and the broken lights.

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386 ROSSETTI

Twelve struck. That sound, by dwindling years Heard in each hour, crept off; and then The ruffled silence spread again,

Like water that a pebble stirs.

Our mother rose from where she sat: Her needles, as she laid them down, 30 Met lightly, and her silken gown

Settled: no other noise than that.

"Glory unto the Newly Born!" So, as said angels, she did say; Because we were in Christmas Day,

Though i t would still be long till morn.

Just then in the room over us There was a pushing back of chairs, As some who had sat unawares

So late, now heard the hour, and rose. 40

With anxious softly-stepping haste Our mother went where Margaret lay, Fearing the sounds o'erhead-should they

Have broken her long watched-for rest !

She stooped an instant, calm, and turned; &But suddenly turned back again;

And all her features seemed in pain With woe, and her eyes gazed and yearned.

For my part, I but hid my face, And held my breath, and spoke no word: 50 There was none spoken; but I heard

The silence for a little space.

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THE BLESSED DAMOZEL 387

Our mother bowed herself and wept: And both my arms fell, and I said, "God knows I knew that she uTas dead."

And there, all white, my sister slept.

Then kneeling, upon Christmas morn A little after twelve o'clock We said, ere the first quarter struck,

"Christ's blessing on the newly born ! "

T H E BLESSED DAMOZEL.

The blessed damozel leaned out From the gold bar of Heaven ;

Her eyes were deeper than the depth Of waters stilled a t even;

She had three lilies in her hand, And the stars in her hair were seven.

Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem, No wrought flowers did adorn,

But a white rose of Mary's gift, For service meetly worn;

Her hair that lay along her back Was yellow like ripe corn.

Herseemed she scarce had been a day One of God's choristers;

The wonder was not yet quite gone From that still look of hers;

Albeit, to them she left, her day Had counted as ten years.

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388 ROSSETTI

(TO dne, i t is ten years of years. . . . Yet now, and in this place, 20

Surely she leaned o'er me-her hair Fell all about my face. . . .

Nothing: the autumn fall of leaves. The whole year sets apace.)

I t was the rampart of God's house That she was standing on;

By God built over the sheer depth The which is Space begun;

So high, that looking downward ,thence She scarce could see the sun. 30

I t lies in Heaven, across the flood Of ether, as a bridge.

Beneath the tides of day and night With flame and darkness ridge

The void, as low as where this earth Spins like a fretful midge.

Around her, lovers, newly met, 'Mid deathless love's acclaims,

Spoke evermore among themselves Their heart-remembered names ; 40

And the souls mounting up to God Went by her like thin flames.

And still she bowed herself and stooped Out of the circling charm;

Until her bosom must have made The bar she leaned on warm,

And the lilies lay as if asleep Along her bended arm.

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THE BLESSED DAMOZEL 389

From the fixed place of Heaven she saw Time like a pulse shake fierce 50

Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove Within the gulf to pierce

I ts path; and now she spoke as when The stars sang in their spheres.

The sun was gone now; the curled moon Was like a little feather

Fluttering far down the gulf; and now She spoke through the still weather.

Her voice was like the voice the stars Had when they sang together. 60

(Ah sweet! Even now, in that bird's song, Strove not her accents there,

Fain to be hearkened? When those bells Possessed the mid-day air,

Strove not her steps to reach my side Down all the echoing stair?)

" I wish that he were come to me, For he will come," she said.

"Have I not prayed in Heaven?-on earth, Lord, Lord, has he not pray'd? 70

Are not two prayers a perfect strength? And shall I feel afraid?

"When round his head the aureole clings, And he is clothed in white,

I'll take his hand and go with him T o the deep wells of light;

As unto a stream we will step down, And bathe there in God's sight.

26

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390 ROSSETTI

"We two will stand beside that shrine, Occult, withheld, untrod, 80

Whose lamps are stirred continually With prayer sent up to God;

And see our old prayers, granted, melt Each like a little cloud.

"We two will lie i' the shadow of That living mystic tree

Within whose secret growth the Dove Is sometimes felt to be,

While every leaf that His plumes touch Saith His Name audibly. 90

"And I myself will teach to him, I myself, lying so,

The songs I sing here; which his voice Shall pause in, hushed and slow,

And find some knowledge a t each pause, Or some new thing to know."

(Alas! We two, we two, thou say'st ! Yea, one wast thou with me

That once of old. But shall God lift T o endless unity 100

The soul whose likeness with thy soul Was but its love for thee?)

"We two," she said, "will seek the groves Where the lady Mary is,

With her five handmaidens, whose names Are five sweet symphonies,

Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen, Margaret and Rosalys.

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THE BLESSED DAMOZEL 391

"Circlewise sit they, with bound locks And foreheads garlanded ; 110

Into the fine cloth white like flame Weaving the golden thread,

T o fashion the birth-robes for them Who are just born, being dead.

"He shall fear, haply, and be dumb: Then will I lay my cheek

T o his, and tell about our love, Not once abashed or weak:

And therdear Mother will approve My pride, and let me speak. 120

" Herself shall bring us, hand in hand, T o Him round whom all souls

Kneel, the clear-ranged unnumbered heads Bowed with their aureoles :

And angels meeting us shall sing T o their citherns and citoles.

"There will I ask of Christ the Lord Thus much for him and me:-

Only to live as once on earth With Love, only to be,

As then awhile, for ever now, Together, I and he."

She gazed and listened and then said, Less sad of speech -than mild,-

"All this is when he comes." She ceased. The light thrilled towards her, fill'd

With angels in strong level flight. Her eyes prayed, and she smiled.

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392 ROSSETTI

(I saw her smile.) But soon their path Was vague in distant spheres: 140

And then she cast her arms along The golden barriers,

And laid her face between her hands, And wept. (I heard her tears.)

T H E - PORTRAIT.

This is her picture as she was: I t seems a thing to wonder on,

As though mine image in the glass Should tarry when myself am gone.

I gaze until she seems to stir,- Until mine eyes almost aver

That now, even now, the sweet lips part T o breathe the words of the sweet heart:-

And yet the earth is over her.

Alas! even such the thin-drawn ray 10 That makes the prison-depths more rude,-

The drip of water night and day Giving a tongue to solitude.

Yet only this, of love's whole prize, Remains; save what in mournful guise

Takes counsel with my soul alone,- Save what is secret and unknown,

Below the earth, above the skies.

In painting her I shrined her face 'Mid mystic trees, where light falls in 20

Hardly a t all; a covert place Where you might think to find a din

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THE PORTRAIT 3 93

Of doubtful talk, and a live flame Wandering, and many a shape whose name

Not itself knoweth, and old dew, And your own footsteps meeting you,

And all things going as they came.

A deep dim wood : and there she stands As in that wood that day: for so

Was the still movement of her hands 30 Bnd such the pure line's gracious flow.

And passing fair the type must seem? Unknown the presence and the dream.

'T is she: though of herself, alas ! Less than her shadow on the grass

Or than her image in the stream.

That day we met there, I and she One with the other all alone;

And we were blithe; yet memory Saddens those hours, as when the moon 40

Looks upon daylight. And with her I stooped to drink the spring-water,

Athirst where other waters sprang; And where the echo is, she sang,-

My soul another echo there.

But when that hour my soul won strength For words whose silence wastes and kills,

Dull raindrops smote us, and a t length Thundered the heat within the hills.

That eve I spoke those words again Beside the pelted window-pane;

And there she harkened what I said, With under-glances that surveyed

The empty pastures blind with rain.

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394 ROSSETTI

Next day the memories of these things, Like leaves through which a bird has flown,

Still vibrated with Love's warm wings; Till I must make them all my own

And paint this picture. So, 'twixt ease Of talk and sweet long silences, 60

She stood among the plants in bloom At windows of a summer room,

T o feign the shadow of the trees.

And as I wrought, while all above 'And all around was fragrant air,

In the sick burthen of my love I t seemed each sun-thrilled blossom there

Beat like a heart .among the leaves. 0 heart that never beats nor heaves,

In that one darkness lying still, 70 What now to thee my love's great will,

Or the fine web the sunshine weaves?

For now doth daylight disavow Those days,-nought left to see or hear.

Only in solemn whispers now At night-time these things reach mine ear,

When the leaf-shadows a t a breath Shrink in the road, and all the heath,

Forest and water, far and wide, In limpid starlight glorified, 80

Lie like the mystery of death.

Last night a t last I could have slept, And yet delayed my sleep till dawn,

Still wandering. Then i t was I wept: For unawares I came upon

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RIDING TOGETHER 395

Those glades where once she walked with me: And as I stood there suddenly,

All wan with traversing the night, Upon the desolate verge of light

Yearned loud the iron-bosomed sea. 90

Even so, where Heaven holds breath and hears The beating heart of Love's own breast,-

Where round the secret of all spheres All angels lay their wings to rest,- ,

How shall my soul stand rapt and awed, When, by the new birth borne abroad

Throughout the music of the suns, I t enters in her soul a t once

And knows the silence there for God!

Here with her face doth memory sit 100 Meanwhile, and wait the day's decline,

Till other eyes shall look from it, Eyes of the spirit's Palestine,

Even than the old gaze tenderer: While hopes and aims long lost with her

Stand round her image side by side, Like tombs of pilgrims that have died

About the Holy Sepulchre.

WILLIAM MORRIS

RIDING TOGETHER.

For many, many days together The wind blew steady from the East;

For many days hot grew the weather, About the time of our Lady's Feast.

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396 WILLIAM MORRIS

For many days we rode together, Yet met we neither friend nor fae;

Hotter and clearer grew the weather, Steadily did the East wind blow.

We saw the trees in the hot, bright weather, Clear-cut, with shadows very black, 10

As freely we rode on together With helms unlaced and bridles slack.

And often as we rode together, We, looking down the green-bank'd stream,

Saw flowers in the sunny weather, And saw the bubble-making bream.

And in the night lay down together, And hung above our head the rood,

Or watch'd night-long in the dewy weather, The while the moon did watch the wood. 20

Our spears stood bright and thick together, Straight out the banners stream'd behind,

As we gallop'd on in the sunny weather, With faces turn'd towards the wind.

Down sank our threescore spears together, As thick we saw the pagans ride;

His eager face in the clear fresh weather, Shone out that last time by my side.

Up the sweep of the bridge we dash'd together, I t rock'd to the crash of the meeting spears, 30

Down rain'd the buds of the dear spring weather, The elm-tree flowers fell like tears.

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THE EVE OF CRECY 397

There, as we roll'd and writhed together, I threw my arms above my head,

For close by my side, in the lovely weather, I saw him reel and fall back dead.

I and the slayer met together, He waited the death-stroke there in his place,

With thoughts of death, in the lovely weather, Gapingly mazed a t my madden'd face. 40

Madly I fought as we fought together; In vain: the little Christian band

The pagans drown'd, as in stormy weather, The river drowns low-lying land.

They bound my blood-stain'd hands together, They bound his corpse to nod by my side:

Then on we rode, in the bright March weather, With clash of cymbals did we ride.

We ride no more, no more together; My prison-bars are thick and strong, 50

I take no heed of any weather, The sweet Saints grant I live not long.

T H E EVE OF CRECY.

Gold on her head, and gold on her feet, And gold where the hems of her kirtle meet, And a golden girdle round my sweet;

Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.

Margaret's maids are fair to see, Freshly dress'd and pleasantly; Margaret's hair falls down to her knee;

Ah! pu'elle est belle La Marguerite.

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398 WILLIAM MORRIS

If I were rich I would kiss her feet; I would kiss the place where the gold hems meet, And the golden kirtle round my sweet: 11

Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.

Ah me ! I have never touch'd her hand ; When the arricre-ban goes through the land, Six basnets under my pennon stand;

Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.

And many an one grins under his hood: Sir Lambert du Bois, with all his men good, Has neither food nor firewood;

Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite. 20

If I were rich I would kiss her feet, And the golden girdle of my sweet, And thereabouts where the gold hems meet;

Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.

Yet even now i t is good to think, While my few poor varlets grumble and drink In my desolate hall, where the fires sink,-

Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite,-

Of Margaret sitting glorious there, In glory of gold and glory of hair, 30 And glory of glorious face most fair;

Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.

Likewise to-night I make good cheer, Because this battle draweth near: For what have I to lose or fear?

Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.

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J U N E 399

For, look you, my horse is good to prance A right fair measure in this war-dance, Before the eyes of Philip of France; - Ah! gu'elle est belle La Marguerite. 40

And sometime i t may hap, perdie, While my new towers stand up three and three, And my hall gets painted fair to see-

Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite-

That folks may say: Times change, by the rood, For Lambert, banneret of the wood, Has heaps of food and firewood ;

Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.

And wonderful eyes, too, under the hood Of a damsel of right noble blood. 50 St. Ives, for Lambert of the Wood!

Ah! gu'elle est belle La Marguerite.

JUNE.

O June, O June, that we desired so, Wilt thou not make us happy on this day? Across the river thy soft breezes blow Sweet with the scent of beanfields far away, Above our heads rustle the aspens gray, Calm is the sky with harmless clouds beset, No thought of storm the morning vexes yet.

See, we have left our hopes and fears behind T o give our very hearts up unto thee; What better place than this then could we find10 By this sweet stream that knows not of the sea, That guesses not the city's misery, This little stream whose hamlets scarce have

names. This far-off, lonely mother of the Thames?

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400 WILLIAM MORRIS

Here then, 0 June, thy kindness will we take; And if indeed but pensive men we seem, What should we do? thou would'st not have us wake From out the arms of this rare happy dream And wish to leave the murmur of the stream, The rustling boughs, the twitter of the birds, 20 And all thy thousand peaceful happy words.

PROLOGUE TO T H E EARTHLY PARADISE.

Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing, I cannot ease the burden of your fears, Or make quick-coming death a little thing, Or bring again the pleasure of past years, Nor for my words shall ye forget your tears, Or hope again for aught that I can say, The idle singer of an empty day.

But rather, when aweary of your mirth, From full hearts still unsatisfied ye sigh, And, feeling kindly unto all the earth, 10 Grudge every minute as i t passes by, Made the more mindful that the sweet days die- --Remember me a little then I pray, The idle singer of an empty day.

The heavy trouble, the bewildering care That weighs us down who live and earn our bread, These idle verses have no power to bear; So let me sing of names rememberi.d, Because they, living not, can ne'er be dead, Or long time take their memory quite away 20 From us poor singers of an empty day.

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Dreamer of dreams, born out of my due time, Why should I strive to set the crooked straight? Let i t suffice me that my murmuring rhyme Beats with light wing against the ivory gate, Telling a tale not too importunate To those who in the sleepy region stay, Lulled by the singer of an empty day.

Folk say, a wizard to a northern king At Christmas-tide such wondrous things did show, 30 That through one window men beheld the spring, And through another saw the summer glow, And through a third the fruited vines a-row, While still, unheard, but in its wonted way, Piped the drear wind of that December day.

So with this Earthly Paradise i t is, If ye will read aright, and pardon me, Who strive to build a shadowy isle of bliss Midmost the beating of the steely sea, Where tossed about all hearts of men must be; 40 Whose ravening monsters mighty men shall slay, Not the poor singer of an empty day.

ATALANTA'S RACE. - Through thick Arcadian woods a hunter went, Following the beasts upon a fresh spring day; But since his horn-tipped bow but seldom bent, Now a t the noontide nought had happed to slay, Within a vale he called his hounds away, Hearkening the echoes of his lone voice cling About the cliffs and through the beech-trees ring.

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402 WILLIAM MORRIS

But when they ended, still awhile he stood, And but the sweet familiar thrush could hear, And all the day-long noises of the wood, 10 And o'er the dry leaves of the vanished year His hounds' feet pattering as they drew anear, And heavy breathing from their heads low hung, T o see the mighty cornel bow unstrung.

Then smiling did he turn to leave the place, But with his first step some new fleeting thought A shadow cast across his sun-burnt face; I think the golden net that April brought From some warm world his wavering soul had caught; For, sunk in vague sweet longing, did he go 20 Betwixt the trees with doubtful steps and slow.

Yet howsoever slow he went, a t last The trees grew sparser, and the wood was done; Whereon one farewell backward look he cast, Then, turning round to see what place was won, With shaded eyes looked underneath the sun, And o'er green meads and new-turned furrows brown Beheld the gleaming of King Schceneus' town.

So thitherward he turned, and on each side The folk were busy on the teeming land, 30 And man and maid from the brown furrows cried, Or midst the.newly blossomed vines did stand, And as the rustic weapon pressed the hand Thought of the nodding of the well-filled ear, Or how the knife the heavy bunch should shear.

Merry it was: about him sung the birds, The spring flowers bloomed along the firm dry road, The sleek-skinned mothers of the sharp-horned herds Now for the barefoot milking-maidens lowed ;

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While from the freshness of his blue abode, 40 Glad his death-bearing arrows to forget, The broad sun blazed, nor scattered plagues as yet.

Through such fair things unto the gates he came, And found them open, as though peace were there ; Wherethrough, unquestioned of his race or name, He entered, and along the streets 'gan fare, Which a t the first of folk were well-nigh bare; But pressing on, and going more hastily, Men hurrying too he 'gan a t last to see.

Following the last of these he still pressed on, 50 Until an open space he came unto, Where wreaths of fame had oft been lost and won, For feats of strength folks there were wont to do. And now our hunter looked for something new, Because the whole wide space was bare, and stilled The high seats were, with eager people filled.

There with the others to a seat he gat, Whence he beheld a broidered canopy, 'Neath which in fair array King Schceneus sat Upon his throne with councillors thereby; 60 And underneath his well-wrought seat and high, He saw a golden image of the sun, A silver image of the Fleet-foot One.

A brazen altar stood beneath their feet Whereon a thin flame flicker'd in the wind; Nigh this a herald clad in raiment meet Made ready even now his horn to wind, By whom a huge man held a sword, entwin'd With yellow flowers; these stood a little space From off the altar, nigh the starting place. 70

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404 WILLIAM MORRIS

And there two runners did the sign abide, Foot set to foot,-a young man slim and fair, Crisp-hair'd, well knit, with firm limbs often tried In places where no man his strength may spare: Dainty his thin coat was, and on his hair A golden circlet of renown he wore, And in his hand an olive garland bore.

But on this day with whom shall he contend? A maid stood by him like Diana clad When in the woods she lists her bow to bend, 80 Too fair for one to look on and be glad, Who scarcely yet has thirty summers had, If he must still behold her from afar; Too fair to let the world live free from war.

She seem'd all earthly matters to forget; Of all tormenting lines her face was clear; Her wide gray eyes upon the goal were set Calm and unmov'd as though no soul were near. But her foe trembled as a man in fear, Nor from her loveliness one moment turn'd 90 His anxious face with fierce desire that burn'd.

Now through the hush there broke the trumpet's clang Just as the setting sun made eventide. Then from light feet a spurt of dust there sprang, And swiftly were they running side by side; But silent did the thronging folk abide Until the turning-post was reach'd a t last, And round about i t still abreast they passed.

But when the people saw how close they ran, When half-way to the starting-point they were, 100 A cry of joy broke forth, whereat the man Headed the white-foot runner, and drew near

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Unto the very end of all his fear; And scarce his straining feet the ground could-feel, And bliss unhop'd for o'er his heart 'gan steal.

But 'midst the loud victorious shouts he heard Her footsteps drawing nearer, and the sound Of fluttering raiment, and thereat afeard His flush'd and eager face he turn'd around, And even then he felt her past him bound 110 Fleet as the wind, but scarcely saw her there Till on the goal she laid her fingers fair.

There stood she breathing like a little child Amid some warlike clamour laid asleep, For no victorious joy her red lips smil'd, Her cheek its wonted freshness did but keep; No glance lit up her clear gray eyes and deep, Though some divine thought soften'd all her face As once more rang the trumpet through the place.

But her late foe stopp'd short amidst his course, 120 One moment gaz'd upon her piteously. Then with a groan his lingering feet did force T o leave the spot whence he her eyes could see; And, changed like one who knows his time must be But short and bitter, without any word He knelt before the bearer of the sword;

Then high rose up the gleaming deadly blade, Bar'd of its flowers, and through the crowded place Was silence now, and midst of it the maid Went by the poor wretch a t a gentle pace, 130 And he to hers upturn'd his sad white face; Nor did his eyes behold another sight Ere on his soul there fell eternal light. 27

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406 WILLIAM MORRIS

So was the pageant ended, and all folk Talking of this and that familiar thing In little groups from that sad concourse broke, For now the shrill bats were upon the wing, And soon dark night would slay the evening, And in dark gardens sang the nightingale Her little-heeded, oft-repeated tale. 140

And with the last of all the hunter went, Who, wondering a t the strange sight he had seen, Prayed an old man to tell him what it meant, Both why the vanquished man so slain had been, And if the maiden were an earthly queen, Or rather what much more she seemed to be, No sharer in this world's mortality.

"Stranger," said he, " I pray she soon may die Whose lovely youth has slain so many an one ! King Schmneus' daughter is she verily, 150 Who when her eyes first looked upon the sun Was fain to end her life but new begun, For he had vowed to leave but men alone Sprung from his loins when he from earth was gone.

"Therefore he bade one leave her in the wood, And let wild things deal with her as they might, But this being done, some cruel god thought good T o save her beauty in the world's despite; Folk say that her, so delicate and white As now she is, a rough root-grubbing bear 160 Amidst her shapeless cubs a t first did rear.

" In course of time the woodfolk slew her nurse, And to their rude abode the youngling brought, And reared her up to be a kingdom's curse; Who grown a woman, of no kingdom thought,

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But armed and swift, 'mid beasts destruction wrought, Nor spared two shaggy centaur kings to slay T o whom her body seemed an easy prey.

"So to this city, led by fate, she came Whom known by signs, whereof I cannot tell, 170 King Schceneus for his child a t last did claim. Nor otherwhere since that day doth she dwell Sending too many a noble soul to hell- What ! thine eyes glisten ! what then, thinkest thou Her shining head unto the yoke to bow?

"Listen, my son, and love some other maid For she the saffron gown will never wear, And on no flower-strewn couch shall she be laid, Nor shall her voice make glad a lover's ear: Yet if of Death thou hast not any fear, 180 Yea, rather, if thou lov'st her utterly, Thou still may'st woo her ere thou com'st to die,

"Like him that on this day thou sawest lie dead; For fearing as I deem the sea-born one, The maid has vowed e'en such a man to wed As in the course her swift feet can outrun, But whoso fails herein, his days are done: He came the nighest that was slain to-day, Although with him I deem she did but play.

"Behold, such mercy Atalanta gives 190 T o those that long to win her loveliness; Be wise! be sure that many a maid there lives Gentler than she, of beauty little less, Whose swimming eyes thy loving words shall bless, When in some garden, knee set close to knee, Thou sing'st the song that love may teach to thee."

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408 WILLIAM MORRIS

So to the hunter spake that ancient man, And left him for his own home presently: But he turned round, and through the moonlight wan Reached the thick wood, and there 'twixt tree and

tree 200 Distraught he passed the long night feverishly, 'Twixt sleep and waking, and a t dawn arose T o wage hot war against his speechless foes.

There to the hart's flank seemed his shaft to grow, As panting down the broad green glades he flew, There by his horn the Dryads well might know His thrust against the bear's heart had been true, And there Adonis' bane his javelin slew, But still in vain through rough and smooth he went, For none the more his restlessness was spent. 210

Sb wandering, he to Argive cities came, And in the lists with valiant men he stood, And by great deeds he won him praise and fame, And heaps of wealth for little-valued blood; But none of all these things, or life, seemed good Unto his heart, where still unsatisfied A ravenous longing warred with fear and pride.

Therefore i t happed when but a month had gone Since he had left King Schceneus' city old, In hunting-gear again, again alone 220 The forest-bordered meads did he behold, Where still mid thoughts of August's quivering gold Folk hoed the wheat, and clipped the vine in trust Of faint October's purple-foaming must.

And once again he passed the peaceful gate, While to his beating heart his lips did lie, That owning not victorious love and fate, Said, half aloud, "And here too must I try,

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To win of alien men the mastery, And gather for my head fresh meed of fame 230 And cast new glory on my father's name."

In spite of that, how beat his heart, when first Folk said to him, "And ar t thou come to see That which still makes our city's name accurst Among all mothers for its cruelty? Then know indeed that fate is good to thee Because to-morrow a new luckless one Against the white-foot maid is pledged to run."

So on the morrow with no curious eyes 4s once he did, that piteous sight he saw, 240 Nor did that wonder in his heart arise As toward the goal the conquering maid 'gan draw, Nor did he gaze upon her eyes with awe, Too full the pain of longing filled his heart For fear or wonder there to have a part.

But 0, how long the night was ere i t went! How long i t was before the dawn begun Showed to the wakening birds the sun's intent That not in darkness should the world be done! And then, and then, how long before the sun 250 Bade silently the toilers of the earth Get forth to fruitless cares or empty mirth!

And long i t seemed that in the market-place He stood and saw the chaffering folk go by, Ere from the ivory throne King Scheneus' face Looked down upon the murmur royally, But then came trembling that the time was nigh When he midst pitying looks his love must claim, And jeering voices must salute his name.

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410 WILLIAM MORRIS

But as the throng he pierced to gain the throne, 260 His alien face distraught and anxious told What hopeless errand he was bound upon, And, each to each, folk whispered to behold His godlike limbs; nay, and one woman old As he went by must pluck him by the sleeve And pray him yet that wretched love to leave.

For sidling up she said, " Canst thou live twice, Fair son? canst thou have joyful youth again, That thus thou goest to the sacrifice Thyself the victim? nay then, all in vain 270 Thy mother bore her longing and her pain, And one more maiden on the earth must dwell Hopeless of joy, nor fearing death and hell.

"0, fool, thou knowest not the compact then That with the three-formed goddess she has made T o keep her from the loving lips of men, And in no saffron gown to be arrayed, And therewithal with glory to be paid, And love of her the moonlit river sees White 'gainst the shadow of the formless trees. 280

"Come back, and I myself will pray for thee Unto the sea-born framer of delights, T o give thee her who on the earth may be The fairest stirrer up to death and fights, T o quench with hopeful days and joyous nights The flame that doth thy youthful heart consume: Come back, nor give thy beauty to the tomb."

How should he listen to her earnest speech? Words, such as he not once or twice had said Unto himself, whose meaning scarce could reach" 290 The firm abode of that sad hardihead-

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He turned about, and through the marketstead Stviftly he passed, until before the throne In the cleared space he stood a t last alone.

Then said the King, "Stranger, what dost thou here? Have any of my folk done ill to thee? Or ar t thou of the forest men in fear? Or ar t thou of the sad fraternity Who still will strive my daughter's mates to be, Staking their lives to win an earthly bliss, 300 The lonely maid, the friend of Artemis?"

"0 King," he said, "thou sayest the word indeed ; Nor will I quit the strife till I have won M y sweet delight, or death to end my need. And know that I am called Milanion, Of King Amphidamas the well-loved son : So fear not that to thy old name, 0 King, Much loss or shame my victory will bring."

"Nay, Prince," said Schoeneus, "welcome to this land Thou wert indeed, if thou wert here to try 310 Thy strength 'gainst some one mighty of his hand; Nor would we grudge thee well-won mastery. But now, why wilt thou come to me to die, And a t my door lay down thy luckless head, Swelling the band of the unhappy dead,

"Whose curses even now my heart doth fear? . Lo, I am old, and know what life can be, And what a bitter thing is death anear. 0, Son! be wise, and harken unto me, And if no other can be dear to thee, 320 At least as now, yet is the world full wide, And bliss in seeming hopeless hearts may hide:

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412 WILLIAM MORRIS

"But if thou losest life, then all is lost." "Nay, King," Milanion said, " thy words are vain. Doubt not that I have counted well the cost. But say, on what day wilt thou that I gain Fulfilled delight, or death to end my pain. Right glad were I if i t could be to-day, And all my doubts a t rest for ever lay."

"Nay," said King Scheneus, "thus it shall not be, 330 But rather shalt thou let a month go by, And weary with thy prayers for victory What god thou know'st the kindest and most nigh. So doing, still perchance thou shalt not die: And with my goodwill wouldst thou have the maid, For of the equal gods I grow afraid.

"And until then, 0 Prince, be thou my guest, . And all these troublous things awhile forget." "Nay," said he, "couldst thou give my soul good rest, And on mine head a sleepy garland set, 340 Then had I 'scaped the meshes of the net, Nor should thou hear from me another word; But now, make sharp thy fearful heading-sword.

"Yet will I do what son of man may do, And promise all the gods may most desire, That t o myself I may a t least be true; And on that day my heart and limbs so tire, With utmost strain and measureless desire, That , a t the worst, I may but fall asleep When in the sunlight round that sword shall

sweep. " 350 .

He went therewith, nor anywhere would bide, But unto Argos restlessly did wend; And there, as one who lays all hope aside, Because the leech has said his life must end,

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Silent farewell he bade to foe and friend, And took his way unto the restless sea, For there he deemed his rest and help might be.

Upon the shore of Argolis there stands A temple to the goddess that he sought, That , turned unto the lion-bearing lands, 360 Fenced from the east, of cold winds hath no thought, Though to no homestead there the sheaves are brought, No groaning press torments the close-clipped murk, Lonely the fane stands, far from all men's work.

Pass through a close, set thick with myrtle-trees, Through the brass doors tha t guard the holy place, And entering, hear the washing of the seas That twice a-day rise high above the base, And with the south-west urging them, embrace The marble feet of her that standeth there 370 That shrink not, naked though they be and fair.

Small is the fane through which the sea-wind sings About Queen Venus' well-wrought image white, But hung around are many precious things, The gifts of those who, longing for delight, Have hung them there within the goddess' sight, And in return have taken a t her hands The living treasures of the Grecian lands.

And thither now has come Milanion, And showed unto the priests' wide open eyes 380 Gifts fairer than all those that there have shone, Silk cloths, inwrought with Indian fantasies, And bowls inscribed with sayings of the wise Above the deeds of foolish living things; And mirrors fit to be the gifts of kings.

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414 WILLIAM MORRIS

And now before the Sea-born One he stands, By the sweet veiling smoke made dim and soft, And while the incense trickles from his hands, And while the odorous smoke-wreaths hang aloft, Thus doth he pray to her: "0 Thou, who oft 390 Hast holpen man and maid in their distress Despise me not for this my wretchedness!

" 0 goddess, among us who dwelt below, Kings and great men, great for a little while, Have pity on the lowly heads that bow, Nor hate the hearts that love them without guile; Wilt thou be worse than these, and is thy smile A vain device of him who set thee here, An empty dream of some artificer?

I ' 0 great one, some men love, and are ashamed ; 400 Some men are weary of the bonds of love; Yea, and by some men lightly ar t thou blamed, That from thy toils their lives they cannot move, And 'mid the ranks of men their manhood prove. Alas! 0 goddess, if thou slayest me, What new immortal can I serve but thee?

"Think then, will'it bring honour to thy head If folk say, 'Everything aside he cast And to all fame and honour was he dead, And to his one hope now is dead a t last, 410 Since all unholpen he is gone and past; Ah, the gods love not man, for certainly, He to his helper did not cease to cry.'

"Nay, but thou wilt help; they who died before Not single-hearted as I deem came here, Therefore unthanked they laid their gifts before Thy stainless feet. still shivering with their fear,

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Lest in their eyes their true thought might appear, Who sought to be the lords of that fair town, Dreaded of men and winners of renown. 420

"0 Queen, thou knowest I pray not for this: 0 set us down together in some place Where not a voice can break our heaven of bliss, Where nought but rocks and I can see her face, Softening beneath the marvel of thy grace, Where not a foot our vanished steps can track- The golden age, the golden age come back!

"0 fairest, hear me now who do thy will, Plead for thy rebel that she be not slain, But live and love and be thy servant still; 430 Ah, give her joy and take away my pain, And thus two long-enduring servants gain. An easy thing this is t o do for me, What need of my vain words to weary thee.

" But none the less, this place will I not leave Until I needs must go my death to meet, Or a t thy hands some happy sign receive That in great joy we twain may one day greet Thy presence here and kiss thy silver feet, Such as we deem thee, fair beyond all words, 440 Victorious o'er our servants and our lords."

Then from the altar back a space he drew, But from the Queen turned not his face away, But 'gainst a pillar leaned, until the blue That arched the sky, a t ending of the day, Was turned to ruddy gold and changing gray, And clear, but low, the nigh-ebbed windless sea In the still evening murmured ceaselessly.

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416 WILLIAM MORRIS

And there he stood when all the sun was down, Nor had he moved, when the dim golden light, 450 Like the fair lustre of a godlike town, Had left the world to seeming hopeless night, Nor would he move the more when wan moonlight Streamed through the pillows for a little while, And lighted up the white Queen's changeless smile.

Nought noted he the shallow-flowing sea As step by step i t set the wrack a-swim; The yellow torchlight nothing noted he Wherein with fluttering gown and half-bared limb The temple damsels sung their midnight hymn; 460 And nought the doubled stillness of the fane When they were gone and all was hushed again.

But when the waves had touched the marble base, And steps the fish swim over twice a-day, The dawn beheld him sunken in his place Upon the floor; and sleeping there he lay, Not heeding aught the little jets of spray The roughened sea brought nigh, across him cast, For as one dead all thought from him had passed.

Yet long before the sun had showed his head, 470 Long ere the varied hangings on the wall Had gained once more their blue and green and red, He rose as one some well-known sign doth call When war upon the city's gates doth fall, And scarce like one fresh risen out of sleep, He 'gan again his broken watch to keep.

Then he turned round; not for the sea-gull's cry That wheeled above the temple in his flight, Not for the fresh south wind that lovingly Breathed on the new-born day and dying night, 480

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But some strange hope 'twixt fear and great delight Drew round his face, now flushed, now pale and wan, And still constrained his eyes the sea to scan.

Now a faint light lit up the southern sky, Not sun or moon, for all the world was gray, But this a bright cloud seemed, that drew anigh, Lighting the dull waves that beneath it lay As toward the temple still it took its way, And still grew greater, till Milanion Saw nought for dazzling light that round him

shone. 490

But as he staggered with his arms outspread, Delicious unnamed odours breathed around, For languid happiness he bowed his head, And with wet eyes sank down upon the ground, Nor wished for aught, nor any dream he found T o give him reason for that happiness, Or make him ask more knowledge of his bliss.

At last his eyes were cleared, and he could see Through happy tears the goddess face to face With that faint image of Divinity, 500 Whose well-wrought smile and dainty changeless

grace Until that morn so gladdened all the place; Then, he unwittingwcried aloud her name And covered up his eyes for fear and shame.

But through the stillness he her voice could hear Piercing his heart with joy scarce bearable, That said, "Milanion, wherefore dost thou fear, I am not hard to those who love me well; List to what I a second time will tell, And thou mayest hear perchance, and live to save 510 The cruel maiden from a loveless grave.

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418 WILLIAM MORRIS

"See, by my feet three golden apples lie- Such fruit among the hcavy roses falls, Such fruit my watchful damsels carefully Store up within the best loved of my walls, Ancient Damascus, where the lover calls Above my unseen head, and faint and light The rose-leaves flutter round me in the night.

"And note, that these are not alone most fair With heavenly gold, but longing strange they bring Unto the hearts of men, who will not care 521 Beholding these, for any once-loved thing Till round the shining sides their fingers cling. And thou shalt see thy well-girt swift-foot maid By sight of these amidst her glory stayed.

"For bearing these within a scrip with thee, When first she heads thee from the starting-place Cast down the first one for her eyes to see, And when she turns aside make on apace, And if again she heads thee in the race 530 Spare not the other two to cast aside If she not long enough behind will bide.

"Farewell, and when has come the happy time That she Diana's raiment must unbind And all the world seems blessed with Saturn's clime, And thou with eager arms about her twined Beholdest first her gray eyes growing kind, , Surely, 0 trembler, thou shalt scarcely then Forget the Helper of unhappy men."

Milanion raised his head a t this last word 540 For now sosoft and kind she seemed to be No longer of her Godhead was he feared; Too late he looked; for nothing could he see

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But the white image glimmering doubtfully In the departing twilight cold and gray, And those three apples on the step that lay.

These then he caught up quivering with delight, Yet fearful lest it all might be a dream; And though aweary with the watchful night, And sleepless nights of longing, still did deem 550 He could not sleep; but yet the first sunbeam That smote the fane across the heaving deep Shone on him laid in calm, untroubled sleep.

But little ere the noontide did he rise, And why he felt so happy scarce could tell Until the gleaming apples met his eyes. Then leaving the fair place where this befell Oft he looked back as one who loved i t well, Then homeward to the haunts of men, 'gan wend T o bring all things unto a happy end. 560

Now has the lingering month a t last gone by, Again are all folk round the running place, Nor other seems the dismal pageantry Than heretofore, but that another face Looks o'er the smooth course ready for the race, For now, beheld of all, Milanion Stands on the spot he twice has looked upon.

But yet-what change is this that holds the maid? Does she indeed see in his glittering eye More than disdain of the sharp shearing blade, 570 Some happy hope of help and victory? The others seem'd to say, "We come to die; Look down upon us for a little while, That , dead, we may bethink us of thy smile."

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420 WILLIAM MORRIS

But he-what look of mastery was this He cast on her? why were his lips so red; Why was his face so Aush'd with happiness? So looks not one who deems himself but dead, E'en if t o death he bows a willing head; So rather looks a god well pleas'd to find 580 Some earthly damsel fashion'd t o his mind.

Why must she drop her lids before his gaze, And even as she casts adown her eyes Redden to note his eager glance of praise, And wish that she were clad in other guise? Why must the memory to her heart arise Of things unnoticed when they first were heard, Some lover's song, some answering maiden's word?

What makes these longings, vague-without a name, And this vain pity never felt before, 590 This sudden languor, this contempt of fame, This tender sorrow for the time past o'er, These doubts that grow each minute more and more? Why does she tremble as the time grows near, And weak defeat and woeful victory fear?

But while she seem'd to hear her beating heart, Above their heads the trumpet blast rang out And forth they sprang, and she must play her part; Then flew her white feet, knowing not a doubt, Though, slackening once, she turn'd her head about, But then she cried aloud and faster fled 601 Than e'er before, and all men deemed him dead.

But with no sound he raised aloft his hand, And thence what seemed a ray of light there flew And past the maid rolled on along the sand; Then trembling she her feet together drew

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And in her heart a strong desire there grew T o have the toy; some god she thought had given That gift to her, to make of earth a heaven.

Then from the course with eager steps she ran, 610 And in her odorous bosom laid the gold. But when she turned again, the great-limbed man, Now well ahcad she failed not t o behold, And mindful of her glory waxing cold, Sprang up and followed him in hot pursuit, Though with one hand she touched the golden fruit.

Note, too, the bow that she was wont'to bear She laid aside to grasp the glittering prize, And o'er her shoulder from the quiver fair Three arrows fell and lay before her eyes 620 Unnoticed, as amidst the people's cries She sprang to head the strong Milanion, Who now the turning-post had well-nigh won.

But as he set his mighty hand on i t White fingers underneath his own were laid, And white limbs from his dazzled eyes did flit, Then he the second fruit cast by the maid: She ran awhile, and then as one afraid Wavered and stopped, and turned and made no stay, Until the globe with its bright fellow lay. 630

Then, as a troubled glance she cast around, Now far ahead the Argive could she see, And in her garment's hem one hand she wound T o keep the double prize, and strenuously Sped o'er the course, and little doubt had she To win the day, though now but scanty space Was left betwixt him and the winning place.

25

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422 WILLIAM MORRIS

Short was the way unto such winged feet, Quickly she gained upon him till a t last He turned about her eager eyes to meet 640 And from his hand the third fair apple cast. She wavered not, but turned and ran so fast After the prize that should her bliss fulfil, That in her hand i t lay ere it was still.

Nor did she rest, but turned about to win Once more, an unblest woeful victory- And yet-and yet-why does her breath begin T o fail her, and her feet drag heavily? Why fails she now to see if far or nigh The goal is? why do her gray eyes grow dim? 650 Why do these tremors run through every limb?

She spreads her arms abroad some stay to find Else must she fall, indeed, and findeth this, A strong man's arms about her body twined. Nor may she shudder now to feel his kiss, So wrapped she is in new unbroken bliss: Made happy that the foe the prize hath won, She weeps glad tears for all her glory done.

Shatter the trumpet, hew adown the posts! Upon the brazen altar break the sword, 660 And scatter incense to appease the ghosts Of those who died here by their own award. Bring forth the image of the mighty Lord, And her who unseen o'er the runners hung, And did a deed for ever to be sung.

Here are the gathered folk; make no delay, Open King Scheneus' well-filled treasury, Bring out the gifts long hid from light of day, The golden bowls o'erwrought with imagery,

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Gold chains, and unguents brought from over sea, The saffron gown the old Phcenician brought, 671 Within the temple of the Goddess wrought.

0 ye, 0 damsels, who shall never see Her, that Love's servant bringeth now to you, Returning from another victory, In some cool bower do all that now is due! Since she in token of her service new Shall give to Venus offerings rich enow, Her maiden zone, her arrows and her bow.