LONDON:
_February
1862_.
Elizabeth Browning - 4
You'll call back the Grand-duke?
IX.
You'll take back your Grand-duke?
My French fought nobly with reason,--
Left many a Lombardy nook
Red as with wine out of season.
Little we grudged what was done there,
Paid freely your ransom of blood:
Our heroes stark in the sun there
We would not recall if we could.
You'll call back the Grand-duke?
X.
You'll take back your Grand-duke?
His son rode fast as he got off
That day on the enemy's hook,
When _I_ had an epaulette shot off.
Though splashed (as I saw him afar--no
Near) by those ghastly rains,
The mark, when you've washed him in Arno,
Will scarcely be larger than Cain's.
You'll call back the Grand-duke?
XI.
You'll take back your Grand-duke?
'T will be so simple, quite beautiful:
The shepherd recovers his crook,
. . . If you should be sheep, and dutiful.
I spoke a word worth chalking
On Milan's wall--but stay,
Here's Poniatowsky talking,--
You'll listen to _him_ to-day,
And call back the Grand-duke.
XII.
You'll take back your Grand-duke?
Observe, there's no one to force it,--
Unless the Madonna, Saint Luke
Drew for you, choose to endorse it.
_I_ charge you, by great Saint Martino
And prodigies quickened by wrong,
Remember your Dead on Ticino;
Be worthy, be constant, be strong--
Bah! --call back the Grand-duke! !
FOOTNOTES:
[14] The Italian tricolor: red, green, and white.
CHRISTMAS GIFTS.
~hôs basilei, hôs theps, hôs nekrps. ~
GREGORY NAZIANZEN.
I.
The Pope on Christmas Day
Sits in Saint Peter's chair;
But the peoples murmur and say
"Our souls are sick and forlorn,
And who will show us where
Is the stable where Christ was born? "
II.
The star is lost in the dark;
The manger is lost in the straw;
The Christ cries faintly . . . hark! . . .
Through bands that swaddle and strangle--
But the Pope in the chair of awe
Looks down the great quadrangle.
III.
The Magi kneel at his foot,
Kings of the East and West,
But, instead of the angels (mute
Is the "Peace on earth" of their song),
The peoples, perplexed and opprest,
Are sighing "How long, how long? "
IV.
And, instead of the kine, bewilder in
Shadow of aisle and dome,
The bear who tore up the children,
The fox who burnt up the corn,
And the wolf who suckled at Rome
Brothers to slay and to scorn.
V.
Cardinals left and right of him,
Worshippers round and beneath,
The silver trumpets at sight of him
Thrill with a musical blast:
But the people say through their teeth,
"Trumpets? we wait for the Last! "
VI.
He sits in the place of the Lord,
And asks for the gifts of the time;
Gold, for the haft of a sword
To win back Romagna averse,
Incense, to sweeten a crime,
And myrrh, to embitter a curse.
VII.
Then a king of the West said "Good! --
I bring thee the gifts of the time;
Red, for the patriot's blood,
Green, for the martyr's crown,
White, for the dew and the rime,
When the morning of God comes down. "
VIII.
--O mystic tricolor bright!
The Pope's heart quailed like a man's;
The cardinals froze at the sight,
Bowing their tonsures hoary:
And the eyes in the peacock-fans
Winked at the alien glory.
IX.
But the peoples exclaimed in hope,
"Now blessed be he who has brought
These gifts of the time to the Pope,
When our souls were sick and forlorn.
--And _here_ is the star we sought,
To show us where Christ was born! "
ITALY AND THE WORLD.
I.
Florence, Bologna, Parma, Modena:
When you named them a year ago,
So many graves reserved by God, in a
Day of Judgment, you seemed to know,
To open and let out the resurrection.
II.
And meantime (you made your reflection
If you were English), was nought to be done
But sorting sables, in predilection
For all those martyrs dead and gone,
Till the new earth and heaven made ready.
III.
And if your politics were not heady,
Violent, . . . "Good," you added, "good
In all things! Mourn on sure and steady.
Churchyard thistles are wholesome food
For our European wandering asses.
IV.
"The date of the resurrection passes
Human foreknowledge: men unborn
Will gain by it (even in the lower classes),
But none of these. It is not the morn
Because the cock of France is crowing.
V.
"Cocks crow at midnight, seldom knowing
Starlight from dawn-light! 't is a mad
Poor creature. " Here you paused, and growing
Scornful,--suddenly, let us add,
The trumpet sounded, the graves were open.
VI.
Life and life and life! agrope in
The dusk of death, warm hands, stretched out
For swords, proved more life still to hope in,
Beyond and behind. Arise with a shout,
Nation of Italy, slain and buried!
VII.
Hill to hill and turret to turret
Flashing the tricolor,--newly created
Beautiful Italy, calm, unhurried,
Rise heroic and renovated,
Rise to the final restitution.
VIII.
Rise; prefigure the grand solution
Of earth's municipal, insular schisms,--
Statesmen draping self-love's conclusion
In cheap vernacular patriotisms,
Unable to give up Judæa for Jesus.
IX.
Bring us the higher example; release us
Into the larger coming time:
And into Christ's broad garment piece us
Rags of virtue as poor as crime,
National selfishness, civic vaunting.
X.
No more Jew nor Greek then,--taunting
Nor taunted;--no more England nor France!
But one confederate brotherhood planting
One flag only, to mark the advance,
Onward and upward, of all humanity.
XI.
For civilization perfected
Is fully developed Christianity.
"Measure the frontier," shall it be said,
"Count the ships," in national vanity?
--Count the nation's heart-beats sooner.
XII.
For, though behind by a cannon or schooner,
That nation still is predominant
Whose pulse beats quickest in zeal to oppugn or
Succour another, in wrong or want,
Passing the frontier in love and abhorrence.
XIII.
Modena, Parma, Bologna, Florence,
Open us out the wider way!
Dwarf in that chapel of old Saint Lawrence
Your Michel Angelo's giant Day,
With the grandeur of this Day breaking o'er us!
XIV.
Ye who, restrained as an ancient chorus,
Mute while the coryphæus spake,
Hush your separate voices before us,
Sink your separate lives for the sake
Of one sole Italy's living for ever!
XV.
Givers of coat and cloak too,--never
Grudging that purple of yours at the best,
By your heroic will and endeavour
Each sublimely dispossessed,
That all may inherit what each surrenders!
XVI.
Earth shall bless you, O noble emenders
On egotist nations! Ye shall lead
The plough of the world, and sow new splendours
Into the furrow of things for seed,--
Ever the richer for what ye have given.
XVII.
Lead us and teach us, till earth and heaven
Grow larger around us and higher above.
Our sacrament-bread has a bitter leaven;
We bait our traps with the name of love,
Till hate itself has a kinder meaning.
XVIII.
Oh, this world: this cheating and screening
Of cheats! this conscience for candle-wicks,
Not beacon-fires! this overweening
Of underhand diplomatical tricks,
Dared for the country while scorned for the counter!
XIX.
Oh, this envy of those who mount here,
And oh, this malice to make them trip!
Rather quenching the fire there, drying the fount here,
To frozen body and thirsty lip,
Than leave to a neighbour their ministration.
XX.
I cry aloud in my poet-passion,
Viewing my England o'er Alp and sea.
I loved her more in her ancient fashion:
She carries her rifles too thick for me
Who spares them so in the cause of a brother.
XXI.
Suspicion, panic? end this pother.
The sword, kept sheathless at peace-time, rusts.
None fears for himself while he feels for another:
The brave man either fights or trusts,
And wears no mail in his private chamber.
XXII.
Beautiful Italy! golden amber
Warm with the kisses of lover and traitor!
Thou who hast drawn us on to remember,
Draw us to hope now: let us be greater
By this new future than that old story.
XXIII.
Till truer glory replaces all glory,
As the torch grows blind at the dawn of day;
And the nations, rising up, their sorry
And foolish sins shall put away,
As children their toys when the teacher enters.
XXIV.
Till Love's one centre devour these centres
Of many self-loves; and the patriot's trick
To better his land by egotist ventures,
Defamed from a virtue, shall make men sick,
As the scalp at the belt of some red hero.
XXV.
For certain virtues have dropped to zero,
Left by the sun on the mountain's dewy side;
Churchman's charities, tender as Nero,
Indian suttee, heathen suicide,
Service to rights divine, proved hollow:
XXVI.
And Heptarchy patriotisms must follow.
--National voices, distinct yet dependent,
Ensphering each other, as swallow does swallow,
With circles still widening and ever ascendant,
In multiform life to united progression,--
XXVII.
These shall remain. And when, in the session
Of nations, the separate language is heard,
Each shall aspire, in sublime indiscretion,
To help with a thought or exalt with a word
Less her own than her rival's honour.
XXVIII.
Each Christian nation shall take upon her
The law of the Christian man in vast:
The crown of the getter shall fall to the donor,
And last shall be first while first shall be last,
And to love best shall still be, to reign unsurpassed.
A CURSE FOR A NATION.
PROLOGUE.
I heard an angel speak last night,
And he said "Write!
Write a Nation's curse for me,
And send it over the Western Sea. "
I faltered, taking up the word:
"Not so, my lord!
If curses must be, choose another
To send thy curse against my brother.
"For I am bound by gratitude,
By love and blood,
To brothers of mine across the sea,
Who stretch out kindly hands to me. "
"Therefore," the voice said, "shalt thou write
My curse to-night.
From the summits of love a curse is driven,
As lightning is from the tops of heaven. "
"Not so," I answered. "Evermore
My heart is sore
For my own land's sins: for little feet
Of children bleeding along the street:
"For parked-up honours that gainsay
The right of way:
For almsgiving through a door that is
Not open enough for two friends to kiss:
"For love of freedom which abates
Beyond the Straits:
For patriot virtue starved to vice on
Self-praise, self-interest, and suspicion:
"For an oligarchic parliament,
And bribes well-meant.
What curse to another land assign,
When heavy-souled for the sins of mine? "
"Therefore," the voice said, "shalt thou write
My curse to-night.
Because thou hast strength to see and hate
A foul thing done _within_ thy gate. "
"Not so," I answered once again.
"To curse, choose men.
For I, a woman, have only known
How the heart melts and the tears run down. "
"Therefore," the voice said, "shalt thou write
My curse to-night.
Some women weep and curse, I say
(And no one marvels), night and day.
"And thou shalt take their part to-night,
Weep and write.
A curse from the depths of womanhood
Is very salt, and bitter, and good. "
So thus I wrote, and mourned indeed,
What all may read.
And thus, as was enjoined on me,
I send it over the Western Sea.
THE CURSE.
I.
Because ye have broken your own chain
With the strain
Of brave men climbing a Nation's height,
Yet thence bear down with brand and thong
On souls of others,--for this wrong
This is the curse. Write.
Because yourselves are standing straight
In the state
Of Freedom's foremost acolyte,
Yet keep calm footing all the time
On writhing bond-slaves,--for this crime
This is the curse. Write.
Because ye prosper in God's name,
With a claim
To honour in the old world's sight,
Yet do the fiend's work perfectly
In strangling martyrs,--for this lie
This is the curse. Write.
II.
Ye shall watch while kings conspire
Round the people's smouldering fire,
And, warm for your part,
Shall never dare--O shame!
To utter the thought into flame
Which burns at your heart.
This is the curse. Write.
Ye shall watch while nations strive
With the bloodhounds, die or survive,
Drop faint from their jaws,
Or throttle them backward to death;
And only under your breath
Shall favour the cause.
This is the curse. Write.
Ye shall watch while strong men draw
The nets of feudal law
To strangle the weak;
And, counting the sin for a sin,
Your soul shall be sadder within
Than the word ye shall speak.
This is the curse. Write.
When good men are praying erect
That Christ may avenge his elect
And deliver the earth,
The prayer in your ears, said low,
Shall sound like the tramp of a foe
That's driving you forth.
This is the curse. Write.
When wise men give you their praise,
They shall pause in the heat of the phrase,
As if carried too far.
When ye boast your own charters kept true
Ye shall blush; for the thing which ye do
Derides what ye are.
This is the curse. Write.
When fools cast taunts at your gate,
Your scorn ye shall somewhat abate
As ye look o'er the wall;
For your conscience, tradition, and name
Explode with a deadlier blame
Than the worst of them all.
This is the curse. Write.
Go, wherever ill deeds shall be done,
Go, plant your flag in the sun
Beside the ill-doers!
And recoil from clenching the curse
Of God's witnessing Universe
With a curse of yours.
THIS is the curse. Write.
LAST POEMS
ADVERTISEMENT.
These Poems are given as they occur on a list drawn up last June. A
few had already been printed in periodicals.
There is hardly such direct warrant for publishing the Translations;
which were only intended, many years ago, to accompany and explain
certain Engravings after ancient Gems, in the projected work of a
friend, by whose kindness they are now recovered: but as two of the
original series (the "Adonis" of Bion and "Song to the Rose" from
Achilles Tatius) have subsequently appeared, it is presumed that the
remainder may not improperly follow.
A single recent version is added.
LONDON: _February 1862_.
TO "GRATEFUL FLORENCE,"
TO THE MUNICIPALITY HER REPRESENTATIVE,
AND TO TOMMASEO ITS SPOKESMAN,
MOST GRATEFULLY.
LITTLE MATTIE.
I.
Dead! Thirteen a month ago!
Short and narrow her life's walk;
Lover's love she could not know
Even by a dream or talk:
Too young to be glad of youth,
Missing honour, labour, rest,
And the warmth of a babe's mouth
At the blossom of her breast.
Must you pity her for this
And for all the loss it is,
You, her mother, with wet face,
Having had all in your case?
II.
Just so young but yesternight,
Now she is as old as death.
Meek, obedient in your sight,
Gentle to a beck or breath
Only on last Monday! Yours,
Answering you like silver bells
Lightly touched! An hour matures:
You can teach her nothing else.
She has seen the mystery hid
Under Egypt's pyramid:
By those eyelids pale and close
Now she knows what Rhamses knows.
III.
Cross her quiet hands, and smooth
Down her patient locks of silk,
Cold and passive as in truth
You your fingers in spilt milk
Drew along a marble floor;
But her lips you cannot wring
Into saying a word more,
"Yes," or "No," or such a thing:
Though you call and beg and wreak
Half your soul out in a shriek,
She will lie there in default
And most innocent revolt.
IV.
Ay, and if she spoke, maybe
She would answer, like the Son,
"What is now 'twixt thee and me? "
Dreadful answer! better none.
Yours on Monday, God's to-day!
Yours, your child, your blood, your heart,
Called . . . you called her, did you say,
"Little Mattie" for your part?
Now already it sounds strange,
And you wonder, in this change,
What He calls His angel-creature,
Higher up than you can reach her.
V.
'T was a green and easy world
As she took it; room to play
(Though one's hair might get uncurled
At the far end of the day).
What she suffered she shook off
In the sunshine; what she sinned
She could pray on high, enough
To keep safe above the wind.
If reproved by God or you,
'T was to better her, she knew;
And if crossed, she gathered still
'T was to cross out something ill.
VI.
You, you had the right, you thought,
To survey her with sweet scorn,
Poor gay child, who had not caught
Yet the octave-stretch forlorn
Of your larger wisdom! Nay,
Now your places are changed so,
In that same superior way
She regards you dull and low
As you did herself exempt
From life's sorrows. Grand contempt
Of the spirits risen awhile,
Who look back with such a smile!
VII.
There's the sting of't. That, I think,
Hurts the most a thousandfold!
To feel sudden, at a wink,
Some dear child we used to scold,
Praise, love both ways, kiss and tease,
Teach and tumble as our own,
All its curls about our knees,
Rise up suddenly full-grown.
Who could wonder such a sight
Made a woman mad outright?
Show me Michael with the sword
Rather than such angels, Lord!
A FALSE STEP.
I.
Sweet, thou hast trod on a heart.
Pass; there's a world full of men;
And women as fair as thou art
Must do such things now and then.
II.
Thou only hast stepped unaware,--
Malice, not one can impute;
And why should a heart have been there
In the way of a fair woman's foot?
III.
It was not a stone that could trip,
Nor was it a thorn that could rend:
Put up thy proud under-lip!
'T was merely the heart of a friend.
IV.
And yet peradventure one day
Thou, sitting alone at the glass,
Remarking the bloom gone away,
Where the smile in its dimplement was,
V.
And seeking around thee in vain
From hundreds who flattered before,
Such a word as "Oh, not in the main
Do I hold thee less precious, but more! ". . .
VI.
Thou'lt sigh, very like, on thy part,
"Of all I have known or can know,
I wish I had only that Heart
I trod upon ages ago! "
VOID IN LAW.
I.
Sleep, little babe, on my knee,
Sleep, for the midnight is chill,
And the moon has died out in the tree,
And the great human world goeth ill.
Sleep, for the wicked agree:
Sleep, let them do as they will.
Sleep.
II.
Sleep, thou hast drawn from my breast
The last drop of milk that was good;
And now, in a dream, suck the rest,
Lest the real should trouble thy blood.
Suck, little lips dispossessed,
As we kiss in the air whom we would.
Sleep.
III.
O lips of thy father! the same,
So like! Very deeply they swore
When he gave me his ring and his name,
To take back, I imagined, no more!
And now is all changed like a game,
Though the old cards are used as of yore?
Sleep.
IV.
"Void in law," said the Courts. Something wrong
In the forms? Yet, "Till death part us two,
I, James, take thee, Jessie," was strong,
And ONE witness competent. True
Such a marriage was worth an old song,
Heard in Heaven though, as plain as the New.
Sleep.
V.
Sleep, little child, his and mine!
Her throat has the antelope curve,
And her cheek just the colour and line
Which fade not before him nor swerve:
Yet _she_ has no child! --the divine
Seal of right upon loves that deserve.
Sleep.
VI.
My child! though the world take her part,
Saying "She was the woman to choose;
He had eyes, was a man in his heart,"--
We twain the decision refuse:
We . . . weak as I am, as thou art, . . .
Cling on to him, never to loose.
Sleep.
VII.
He thinks that, when done with this place,
All's ended? he'll new-stamp the ore?
Yes, Cæsar's--but not in our case.
Let him learn we are waiting before
The grave's mouth, the heaven's gate, God's face
With implacable love evermore.
Sleep.
VIII.
He's ours, though he kissed her but now,
He's ours, though she kissed in reply:
He's ours, though himself disavow,
And God's universe favour the lie;
Ours to claim, ours to clasp, ours below,
Ours above, . . . if we live, if we die.
Sleep.
IX.
Ah baby, my baby, too rough
Is my lullaby? What have I said?
Sleep! When I've wept long enough
I shall learn to weep softly instead,
And piece with some alien stuff
My heart to lie smooth for thy head.
Sleep.
X.
Two souls met upon thee, my sweet;
Two loves led thee out to the sun:
Alas, pretty hands, pretty feet,
If the one who remains (only one)
Set her grief at thee, turned in a heat
To thine enemy,--were it well done?
Sleep.
XI.
May He of the manger stand near
And love thee! An infant He came
To His own who rejected Him here,
But the Magi brought gifts all the same.
_I_ hurry the cross on my Dear!
_My_ gifts are the griefs I declaim!
Sleep.
LORD WALTER'S WIFE.
I.
"But why do you go? " said the lady, while both sat under the yew,
And her eyes were alive in their depth, as the kraken beneath the
sea-blue.
II.
"Because I fear you," he answered;--"because you are far too fair,
And able to strangle my soul in a mesh of your gold-coloured hair. "
III.
"Oh, that," she said, "is no reason! Such knots are quickly undone,
And too much beauty, I reckon, is nothing but too much sun. "
IV.
"Yet farewell so," he answered;--"the sun-stroke's fatal at times.
I value your husband, Lord Walter, whose gallop rings still from the
limes. "
V.
"Oh, that," she said, "is no reason. You smell a rose through a
fence:
If two should smell it, what matter? who grumbles, and where's the
pretence? "
VI.
"But I," he replied, "have promised another, when love was free,
To love her alone, alone, who alone and afar loves me. "
VII.
"Why, that," she said, "is no reason. Love's always free, I am
told.
Will you vow to be safe from the headache on Tuesday, and think it
will hold? "
VIII.
"But you," he replied, "have a daughter, a young little child, who
was laid
In your lap to be pure; so I leave you: the angels would make me
afraid. "
IX.
"Oh, that," she said, "is no reason. The angels keep out of the
way;
And Dora, the child, observes nothing, although you should please me
and stay. "
X.
At which he rose up in his anger,--"Why, now, you no longer are
fair!
Why, now, you no longer are fatal, but ugly and hateful, I swear. "
XI.
At which she laughed out in her scorn: "These men! Oh, these men
overnice,
Who are shocked if a colour not virtuous is frankly put on by a
vice. "
XII.
Her eyes blazed upon him--"And _you_! You bring us your vices so
near
That we smell them! You think in our presence a thought 't would
defame us to hear!
XIII.
"What reason had you, and what right,--I appeal to your soul from my
life,--
To find me too fair as a woman? Why, sir, I am pure, and a wife.
XIV.
"Is the day-star too fair up above you? It burns you not. Dare you
imply
I brushed you more close than the star does, when Walter had set me
as high?
XV.
"If a man finds a woman too fair, he means simply adapted too much
To uses unlawful and fatal. The praise! --shall I thank you for
such?
XVI.
"Too fair? --not unless you misuse us! and surely if, once in a
while,
You attain to it, straightway you call us no longer too fair, but
too vile.
XVII.
"A moment,--I pray your attention! --I have a poor word in my head
I must utter, though womanly custom would set it down better
unsaid.
XVIII.
"You grew, sir, pale to impertinence, once when I showed you a
ring.
You kissed my fan when I dropped it. No matter! --I've broken the
thing.
XIX.
"You did me the honour, perhaps, to be moved at my side now and
then
In the senses--a vice, I have heard, which is common to beasts and
some men.
XX.
"Love's a virtue for heroes! --as white as the snow on high hills,
And immortal as every great soul is that struggles, endures, and
fulfils.
XXI.
"I love my Walter profoundly,--you, Maude, though you faltered a
week,
For the sake of . . . what was it--an eyebrow? or, less still, a mole
on a cheek?
XXII.
"And since, when all's said, you're too noble to stoop to the
frivolous cant
About crimes irresistible, virtues that swindle, betray and
supplant,
XXIII.
"I determined to prove to yourself that, whate'er you might dream or
avow
By illusion, you wanted precisely no more of me than you have now.
XXIV.
"There! Look me full in the face! --in the face. Understand, if you
can,
That the eyes of such women as I am are clean as the palm of a man.
XXV.
"Drop his hand, you insult him.
