SHOP

Shall I sonnet-sing you about myself?Do I live in a house you would like to see?Is it scant of gear, has it store of pelf?"Unlock my heart with a sonnet-key?"Invite the world, as my betters have done?"Take notice: this building remains on view,Its suites of reception every one,Its private apartment and bedroom too;"For a ticket, apply to the Publisher."No: thanking the public, I must decline.A peep through my window, if folk prefer;But, please you, no foot over threshold of mine!I have mixed with a crowd and heard free talkIn a foreign land where an earthquake chancedAnd a house stood gaping, naught to balkMan's eye wherever he gazed or glanced.The whole of the frontage shaven sheer,The inside gaped: exposed to day,Right and wrong and common and queer,Bare, as the palm of your hand, it lay.The owner? Oh, he had been crushed, no doubt!"Odd tables and chairs for a man of wealth!What a parcel of musty old books about!He smoked,—no wonder he lost his health!"I doubt if he bathed before he dressed.A brasier?—the pagan, he burned perfumes!You see it is proved, what the neighbors guessed:His wife and himself had separate rooms."Friends, the goodman of the house at leastKept house to himself till an earthquake came:'T is the fall of its frontage permits you feastOn the inside arrangement you praise or blame.Outside should suffice for evidence:And whoso desires to penetrateDeeper, must dive by the spirit-sense—No optics like yours, at any rate!"Hoity-toity! A street to explore,Your house the exception! 'With this same keyShakespeare unlocked his heart,' once more!"Did Shakespeare? If so, the less Shakespeare he!

Shall I sonnet-sing you about myself?Do I live in a house you would like to see?Is it scant of gear, has it store of pelf?"Unlock my heart with a sonnet-key?"

Shall I sonnet-sing you about myself?

Do I live in a house you would like to see?

Is it scant of gear, has it store of pelf?

"Unlock my heart with a sonnet-key?"

Invite the world, as my betters have done?"Take notice: this building remains on view,Its suites of reception every one,Its private apartment and bedroom too;

Invite the world, as my betters have done?

"Take notice: this building remains on view,

Its suites of reception every one,

Its private apartment and bedroom too;

"For a ticket, apply to the Publisher."No: thanking the public, I must decline.A peep through my window, if folk prefer;But, please you, no foot over threshold of mine!

"For a ticket, apply to the Publisher."

No: thanking the public, I must decline.

A peep through my window, if folk prefer;

But, please you, no foot over threshold of mine!

I have mixed with a crowd and heard free talkIn a foreign land where an earthquake chancedAnd a house stood gaping, naught to balkMan's eye wherever he gazed or glanced.

I have mixed with a crowd and heard free talk

In a foreign land where an earthquake chanced

And a house stood gaping, naught to balk

Man's eye wherever he gazed or glanced.

The whole of the frontage shaven sheer,The inside gaped: exposed to day,Right and wrong and common and queer,Bare, as the palm of your hand, it lay.

The whole of the frontage shaven sheer,

The inside gaped: exposed to day,

Right and wrong and common and queer,

Bare, as the palm of your hand, it lay.

The owner? Oh, he had been crushed, no doubt!"Odd tables and chairs for a man of wealth!What a parcel of musty old books about!He smoked,—no wonder he lost his health!

The owner? Oh, he had been crushed, no doubt!

"Odd tables and chairs for a man of wealth!

What a parcel of musty old books about!

He smoked,—no wonder he lost his health!

"I doubt if he bathed before he dressed.A brasier?—the pagan, he burned perfumes!You see it is proved, what the neighbors guessed:His wife and himself had separate rooms."

"I doubt if he bathed before he dressed.

A brasier?—the pagan, he burned perfumes!

You see it is proved, what the neighbors guessed:

His wife and himself had separate rooms."

Friends, the goodman of the house at leastKept house to himself till an earthquake came:'T is the fall of its frontage permits you feastOn the inside arrangement you praise or blame.

Friends, the goodman of the house at least

Kept house to himself till an earthquake came:

'T is the fall of its frontage permits you feast

On the inside arrangement you praise or blame.

Outside should suffice for evidence:And whoso desires to penetrateDeeper, must dive by the spirit-sense—No optics like yours, at any rate!

Outside should suffice for evidence:

And whoso desires to penetrate

Deeper, must dive by the spirit-sense—

No optics like yours, at any rate!

"Hoity-toity! A street to explore,Your house the exception! 'With this same keyShakespeare unlocked his heart,' once more!"Did Shakespeare? If so, the less Shakespeare he!

"Hoity-toity! A street to explore,

Your house the exception! 'With this same key

Shakespeare unlocked his heart,' once more!"

Did Shakespeare? If so, the less Shakespeare he!

So, friend, your shop was all your house!Its front, astonishing the street,Invited view from man and mouseTo what diversity of treatBehind its glass—the single sheet!What gimcracks, genuine Japanese:Gape-jaw and goggle-eye, the frog;Dragons, owls, monkeys, beetles, geese;Some crush-nosed human-hearted dog:Queer names, too, such a catalogue!I thought "And he who owns the wealthWhich blocks the window's vastitude,—Ah, could I peep at him by stealthBehind his ware, pass shop, intrudeOn house itself, what scenes were viewed!"If wide and showy thus the shop,What must the habitation prove?The true house with no name a-top—The mansion, distant one remove,Once get him off his traffic-groove!"Pictures he likes, or books perhaps;And as for buying most and best,Commend me to these city chaps!Or else he 's social, takes his restOn Sundays, with a Lord for guest."Some suburb-palace, parked aboutAnd gated grandly, built last year:The four-mile walk to keep off gout;Or big seat sold by bankrupt peer:But then he takes the rail, that 's clear."Or, stop! I wager, taste selectsSome out-o'-the-way, some all-unknownRetreat: the neighborhood suspectsLittle that he who rambles loneMakes Rothschild tremble on his throne!"Nowise! Nor Mayfair residenceFit to receive and entertain,—Nor Hampstead villa's kind defenceFrom noise and crowd, from dust and drain,—Nor country-box was soul's domain!Nowise! At back of all that spreadOf merchandise, woe 's me, I findA hole i' the wall where, heels by head,The owner couched, his ware behind,—In cupboard suited to his mind.For why? He saw no use of lifeBut, while he drove a roaring trade,To chuckle "Customers are rife!"To chafe "So much hard cash outlaid,Yet zero in my profits made!"This novelty costs pains, but—takes?Cumbers my counter! Stock no more!This article, no such great shakes,Fizzes like wildfire? UnderscoreThe cheap thing—thousands to the fore!"'T was lodging best to live most nigh(Cramp, coffinlike as crib might be)Receipt of Custom; ear and eyeWanted no outworld: "Hear and seeThe bustle in the shop!" quoth he.My fancy of a merchant-princeWas different. Through his wares we gropedOur darkling way to—not to minceThe matter—no black den where mopedThe master if we interloped!Shop was shop only: household-stuff?What did he want with comforts there?"Walls, ceiling, floor, stay blank and rough,So goods on sale show rich and rare!'Sell and scud home,' be shop's affair!"What might he deal in? Gems, suppose!Since somehow business must be doneAt cost of trouble,—see, he throwsYou choice of jewels, every one,Good, better, best, star, moon, and sun!Which lies within your power of purse?This ruby that would tip arightSolomon's sceptre? Oh, your nurseWants simply coral, the delightOf teething baby,—stuff to bite!Howe'er your choice fell, straight you tookYour purchase, prompt your money rangOn counter,—scarce the man forsookHis study of the "Times," just swangTill-ward his hand that stopped the clang,—Then off made buyer with a prize,Then seller to his "Times" returned;And so did day wear, wear, till eyesBrightened apace, for rest was earned:He locked door long ere candle burned.And whither went he? Ask himself,Not me! To change of scene, I think.Once sold the ware and pursed the pelf,Chaffer was scarce his meat and drink,Nor all his music—money-chink.Because a man has shop to mindIn time and place, since flesh must live,Needs spirit lack all life behind,All stray thoughts, fancies fugitive,All loves except what trade can give?I want to know a butcher paints,A baker rhymes for his pursuit,Candlestick-maker much acquaintsHis soul with song, or, haply mute,Blows out his brains upon the flute!But—shop each day and all day long!Friend, your good angel slept, your starSuffered eclipse, fate did you wrong!From where these sorts of treasures are,There should our hearts be—Christ, how far!

So, friend, your shop was all your house!Its front, astonishing the street,Invited view from man and mouseTo what diversity of treatBehind its glass—the single sheet!

So, friend, your shop was all your house!

Its front, astonishing the street,

Invited view from man and mouse

To what diversity of treat

Behind its glass—the single sheet!

What gimcracks, genuine Japanese:Gape-jaw and goggle-eye, the frog;Dragons, owls, monkeys, beetles, geese;Some crush-nosed human-hearted dog:Queer names, too, such a catalogue!

What gimcracks, genuine Japanese:

Gape-jaw and goggle-eye, the frog;

Dragons, owls, monkeys, beetles, geese;

Some crush-nosed human-hearted dog:

Queer names, too, such a catalogue!

I thought "And he who owns the wealthWhich blocks the window's vastitude,—Ah, could I peep at him by stealthBehind his ware, pass shop, intrudeOn house itself, what scenes were viewed!

I thought "And he who owns the wealth

Which blocks the window's vastitude,

—Ah, could I peep at him by stealth

Behind his ware, pass shop, intrude

On house itself, what scenes were viewed!

"If wide and showy thus the shop,What must the habitation prove?The true house with no name a-top—The mansion, distant one remove,Once get him off his traffic-groove!

"If wide and showy thus the shop,

What must the habitation prove?

The true house with no name a-top—

The mansion, distant one remove,

Once get him off his traffic-groove!

"Pictures he likes, or books perhaps;And as for buying most and best,Commend me to these city chaps!Or else he 's social, takes his restOn Sundays, with a Lord for guest.

"Pictures he likes, or books perhaps;

And as for buying most and best,

Commend me to these city chaps!

Or else he 's social, takes his rest

On Sundays, with a Lord for guest.

"Some suburb-palace, parked aboutAnd gated grandly, built last year:The four-mile walk to keep off gout;Or big seat sold by bankrupt peer:But then he takes the rail, that 's clear.

"Some suburb-palace, parked about

And gated grandly, built last year:

The four-mile walk to keep off gout;

Or big seat sold by bankrupt peer:

But then he takes the rail, that 's clear.

"Or, stop! I wager, taste selectsSome out-o'-the-way, some all-unknownRetreat: the neighborhood suspectsLittle that he who rambles loneMakes Rothschild tremble on his throne!"

"Or, stop! I wager, taste selects

Some out-o'-the-way, some all-unknown

Retreat: the neighborhood suspects

Little that he who rambles lone

Makes Rothschild tremble on his throne!"

Nowise! Nor Mayfair residenceFit to receive and entertain,—Nor Hampstead villa's kind defenceFrom noise and crowd, from dust and drain,—Nor country-box was soul's domain!

Nowise! Nor Mayfair residence

Fit to receive and entertain,—

Nor Hampstead villa's kind defence

From noise and crowd, from dust and drain,—

Nor country-box was soul's domain!

Nowise! At back of all that spreadOf merchandise, woe 's me, I findA hole i' the wall where, heels by head,The owner couched, his ware behind,—In cupboard suited to his mind.

Nowise! At back of all that spread

Of merchandise, woe 's me, I find

A hole i' the wall where, heels by head,

The owner couched, his ware behind,

—In cupboard suited to his mind.

For why? He saw no use of lifeBut, while he drove a roaring trade,To chuckle "Customers are rife!"To chafe "So much hard cash outlaid,Yet zero in my profits made!

For why? He saw no use of life

But, while he drove a roaring trade,

To chuckle "Customers are rife!"

To chafe "So much hard cash outlaid,

Yet zero in my profits made!

"This novelty costs pains, but—takes?Cumbers my counter! Stock no more!This article, no such great shakes,Fizzes like wildfire? UnderscoreThe cheap thing—thousands to the fore!"

"This novelty costs pains, but—takes?

Cumbers my counter! Stock no more!

This article, no such great shakes,

Fizzes like wildfire? Underscore

The cheap thing—thousands to the fore!"

'T was lodging best to live most nigh(Cramp, coffinlike as crib might be)Receipt of Custom; ear and eyeWanted no outworld: "Hear and seeThe bustle in the shop!" quoth he.

'T was lodging best to live most nigh

(Cramp, coffinlike as crib might be)

Receipt of Custom; ear and eye

Wanted no outworld: "Hear and see

The bustle in the shop!" quoth he.

My fancy of a merchant-princeWas different. Through his wares we gropedOur darkling way to—not to minceThe matter—no black den where mopedThe master if we interloped!

My fancy of a merchant-prince

Was different. Through his wares we groped

Our darkling way to—not to mince

The matter—no black den where moped

The master if we interloped!

Shop was shop only: household-stuff?What did he want with comforts there?"Walls, ceiling, floor, stay blank and rough,So goods on sale show rich and rare!'Sell and scud home,' be shop's affair!"

Shop was shop only: household-stuff?

What did he want with comforts there?

"Walls, ceiling, floor, stay blank and rough,

So goods on sale show rich and rare!

'Sell and scud home,' be shop's affair!"

What might he deal in? Gems, suppose!Since somehow business must be doneAt cost of trouble,—see, he throwsYou choice of jewels, every one,Good, better, best, star, moon, and sun!

What might he deal in? Gems, suppose!

Since somehow business must be done

At cost of trouble,—see, he throws

You choice of jewels, every one,

Good, better, best, star, moon, and sun!

Which lies within your power of purse?This ruby that would tip arightSolomon's sceptre? Oh, your nurseWants simply coral, the delightOf teething baby,—stuff to bite!

Which lies within your power of purse?

This ruby that would tip aright

Solomon's sceptre? Oh, your nurse

Wants simply coral, the delight

Of teething baby,—stuff to bite!

Howe'er your choice fell, straight you tookYour purchase, prompt your money rangOn counter,—scarce the man forsookHis study of the "Times," just swangTill-ward his hand that stopped the clang,—

Howe'er your choice fell, straight you took

Your purchase, prompt your money rang

On counter,—scarce the man forsook

His study of the "Times," just swang

Till-ward his hand that stopped the clang,—

Then off made buyer with a prize,Then seller to his "Times" returned;And so did day wear, wear, till eyesBrightened apace, for rest was earned:He locked door long ere candle burned.

Then off made buyer with a prize,

Then seller to his "Times" returned;

And so did day wear, wear, till eyes

Brightened apace, for rest was earned:

He locked door long ere candle burned.

And whither went he? Ask himself,Not me! To change of scene, I think.Once sold the ware and pursed the pelf,Chaffer was scarce his meat and drink,Nor all his music—money-chink.

And whither went he? Ask himself,

Not me! To change of scene, I think.

Once sold the ware and pursed the pelf,

Chaffer was scarce his meat and drink,

Nor all his music—money-chink.

Because a man has shop to mindIn time and place, since flesh must live,Needs spirit lack all life behind,All stray thoughts, fancies fugitive,All loves except what trade can give?

Because a man has shop to mind

In time and place, since flesh must live,

Needs spirit lack all life behind,

All stray thoughts, fancies fugitive,

All loves except what trade can give?

I want to know a butcher paints,A baker rhymes for his pursuit,Candlestick-maker much acquaintsHis soul with song, or, haply mute,Blows out his brains upon the flute!

I want to know a butcher paints,

A baker rhymes for his pursuit,

Candlestick-maker much acquaints

His soul with song, or, haply mute,

Blows out his brains upon the flute!

But—shop each day and all day long!Friend, your good angel slept, your starSuffered eclipse, fate did you wrong!From where these sorts of treasures are,There should our hearts be—Christ, how far!

But—shop each day and all day long!

Friend, your good angel slept, your star

Suffered eclipse, fate did you wrong!

From where these sorts of treasures are,

There should our hearts be—Christ, how far!

When sanctioning a volume ofSelectionsfrom his poems, Browning made a third ofPisgah-Sightsto consist of theProemtoLa Saisiaz.

IOver the ball of it,Peering and prying,How I see all of it,Life there, outlying!Roughness and smoothness,Shine and defilement,Grace and uncouthness:One reconcilement.Orbed as appointed,Sister with brotherJoins, ne'er disjointedOne from the other.All 's lend-and-borrow;Good, see, wants evil,Joy demands sorrow,Angel weds devil!"Which things must—whybe?"Vain our endeavor!So shall things aye beAs they were ever."Such things should so be!"Sage our desistence!Rough-smooth let globe be,Mixed—man's existence!Man—wise and foolish,Lover and scorner,Docile and mulish—Keep each his corner!Honey yet gall of it!There 's the life lying,And I see all of it,Only, I 'm dying!IICould I but live againTwice my life over,Would I once strive again?Would not I coverQuietly all of it—Greed and ambition—So, from the pall of it,Pass to fruition?"Soft!" I 'd say, "Soul mine!Three-score and ten years,Let the blind mole mineDigging out deniers!Let the dazed hawk soar,Claim the sun's rights too!Turf 't is thy walk 's o'er,Foliage thy flight 's to."Only a learner,Quick one or slow one,Just a discerner,I would teach no one.I am earth's native:No rearranging it!I be creative,Chopping and changing it?March, men, my fellows!Those who, above me,(Distance so mellows)Fancy you love me:Those who, below me,(Distance makes great so)Free to forego me,Fancy you hate so!Praising, reviling,Worst head and best head,Past me defiling,Never arrested,Wanters, abounders,March, in gay mixture,Men, my surrounders!I am the fixture.So shall I fear thee,Mightiness yonder!Mock-sun—more near thee,What is to wonder?So shall I love thee,Down in the dark,—lestGlowworm I prove thee,Star that now sparklest!

Over the ball of it,Peering and prying,How I see all of it,Life there, outlying!Roughness and smoothness,Shine and defilement,Grace and uncouthness:One reconcilement.

Over the ball of it,

Peering and prying,

How I see all of it,

Life there, outlying!

Roughness and smoothness,

Shine and defilement,

Grace and uncouthness:

One reconcilement.

Orbed as appointed,Sister with brotherJoins, ne'er disjointedOne from the other.All 's lend-and-borrow;Good, see, wants evil,Joy demands sorrow,Angel weds devil!

Orbed as appointed,

Sister with brother

Joins, ne'er disjointed

One from the other.

All 's lend-and-borrow;

Good, see, wants evil,

Joy demands sorrow,

Angel weds devil!

"Which things must—whybe?"Vain our endeavor!So shall things aye beAs they were ever."Such things should so be!"Sage our desistence!Rough-smooth let globe be,Mixed—man's existence!

"Which things must—whybe?"

Vain our endeavor!

So shall things aye be

As they were ever.

"Such things should so be!"

Sage our desistence!

Rough-smooth let globe be,

Mixed—man's existence!

Man—wise and foolish,Lover and scorner,Docile and mulish—Keep each his corner!Honey yet gall of it!There 's the life lying,And I see all of it,Only, I 'm dying!

Man—wise and foolish,

Lover and scorner,

Docile and mulish—

Keep each his corner!

Honey yet gall of it!

There 's the life lying,

And I see all of it,

Only, I 'm dying!

Could I but live againTwice my life over,Would I once strive again?Would not I coverQuietly all of it—Greed and ambition—So, from the pall of it,Pass to fruition?

Could I but live again

Twice my life over,

Would I once strive again?

Would not I cover

Quietly all of it—

Greed and ambition—

So, from the pall of it,

Pass to fruition?

"Soft!" I 'd say, "Soul mine!Three-score and ten years,Let the blind mole mineDigging out deniers!Let the dazed hawk soar,Claim the sun's rights too!Turf 't is thy walk 's o'er,Foliage thy flight 's to."

"Soft!" I 'd say, "Soul mine!

Three-score and ten years,

Let the blind mole mine

Digging out deniers!

Let the dazed hawk soar,

Claim the sun's rights too!

Turf 't is thy walk 's o'er,

Foliage thy flight 's to."

Only a learner,Quick one or slow one,Just a discerner,I would teach no one.I am earth's native:No rearranging it!I be creative,Chopping and changing it?

Only a learner,

Quick one or slow one,

Just a discerner,

I would teach no one.

I am earth's native:

No rearranging it!

I be creative,

Chopping and changing it?

March, men, my fellows!Those who, above me,(Distance so mellows)Fancy you love me:Those who, below me,(Distance makes great so)Free to forego me,Fancy you hate so!

March, men, my fellows!

Those who, above me,

(Distance so mellows)

Fancy you love me:

Those who, below me,

(Distance makes great so)

Free to forego me,

Fancy you hate so!

Praising, reviling,Worst head and best head,Past me defiling,Never arrested,Wanters, abounders,March, in gay mixture,Men, my surrounders!I am the fixture.

Praising, reviling,

Worst head and best head,

Past me defiling,

Never arrested,

Wanters, abounders,

March, in gay mixture,

Men, my surrounders!

I am the fixture.

So shall I fear thee,Mightiness yonder!Mock-sun—more near thee,What is to wonder?So shall I love thee,Down in the dark,—lestGlowworm I prove thee,Star that now sparklest!

So shall I fear thee,

Mightiness yonder!

Mock-sun—more near thee,

What is to wonder?

So shall I love thee,

Down in the dark,—lest

Glowworm I prove thee,

Star that now sparklest!

In answer to a letter of inquiry, addressed to him by Mr. W. G. Kingsland, Browning wrote the following in regard to the meaning of this poem: "I think, that the point I wanted to illustrate was this: Where there is a genuine love of the 'letters' and 'actions' of the invisible 'friend,'—however these may be disadvantaged by an inability to meet the objections to their authenticity or historical value urged by 'experts' who assume the privilege of learning over ignorance,—it would indeed be a wrong to the wisdom and goodness of the 'friend' if he were supposed capable of overlooking the actual 'love' and only considering the 'ignorance' which, failing to in any degree affect 'love,' is really the highest evidence that 'love' exists. So Imeant, whether the result be clear or no."

Here's my case. Of old I used to love him,This same unseen friend, before I knew:Dream there was none like him, none above him,—Wake to hope and trust my dream was true.Loved I not his letters full of beauty?Not his actions famous far and wide?Absent, he would know I vowed him duty;Present, he would find me at his side.Pleasant fancy! for I had but letters,Only knew of actions by hearsay:He himself was busied with my betters;What of that? My turn must come some day."Some day" proving—no day! Here 's the puzzle.Passed and passed my turn is. Why complain?He 's so busied! If I could but muzzlePeople's foolish mouths that give me pain!"Letters?" (hear them!) "You a judge of writing?Ask the experts! How they shake the headO'er these characters, your friend's inditing—Call them forgery from A to Z!"Actions? Where 's your certain proof" (they bother)"He, of all you find so great and good,He, he only, claims this, that, the otherAction—claimed by men, a multitude?"I can simply-wish. I might refute you,Wish my friend would,—by a word, a wink,—Bid me stop that foolish mouth,—you brute you!He keeps absent,—why, I cannot think.Never mind! Though foolishness may flout me,One thing 's sure enough: 't is neither frost,No, nor fire, shall freeze or burn from out meThanks for truth—though falsehood, gained—though lost.All my days, I 'll go the softlier, sadlier,For that dream's sake! How forget the thrillThrough and through me as I thought "The gladlierLives my friend because I love him still!"Ah, but there 's a menace some one utters!"What and if your friend at home play tricks?Peep at hide-and-seek behind the shutters?Mean your eyes should pierce through solid bricks?"What and if he, frowning, wake you, dreamy?Lay on you the blame that bricks—conceal?Say 'At least I saw who did not see me,Does see now, and presently shall feel'?""Why, that makes your friend a monster!" say you:"Had his house no window? At first nod,Would you not have hailed him?" Hush, I pray you!What if this friend happened to be—God?

Here's my case. Of old I used to love him,This same unseen friend, before I knew:Dream there was none like him, none above him,—Wake to hope and trust my dream was true.

Here's my case. Of old I used to love him,

This same unseen friend, before I knew:

Dream there was none like him, none above him,—

Wake to hope and trust my dream was true.

Loved I not his letters full of beauty?Not his actions famous far and wide?Absent, he would know I vowed him duty;Present, he would find me at his side.

Loved I not his letters full of beauty?

Not his actions famous far and wide?

Absent, he would know I vowed him duty;

Present, he would find me at his side.

Pleasant fancy! for I had but letters,Only knew of actions by hearsay:He himself was busied with my betters;What of that? My turn must come some day.

Pleasant fancy! for I had but letters,

Only knew of actions by hearsay:

He himself was busied with my betters;

What of that? My turn must come some day.

"Some day" proving—no day! Here 's the puzzle.Passed and passed my turn is. Why complain?He 's so busied! If I could but muzzlePeople's foolish mouths that give me pain!

"Some day" proving—no day! Here 's the puzzle.

Passed and passed my turn is. Why complain?

He 's so busied! If I could but muzzle

People's foolish mouths that give me pain!

"Letters?" (hear them!) "You a judge of writing?Ask the experts! How they shake the headO'er these characters, your friend's inditing—Call them forgery from A to Z!

"Letters?" (hear them!) "You a judge of writing?

Ask the experts! How they shake the head

O'er these characters, your friend's inditing—

Call them forgery from A to Z!

"Actions? Where 's your certain proof" (they bother)"He, of all you find so great and good,He, he only, claims this, that, the otherAction—claimed by men, a multitude?"

"Actions? Where 's your certain proof" (they bother)

"He, of all you find so great and good,

He, he only, claims this, that, the other

Action—claimed by men, a multitude?"

I can simply-wish. I might refute you,Wish my friend would,—by a word, a wink,—Bid me stop that foolish mouth,—you brute you!He keeps absent,—why, I cannot think.

I can simply-wish. I might refute you,

Wish my friend would,—by a word, a wink,—

Bid me stop that foolish mouth,—you brute you!

He keeps absent,—why, I cannot think.

Never mind! Though foolishness may flout me,One thing 's sure enough: 't is neither frost,No, nor fire, shall freeze or burn from out meThanks for truth—though falsehood, gained—though lost.

Never mind! Though foolishness may flout me,

One thing 's sure enough: 't is neither frost,

No, nor fire, shall freeze or burn from out me

Thanks for truth—though falsehood, gained—though lost.

All my days, I 'll go the softlier, sadlier,For that dream's sake! How forget the thrillThrough and through me as I thought "The gladlierLives my friend because I love him still!"

All my days, I 'll go the softlier, sadlier,

For that dream's sake! How forget the thrill

Through and through me as I thought "The gladlier

Lives my friend because I love him still!"

Ah, but there 's a menace some one utters!"What and if your friend at home play tricks?Peep at hide-and-seek behind the shutters?Mean your eyes should pierce through solid bricks?

Ah, but there 's a menace some one utters!

"What and if your friend at home play tricks?

Peep at hide-and-seek behind the shutters?

Mean your eyes should pierce through solid bricks?

"What and if he, frowning, wake you, dreamy?Lay on you the blame that bricks—conceal?Say 'At least I saw who did not see me,Does see now, and presently shall feel'?"

"What and if he, frowning, wake you, dreamy?

Lay on you the blame that bricks—conceal?

Say 'At least I saw who did not see me,

Does see now, and presently shall feel'?"

"Why, that makes your friend a monster!" say you:"Had his house no window? At first nod,Would you not have hailed him?" Hush, I pray you!What if this friend happened to be—God?

"Why, that makes your friend a monster!" say you:

"Had his house no window? At first nod,

Would you not have hailed him?" Hush, I pray you!

What if this friend happened to be—God?

All I can say is—I saw it!The room was as bare as your hand.I locked in the swarth little lady,—I swear,From the head to the foot of her—well, quite as bare!"No Nautch shall cheat me," said I, "taking my standAt this bolt which I draw!" And this bolt—I withdraw it,And there laughs the lady, not bare, but emboweredWith—who knows what verdure, o'erfruited, o'erflowered?Impossible! Only—I saw it!All I can sing is—I feel it!This life was as blank as that room;I let you pass in here. Precaution, indeed?Walls, ceiling and floor,—not a chance for a weed!Wide opens the entrance; where 's cold now, where 's gloom?No May to sow seed here, no June to reveal it,Behold you enshrined in these blooms of your bringing,These fruits of your bearing—nay, birds of your winging!A fairy-tale! Only—I feel it!

All I can say is—I saw it!

The room was as bare as your hand.

I locked in the swarth little lady,—I swear,

From the head to the foot of her—well, quite as bare!

"No Nautch shall cheat me," said I, "taking my stand

At this bolt which I draw!" And this bolt—I withdraw it,

And there laughs the lady, not bare, but embowered

With—who knows what verdure, o'erfruited, o'erflowered?

Impossible! Only—I saw it!

All I can sing is—I feel it!This life was as blank as that room;I let you pass in here. Precaution, indeed?Walls, ceiling and floor,—not a chance for a weed!Wide opens the entrance; where 's cold now, where 's gloom?No May to sow seed here, no June to reveal it,Behold you enshrined in these blooms of your bringing,These fruits of your bearing—nay, birds of your winging!A fairy-tale! Only—I feel it!

All I can sing is—I feel it!

This life was as blank as that room;

I let you pass in here. Precaution, indeed?

Walls, ceiling and floor,—not a chance for a weed!

Wide opens the entrance; where 's cold now, where 's gloom?

No May to sow seed here, no June to reveal it,

Behold you enshrined in these blooms of your bringing,

These fruits of your bearing—nay, birds of your winging!

A fairy-tale! Only—I feel it!

Flower—I never fancied, jewel—I profess you!Bright I see and soft I feel the outside of a flower.Save but glow inside and—jewel, I should guess you,Dim to sight and rough to touch: the glory is the dower.You, forsooth, a flower? Nay, my love, a jewel—Jewel at no mercy of a moment in your prime!Time may fray the flower-face: kind be time or cruel,Jewel, from each facet, flash your laugh at time!

Flower—I never fancied, jewel—I profess you!

Bright I see and soft I feel the outside of a flower.

Save but glow inside and—jewel, I should guess you,

Dim to sight and rough to touch: the glory is the dower.

You, forsooth, a flower? Nay, my love, a jewel—Jewel at no mercy of a moment in your prime!Time may fray the flower-face: kind be time or cruel,Jewel, from each facet, flash your laugh at time!

You, forsooth, a flower? Nay, my love, a jewel—

Jewel at no mercy of a moment in your prime!

Time may fray the flower-face: kind be time or cruel,

Jewel, from each facet, flash your laugh at time!

We were two lovers; let me lie by her,My tomb beside her tomb. On hers inscribe—"I loved him; but my reason bade preferDuty to love, reject the tempter's bribeOf rose and lily when each path diverged,And either I must pace to life's far endAs love should lead me, or, as duty urged,Plod the worn causeway arm-in-arm with friend.So, truth turned falsehood: 'How I loathe a flower,How prize the pavement!' still caressed his ear—The deafish friend's—through life's day, hour by hour,As he laughed (coughing) 'Ay, it would appear!'But deep within my heart of hearts there hidEver the confidence, amends for all,That heaven repairs what wrong earth's journey did,When love from life-long exile comes at call.Duty and love, one broad way, were the best—Who doubts? But one or other was to choose,I chose the darkling half, and wait the restIn that new world where light and darkness fuse."Inscribe on mine—"I loved her: love's track layO'er sand and pebble, as all travellers know.Duty led through a smiling country, gayWith greensward where the rose and lily blow.'Our roads are diverse: farewell, love!' said she:''T is duty I abide by: homely swardAnd not the rock-rough picturesque for me!Above, where both roads join, I wait reward.Be you as constant to the path whereonI leave you planted!' But man needs must move,Keep moving—whither, when the star is goneWhereby he steps secure nor strays from love?No stone but I was tripped by, stumbling-blockBut brought me to confusion. Where I fell,There I lay flat, if moss disguised the rock,Thence, if flint pierced, I rose and cried 'All's well!Duty be mine to tread in that high sphereWhere love from duty ne'er disparts, I trust,And two halves make that whole, whereof—since hereOne must suffice a man—why, this one must!'"Inscribe each tomb thus: then, some sage acquaintThe simple—which holds sinner, which holds saint!

We were two lovers; let me lie by her,

My tomb beside her tomb. On hers inscribe—

"I loved him; but my reason bade prefer

Duty to love, reject the tempter's bribe

Of rose and lily when each path diverged,

And either I must pace to life's far end

As love should lead me, or, as duty urged,

Plod the worn causeway arm-in-arm with friend.

So, truth turned falsehood: 'How I loathe a flower,

How prize the pavement!' still caressed his ear—

The deafish friend's—through life's day, hour by hour,

As he laughed (coughing) 'Ay, it would appear!'

But deep within my heart of hearts there hid

Ever the confidence, amends for all,

That heaven repairs what wrong earth's journey did,

When love from life-long exile comes at call.

Duty and love, one broad way, were the best—

Who doubts? But one or other was to choose,

I chose the darkling half, and wait the rest

In that new world where light and darkness fuse."

Inscribe on mine—"I loved her: love's track layO'er sand and pebble, as all travellers know.Duty led through a smiling country, gayWith greensward where the rose and lily blow.'Our roads are diverse: farewell, love!' said she:''T is duty I abide by: homely swardAnd not the rock-rough picturesque for me!Above, where both roads join, I wait reward.Be you as constant to the path whereonI leave you planted!' But man needs must move,Keep moving—whither, when the star is goneWhereby he steps secure nor strays from love?No stone but I was tripped by, stumbling-blockBut brought me to confusion. Where I fell,There I lay flat, if moss disguised the rock,Thence, if flint pierced, I rose and cried 'All's well!Duty be mine to tread in that high sphereWhere love from duty ne'er disparts, I trust,And two halves make that whole, whereof—since hereOne must suffice a man—why, this one must!'"

Inscribe on mine—"I loved her: love's track lay

O'er sand and pebble, as all travellers know.

Duty led through a smiling country, gay

With greensward where the rose and lily blow.

'Our roads are diverse: farewell, love!' said she:

''T is duty I abide by: homely sward

And not the rock-rough picturesque for me!

Above, where both roads join, I wait reward.

Be you as constant to the path whereon

I leave you planted!' But man needs must move,

Keep moving—whither, when the star is gone

Whereby he steps secure nor strays from love?

No stone but I was tripped by, stumbling-block

But brought me to confusion. Where I fell,

There I lay flat, if moss disguised the rock,

Thence, if flint pierced, I rose and cried 'All's well!

Duty be mine to tread in that high sphere

Where love from duty ne'er disparts, I trust,

And two halves make that whole, whereof—since here

One must suffice a man—why, this one must!'"

Inscribe each tomb thus: then, some sage acquaintThe simple—which holds sinner, which holds saint!

Inscribe each tomb thus: then, some sage acquaint

The simple—which holds sinner, which holds saint!

The Browning Society became so puzzled over the interpretation of this poem that through Dr. Furnivall it applied to the poet for an explanation and he replied: "Is not the key to the meaning of the poem in its title νυμφόληπτος [caught or rapt by a nymph] not γυναικεραστής [a woman lover]? An allegory, that is, of an impossible ideal object of love, accepted conventionally as such by a man who, all the while, cannot quite blind himself to the demonstrable fact that the possessor of knowledge and purity obtained without the natural consequences of obtaining them by achievement—not inheritance,—such a being is imaginary, not real, a nymph and no woman; and only such an one would be ignorant of and surprised at the results of a lover's endeavor to emulate the qualities which the beloved is entitled to consider as pre-existent to earthly experience, and independent of its inevitable results. I had no particular woman in my mind; certainly never intended to personify wisdom, philosophy, or any other abstraction; and the orb, raying color out of whiteness, was altogether a fancy of my own. The 'seven spirits' are in the Apocalypse, also in Coleridge and Byron,—a common image."

Still you stand, still you listen, still you smile!Still melts your moonbeam through me, white awhile,Softening, sweetening, till sweet and softIncrease so round this heart of mine, that oftI could believe your moonbeam-smile has pastThe pallid limit, lies, transformed at lastTo sunlight and salvation—warms the soulIt sweetens, softens! Would you pass that goal,Gain love's birth at the limit's happier verge,And, where an iridescence lurks, but urgeThe hesitating pallor on to primeOf dawn!—true blood-streaked, sun-warmth, action-time,By heart-pulse ripened to a ruddy glowOf gold above my clay—I scarce should knowFrom gold's self, thus suffused! For gold means love.What means the sad slow silver smile aboveMy clay but pity, pardon?—at the best,But acquiescence that I take my rest,Contented to be clay, while in your heavenThe sun reserves love for the Spirit-SevenCompanioning God's throne they lamp before,—Leaves earth a mute waste only wandered o'erBy that pale soft sweet disempassioned moonWhich smiles me slow forgiveness! Such, the boonI beg? Nay, dear, submit to this—just thisSupreme endeavor! As my lips now kissYour feet, my arms convulse your shrouding robe,My eyes, acquainted with the dust, dare probeYour eyes above for—what, if born, would blindMine with redundant bliss, as flash may findThe inert nerve, sting awake the palsied limb,Bid with life's ecstasy sense overbrimAnd suck back death in the resurging joy—Love, the love whole and sole without alloy!Vainly! The promise withers! I employLips, arms, eyes, pray the prayer which finds the word,Make the appeal which must be felt, not heard,And none the more is changed your calm regard:Rather, its sweet and soft grow harsh, and hard—Forbearance, then repulsion, then disdain.Avert the rest! I rise, see!—make, againOnce more, the old departure for some trackUntried, yet through a world which brings me backEver thus fruitlessly to find your feet,To fix your eyes, to pray the soft and sweetWhich smile there—take from his new pilgrimageYour outcast, once your inmate, and assuageWith love—not placid pardon now—his thirstFor a mere drop from out the ocean erstHe drank at! Well, the quest shall be renewed.Fear nothing! Though I linger, unembuedWith any drop, my lips thus close. I go!So did I leave you, I have found you so,And doubtlessly, if fated to return,So shall my pleading persevere and earnPardon—not love—in that same smile, I learn,And lose the meaning of, to learn once more,Vainly!What fairy track do I explore?What magic hall return to, like the gemCentuply-angled o'er a diadem?You dwell there, hearted; from your midmost homeRays forth—through that fantastic world I roamEver—from centre to circumference,Shaft upon colored shaft: this crimsons thence,That purples out its precinct through the waste.Surely I had your sanction when I faced,Fared forth upon that untried yellow rayWhence I retrack my steps? They end to-dayWhere they began, before your feet, beneathYour eyes, your smile: the blade is shut in sheath,Fire quenched in flint; irradiation, lateTriumphant through the distance, finds its fate,Merged in your blank pure soul, alike the sourceAnd tomb of that prismatic glow: divorceAbsolute, all-conclusive! Forth I fared,Treading the lambent flamelet: little caredIf now its flickering took the topaz tint,If now my dull-caked path gave sulphury hintOf subterranean rage—no stay nor stintTo yellow, since you sanctioned that I bathe,Burnish me, soul and body, swim and swatheIn yellow license. Here I reek suffusedWith crocus, saffron, orange, as I usedWith scarlet, purple, every dye o' the bowBorn of the storm-cloud. As before, you showScarce recognition, no approval, someMistrust, more wonder at a man becomeMonstrous in garb, nay—flesh disguised as well,Through his adventure. Whatsoe'er befell,I followed, wheresoe'er it wound, that veinYou authorized should leave your whiteness, stainEarth's sombre stretch beyond your midmost placeOf vantage,—trode that tinct whereof the traceOn garb and flesh repel you! Yes, I pleadYour own permission—your command, indeed,That who would worthily retain the loveMust share the knowledge shrined those eyes above,Go boldly on adventure, break through boundsO' the quintessential whiteness that surroundsYour feet, obtain experience of each tingeThat bickers forth to broaden out, impingePlainer his foot its pathway all distinctFrom every other. Ah, the wonder, linkedWith fear, as exploration manifestsWhat agency it was first tipped the crestsOf unnamed wildflower, soon protruding grewPortentous 'mid the sands, as when his hueBetrays him and the burrowing snake gleams through;Till, last ... but why parade more shame and pain?Are not the proofs upon me? Here againI pass into your presence, I receiveYour smile of pity, pardon, and I leave ...No, not this last of times I leave you, mute,Submitted to my penance, so my footMay yet again adventure, tread, from sourceTo issue, one more ray of rays which courseEach other, at your bidding, from the sphereSilver and sweet, their birthplace, down that drearDark of the world,—you promise shall returnYour pilgrim jewelled as with drops o' the urnThe rainbow paints from, and no smatch at allOf ghastliness at edge of some cloud-pallHeaven cowers before, as earth awaits the fallO' the bolt and flash of doom. Who trusts your wordTries the adventure: and returns—absurdAs frightful—in that sulphur-steeped disguiseMocking the priestly cloth-of-gold, sole prizeThe arch-heretic was wont to bear awayUntil he reached the burning. No, I say:No fresh adventure! No more seeking loveAt end of toil, and finding, calm aboveMy passion, the old statuesque regard,The sad petrific smile!O you—less hardAnd hateful than mistaken and obtuseUnreason of a she-intelligence!You very woman with the pert pretenceTo match the male achievement! Like enough!Ay, you were easy victors, did the roughStraightway efface itself to smooth, the gruffGrind down and grow a whisper,—did man's truthSubdue, for sake of chivalry and ruth,Its rapier-edge to suit the bulrush-spearWomanly falsehood fights with! O that earAll fact pricks rudely, that thrice-superfineFeminity of sense, with right divineTo waive all process, take result stain-freeFrom out the very muck wherein ...Ah me!The true slave's querulous outbreak! All the restBe resignation! Forth at your behestI fare. Who knows but this—the crimson-quest—May deepen to a sunrise, not decayTo that cold sad sweet smile?—which I obey.

Still you stand, still you listen, still you smile!

Still melts your moonbeam through me, white awhile,

Softening, sweetening, till sweet and soft

Increase so round this heart of mine, that oft

I could believe your moonbeam-smile has past

The pallid limit, lies, transformed at last

To sunlight and salvation—warms the soul

It sweetens, softens! Would you pass that goal,

Gain love's birth at the limit's happier verge,

And, where an iridescence lurks, but urge

The hesitating pallor on to prime

Of dawn!—true blood-streaked, sun-warmth, action-time,

By heart-pulse ripened to a ruddy glow

Of gold above my clay—I scarce should know

From gold's self, thus suffused! For gold means love.

What means the sad slow silver smile above

My clay but pity, pardon?—at the best,

But acquiescence that I take my rest,

Contented to be clay, while in your heaven

The sun reserves love for the Spirit-Seven

Companioning God's throne they lamp before,

—Leaves earth a mute waste only wandered o'er

By that pale soft sweet disempassioned moon

Which smiles me slow forgiveness! Such, the boon

I beg? Nay, dear, submit to this—just this

Supreme endeavor! As my lips now kiss

Your feet, my arms convulse your shrouding robe,

My eyes, acquainted with the dust, dare probe

Your eyes above for—what, if born, would blind

Mine with redundant bliss, as flash may find

The inert nerve, sting awake the palsied limb,

Bid with life's ecstasy sense overbrim

And suck back death in the resurging joy—

Love, the love whole and sole without alloy!

Vainly! The promise withers! I employLips, arms, eyes, pray the prayer which finds the word,Make the appeal which must be felt, not heard,And none the more is changed your calm regard:Rather, its sweet and soft grow harsh, and hard—Forbearance, then repulsion, then disdain.Avert the rest! I rise, see!—make, againOnce more, the old departure for some trackUntried, yet through a world which brings me backEver thus fruitlessly to find your feet,To fix your eyes, to pray the soft and sweetWhich smile there—take from his new pilgrimageYour outcast, once your inmate, and assuageWith love—not placid pardon now—his thirstFor a mere drop from out the ocean erstHe drank at! Well, the quest shall be renewed.Fear nothing! Though I linger, unembuedWith any drop, my lips thus close. I go!So did I leave you, I have found you so,And doubtlessly, if fated to return,So shall my pleading persevere and earnPardon—not love—in that same smile, I learn,And lose the meaning of, to learn once more,Vainly!

Vainly! The promise withers! I employ

Lips, arms, eyes, pray the prayer which finds the word,

Make the appeal which must be felt, not heard,

And none the more is changed your calm regard:

Rather, its sweet and soft grow harsh, and hard—

Forbearance, then repulsion, then disdain.

Avert the rest! I rise, see!—make, again

Once more, the old departure for some track

Untried, yet through a world which brings me back

Ever thus fruitlessly to find your feet,

To fix your eyes, to pray the soft and sweet

Which smile there—take from his new pilgrimage

Your outcast, once your inmate, and assuage

With love—not placid pardon now—his thirst

For a mere drop from out the ocean erst

He drank at! Well, the quest shall be renewed.

Fear nothing! Though I linger, unembued

With any drop, my lips thus close. I go!

So did I leave you, I have found you so,

And doubtlessly, if fated to return,

So shall my pleading persevere and earn

Pardon—not love—in that same smile, I learn,

And lose the meaning of, to learn once more,

Vainly!

What fairy track do I explore?What magic hall return to, like the gemCentuply-angled o'er a diadem?You dwell there, hearted; from your midmost homeRays forth—through that fantastic world I roamEver—from centre to circumference,Shaft upon colored shaft: this crimsons thence,That purples out its precinct through the waste.Surely I had your sanction when I faced,Fared forth upon that untried yellow rayWhence I retrack my steps? They end to-dayWhere they began, before your feet, beneathYour eyes, your smile: the blade is shut in sheath,Fire quenched in flint; irradiation, lateTriumphant through the distance, finds its fate,Merged in your blank pure soul, alike the sourceAnd tomb of that prismatic glow: divorceAbsolute, all-conclusive! Forth I fared,Treading the lambent flamelet: little caredIf now its flickering took the topaz tint,If now my dull-caked path gave sulphury hintOf subterranean rage—no stay nor stintTo yellow, since you sanctioned that I bathe,Burnish me, soul and body, swim and swatheIn yellow license. Here I reek suffusedWith crocus, saffron, orange, as I usedWith scarlet, purple, every dye o' the bowBorn of the storm-cloud. As before, you showScarce recognition, no approval, someMistrust, more wonder at a man becomeMonstrous in garb, nay—flesh disguised as well,Through his adventure. Whatsoe'er befell,I followed, wheresoe'er it wound, that veinYou authorized should leave your whiteness, stainEarth's sombre stretch beyond your midmost placeOf vantage,—trode that tinct whereof the traceOn garb and flesh repel you! Yes, I pleadYour own permission—your command, indeed,That who would worthily retain the loveMust share the knowledge shrined those eyes above,Go boldly on adventure, break through boundsO' the quintessential whiteness that surroundsYour feet, obtain experience of each tingeThat bickers forth to broaden out, impingePlainer his foot its pathway all distinctFrom every other. Ah, the wonder, linkedWith fear, as exploration manifestsWhat agency it was first tipped the crestsOf unnamed wildflower, soon protruding grewPortentous 'mid the sands, as when his hueBetrays him and the burrowing snake gleams through;Till, last ... but why parade more shame and pain?Are not the proofs upon me? Here againI pass into your presence, I receiveYour smile of pity, pardon, and I leave ...No, not this last of times I leave you, mute,Submitted to my penance, so my footMay yet again adventure, tread, from sourceTo issue, one more ray of rays which courseEach other, at your bidding, from the sphereSilver and sweet, their birthplace, down that drearDark of the world,—you promise shall returnYour pilgrim jewelled as with drops o' the urnThe rainbow paints from, and no smatch at allOf ghastliness at edge of some cloud-pallHeaven cowers before, as earth awaits the fallO' the bolt and flash of doom. Who trusts your wordTries the adventure: and returns—absurdAs frightful—in that sulphur-steeped disguiseMocking the priestly cloth-of-gold, sole prizeThe arch-heretic was wont to bear awayUntil he reached the burning. No, I say:No fresh adventure! No more seeking loveAt end of toil, and finding, calm aboveMy passion, the old statuesque regard,The sad petrific smile!

What fairy track do I explore?

What magic hall return to, like the gem

Centuply-angled o'er a diadem?

You dwell there, hearted; from your midmost home

Rays forth—through that fantastic world I roam

Ever—from centre to circumference,

Shaft upon colored shaft: this crimsons thence,

That purples out its precinct through the waste.

Surely I had your sanction when I faced,

Fared forth upon that untried yellow ray

Whence I retrack my steps? They end to-day

Where they began, before your feet, beneath

Your eyes, your smile: the blade is shut in sheath,

Fire quenched in flint; irradiation, late

Triumphant through the distance, finds its fate,

Merged in your blank pure soul, alike the source

And tomb of that prismatic glow: divorce

Absolute, all-conclusive! Forth I fared,

Treading the lambent flamelet: little cared

If now its flickering took the topaz tint,

If now my dull-caked path gave sulphury hint

Of subterranean rage—no stay nor stint

To yellow, since you sanctioned that I bathe,

Burnish me, soul and body, swim and swathe

In yellow license. Here I reek suffused

With crocus, saffron, orange, as I used

With scarlet, purple, every dye o' the bow

Born of the storm-cloud. As before, you show

Scarce recognition, no approval, some

Mistrust, more wonder at a man become

Monstrous in garb, nay—flesh disguised as well,

Through his adventure. Whatsoe'er befell,

I followed, wheresoe'er it wound, that vein

You authorized should leave your whiteness, stain

Earth's sombre stretch beyond your midmost place

Of vantage,—trode that tinct whereof the trace

On garb and flesh repel you! Yes, I plead

Your own permission—your command, indeed,

That who would worthily retain the love

Must share the knowledge shrined those eyes above,

Go boldly on adventure, break through bounds

O' the quintessential whiteness that surrounds

Your feet, obtain experience of each tinge

That bickers forth to broaden out, impinge

Plainer his foot its pathway all distinct

From every other. Ah, the wonder, linked

With fear, as exploration manifests

What agency it was first tipped the crests

Of unnamed wildflower, soon protruding grew

Portentous 'mid the sands, as when his hue

Betrays him and the burrowing snake gleams through;

Till, last ... but why parade more shame and pain?

Are not the proofs upon me? Here again

I pass into your presence, I receive

Your smile of pity, pardon, and I leave ...

No, not this last of times I leave you, mute,

Submitted to my penance, so my foot

May yet again adventure, tread, from source

To issue, one more ray of rays which course

Each other, at your bidding, from the sphere

Silver and sweet, their birthplace, down that drear

Dark of the world,—you promise shall return

Your pilgrim jewelled as with drops o' the urn

The rainbow paints from, and no smatch at all

Of ghastliness at edge of some cloud-pall

Heaven cowers before, as earth awaits the fall

O' the bolt and flash of doom. Who trusts your word

Tries the adventure: and returns—absurd

As frightful—in that sulphur-steeped disguise

Mocking the priestly cloth-of-gold, sole prize

The arch-heretic was wont to bear away

Until he reached the burning. No, I say:

No fresh adventure! No more seeking love

At end of toil, and finding, calm above

My passion, the old statuesque regard,

The sad petrific smile!

O you—less hardAnd hateful than mistaken and obtuseUnreason of a she-intelligence!You very woman with the pert pretenceTo match the male achievement! Like enough!Ay, you were easy victors, did the roughStraightway efface itself to smooth, the gruffGrind down and grow a whisper,—did man's truthSubdue, for sake of chivalry and ruth,Its rapier-edge to suit the bulrush-spearWomanly falsehood fights with! O that earAll fact pricks rudely, that thrice-superfineFeminity of sense, with right divineTo waive all process, take result stain-freeFrom out the very muck wherein ...

O you—less hard

And hateful than mistaken and obtuse

Unreason of a she-intelligence!

You very woman with the pert pretence

To match the male achievement! Like enough!

Ay, you were easy victors, did the rough

Straightway efface itself to smooth, the gruff

Grind down and grow a whisper,—did man's truth

Subdue, for sake of chivalry and ruth,

Its rapier-edge to suit the bulrush-spear

Womanly falsehood fights with! O that ear

All fact pricks rudely, that thrice-superfine

Feminity of sense, with right divine

To waive all process, take result stain-free

From out the very muck wherein ...

Ah me!The true slave's querulous outbreak! All the restBe resignation! Forth at your behestI fare. Who knows but this—the crimson-quest—May deepen to a sunrise, not decayTo that cold sad sweet smile?—which I obey.

Ah me!

The true slave's querulous outbreak! All the rest

Be resignation! Forth at your behest

I fare. Who knows but this—the crimson-quest—

May deepen to a sunrise, not decay

To that cold sad sweet smile?—which I obey.

And so you found that poor room dull,Dark, hardly to your taste, my dear?Its features seemed unbeautiful:But this I know—'t was there, not here,You plighted troth to me, the wordWhich—ask that poor room how it heard.And this rich room obtains your praiseUnqualified,—so bright, so fair,So all whereat perfection stays?Ay, but remember—here, not there,The other word was spoken!—AskThis rich room how you dropped the mask!

And so you found that poor room dull,

Dark, hardly to your taste, my dear?

Its features seemed unbeautiful:

But this I know—'t was there, not here,

You plighted troth to me, the word

Which—ask that poor room how it heard.

And this rich room obtains your praiseUnqualified,—so bright, so fair,So all whereat perfection stays?Ay, but remember—here, not there,The other word was spoken!—AskThis rich room how you dropped the mask!

And this rich room obtains your praise

Unqualified,—so bright, so fair,

So all whereat perfection stays?

Ay, but remember—here, not there,

The other word was spoken!—Ask

This rich room how you dropped the mask!

No protesting, dearest!Hardly kisses even!Don't we both know how it ends?How the greenest leaf turns serest,Bluest outbreak—blankest heaven,Lovers—friends?You would build a mansion,I would weave a bower—Want the heart for enterprise.Walls admit of no expansion:Trellis-work may haply flowerTwice the size.What makes glad Life's Winter?New buds, old blooms after.Sad the sighing "How suspectBeams would ere mid-Autumn splinter,Rooftree scarce support a rafter,Walls lie wrecked?"You are young, my princess!I am hardly older:Yet—I steal a glance behind!Dare I tell you what convincesTimid me that you, if bolder,Bold—are blind?Where we plan our dwellingGlooms a graveyard surely!Headstone, footstone moss may drape,—Name, date, violets hide from spelling,—But, though corpses rot obscurely,Ghosts escape.Ghosts! O breathing Beauty,Give my frank word pardon!What if I—somehow, somewhere—Pledged my soul to endless dutyMany a time and oft? Be hard onLove—laid there?Nay, blame grief that 's fickle,Time that proves a traitor,Chance, change, all that purpose warps,—Death who spares to thrust the sickleLaid Love low, through flowers which laterShroud the corpse!And you, my winsome lady,Whisper with like frankness!Lies nothing buried long ago?Are yon—which shimmer 'mid the shadyWhere moss and violet run to rankness—Tombs or no?Who taxes you with murder?My hands are clean—or nearly!Love being mortal needs must pass.Repentance? Nothing were absurder.Enough: we felt Love's loss severely;Though now—alas!Love's corpse lies quiet therefore,Only Love's ghost plays truant,And warns us have in wholesome aweDurable mansionry; that's whereforeI weave but trellis-work, pursuant—Life, to law.The solid, not the fragile,Tempts rain and hail and thunder.If bower stand firm at Autumn's close,Beyond my hope,—why, boughs were agile;If bower fall flat, we scarce need wonderWreathing—rose!So, truce to the protesting,So, muffled be the kisses!For, would we but avow the truth,Sober is genuine joy. No jesting!Ask else Penelope, Ulysses—Old in youth!For why should ghosts feel angered?Let all their interferenceBe faint march-music in the air!"Up! Join the rear of us the vanguard!Up, lovers, dead to all appearance,Laggard pair!"The while you clasp me closer,The while I press you deeper,As safe we chuckle,—under breath,Yet all the slyer, the jocoser,—"So, life can boast its day, like leap-year,Stolen from death!"Ah me—the sudden terror!Hence quick—avaunt, avoid me,You cheat, the ghostly flesh-disguised!Nay, all the ghosts in one! Strange error!So, 't was Death's self that clipped and coyed me,Loved—and lied!Ay, dead loves are the potent!Like any cloud they used you,Mere semblance you, but substance they!Build we no mansion, weave we no tent!Mere flesh—their spirit interfused you!Hence, I say!All theirs, none yours the glamour!Theirs each low word that won me,Soft look that found me Love's, and leftWhat else but you—the tears and clamorThat 's all your very own! Undone me—Ghost-bereft!

No protesting, dearest!Hardly kisses even!Don't we both know how it ends?How the greenest leaf turns serest,Bluest outbreak—blankest heaven,Lovers—friends?

No protesting, dearest!

Hardly kisses even!

Don't we both know how it ends?

How the greenest leaf turns serest,

Bluest outbreak—blankest heaven,

Lovers—friends?

You would build a mansion,I would weave a bower—Want the heart for enterprise.Walls admit of no expansion:Trellis-work may haply flowerTwice the size.

You would build a mansion,

I would weave a bower

—Want the heart for enterprise.

Walls admit of no expansion:

Trellis-work may haply flower

Twice the size.

What makes glad Life's Winter?New buds, old blooms after.Sad the sighing "How suspectBeams would ere mid-Autumn splinter,Rooftree scarce support a rafter,Walls lie wrecked?"

What makes glad Life's Winter?

New buds, old blooms after.

Sad the sighing "How suspect

Beams would ere mid-Autumn splinter,

Rooftree scarce support a rafter,

Walls lie wrecked?"

You are young, my princess!I am hardly older:Yet—I steal a glance behind!Dare I tell you what convincesTimid me that you, if bolder,Bold—are blind?

You are young, my princess!

I am hardly older:

Yet—I steal a glance behind!

Dare I tell you what convinces

Timid me that you, if bolder,

Bold—are blind?

Where we plan our dwellingGlooms a graveyard surely!Headstone, footstone moss may drape,—Name, date, violets hide from spelling,—But, though corpses rot obscurely,Ghosts escape.

Where we plan our dwelling

Glooms a graveyard surely!

Headstone, footstone moss may drape,—

Name, date, violets hide from spelling,—

But, though corpses rot obscurely,

Ghosts escape.

Ghosts! O breathing Beauty,Give my frank word pardon!What if I—somehow, somewhere—Pledged my soul to endless dutyMany a time and oft? Be hard onLove—laid there?

Ghosts! O breathing Beauty,

Give my frank word pardon!

What if I—somehow, somewhere—

Pledged my soul to endless duty

Many a time and oft? Be hard on

Love—laid there?

Nay, blame grief that 's fickle,Time that proves a traitor,Chance, change, all that purpose warps,—Death who spares to thrust the sickleLaid Love low, through flowers which laterShroud the corpse!

Nay, blame grief that 's fickle,

Time that proves a traitor,

Chance, change, all that purpose warps,—

Death who spares to thrust the sickle

Laid Love low, through flowers which later

Shroud the corpse!

And you, my winsome lady,Whisper with like frankness!Lies nothing buried long ago?Are yon—which shimmer 'mid the shadyWhere moss and violet run to rankness—Tombs or no?

And you, my winsome lady,

Whisper with like frankness!

Lies nothing buried long ago?

Are yon—which shimmer 'mid the shady

Where moss and violet run to rankness—

Tombs or no?

Who taxes you with murder?My hands are clean—or nearly!Love being mortal needs must pass.Repentance? Nothing were absurder.Enough: we felt Love's loss severely;Though now—alas!

Who taxes you with murder?

My hands are clean—or nearly!

Love being mortal needs must pass.

Repentance? Nothing were absurder.

Enough: we felt Love's loss severely;

Though now—alas!

Love's corpse lies quiet therefore,Only Love's ghost plays truant,And warns us have in wholesome aweDurable mansionry; that's whereforeI weave but trellis-work, pursuant—Life, to law.

Love's corpse lies quiet therefore,

Only Love's ghost plays truant,

And warns us have in wholesome awe

Durable mansionry; that's wherefore

I weave but trellis-work, pursuant

—Life, to law.

The solid, not the fragile,Tempts rain and hail and thunder.If bower stand firm at Autumn's close,Beyond my hope,—why, boughs were agile;If bower fall flat, we scarce need wonderWreathing—rose!

The solid, not the fragile,

Tempts rain and hail and thunder.

If bower stand firm at Autumn's close,

Beyond my hope,—why, boughs were agile;

If bower fall flat, we scarce need wonder

Wreathing—rose!

So, truce to the protesting,So, muffled be the kisses!For, would we but avow the truth,Sober is genuine joy. No jesting!Ask else Penelope, Ulysses—Old in youth!

So, truce to the protesting,

So, muffled be the kisses!

For, would we but avow the truth,

Sober is genuine joy. No jesting!

Ask else Penelope, Ulysses—

Old in youth!

For why should ghosts feel angered?Let all their interferenceBe faint march-music in the air!"Up! Join the rear of us the vanguard!Up, lovers, dead to all appearance,Laggard pair!"

For why should ghosts feel angered?

Let all their interference

Be faint march-music in the air!

"Up! Join the rear of us the vanguard!

Up, lovers, dead to all appearance,

Laggard pair!"

The while you clasp me closer,The while I press you deeper,As safe we chuckle,—under breath,Yet all the slyer, the jocoser,—"So, life can boast its day, like leap-year,Stolen from death!"

The while you clasp me closer,

The while I press you deeper,

As safe we chuckle,—under breath,

Yet all the slyer, the jocoser,—

"So, life can boast its day, like leap-year,

Stolen from death!"

Ah me—the sudden terror!Hence quick—avaunt, avoid me,You cheat, the ghostly flesh-disguised!Nay, all the ghosts in one! Strange error!So, 't was Death's self that clipped and coyed me,Loved—and lied!

Ah me—the sudden terror!

Hence quick—avaunt, avoid me,

You cheat, the ghostly flesh-disguised!

Nay, all the ghosts in one! Strange error!

So, 't was Death's self that clipped and coyed me,

Loved—and lied!

Ay, dead loves are the potent!Like any cloud they used you,Mere semblance you, but substance they!Build we no mansion, weave we no tent!Mere flesh—their spirit interfused you!Hence, I say!

Ay, dead loves are the potent!

Like any cloud they used you,

Mere semblance you, but substance they!

Build we no mansion, weave we no tent!

Mere flesh—their spirit interfused you!

Hence, I say!

All theirs, none yours the glamour!Theirs each low word that won me,Soft look that found me Love's, and leftWhat else but you—the tears and clamorThat 's all your very own! Undone me—Ghost-bereft!

All theirs, none yours the glamour!

Theirs each low word that won me,

Soft look that found me Love's, and left

What else but you—the tears and clamor

That 's all your very own! Undone me—

Ghost-bereft!

This ballad was printed first in theCornhill Magazinefor March, 1871. In a letter to Mr. George Smith, one of the publishers of the magazine, Browning stated that he intended to devote the proceeds of the poem to the aid of the people of Paris suffering from the Franco-German war. The publisher generously seconded his resolve and paid one hundred pounds for the poem.

IOn the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two,Did the English fight the French,—woe to France!And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue,Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue,Came crowding ship on ship to Saint Malo on the Rance,With the English fleet in view.II'T was the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase;First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville;Close on him fled, great and small,Twenty-two good ships in all;And they signalled to the place"Help the winners of a race!Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick—or, quicker still,Here 's the English can and will!"IIIThen the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board;"Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?" laughed they:"Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and scored,Shall the 'Formidable' here with her twelve and eighty gunsThink to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way,Trust to enter where 't is ticklish for a craft of twenty tons,And with flow at full beside?Now, 't is slackest ebb of tide.Reach the mooring? Rather say,While rock stands or water runs,Not a ship will leave the bay!"IVThen was called a council straight.Brief and bitter the debate:"Here 's the English at our heels; would you have them take in towAll that 's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow,For a prize to Plymouth Sound?Better run the ships aground!"(Ended Damfreville his speech)."Not a minute more to wait!Let the Captains all and eachShove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach!France must undergo her fate.V"Give the word!" But no such wordWas ever spoke or heard;For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these—A Captain? A Lieutenant? A Mate—first, second, third?No such man of mark, and meetWith his betters to compete!But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the fleet,A poor coasting-pilot he, Hervé Riel the Croisickese.VIAnd "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Hervé Riel:"Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or rogues?Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tellOn my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell'Twixt the offing here and Grève where the river disembogues?Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying 's for?Morn and eve, night and day,Have I piloted your bay,Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor.Burn the fleet and ruin France? That were worse than fifty Hogues!Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me there 's a way!Only let me lead the line,Have the biggest ship to steer,Get this 'Formidable' clear,Make the others follow mine,And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know well,Right to Solidor past Grève,And there lay them safe and sound;And if one ship misbehave,—Keel so much as grate the ground,Why, I 've nothing but my life,—here 's my head!" cries Hervé Riel.VIINot a minute more to wait."Steer us in, then, small and great!Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!" cried its chief.Captains, give the sailor place!He is Admiral, in brief.Still the north-wind, by God's grace!See the noble fellow's faceAs the big ship, with a bound,Clears the entry like a hound,Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's profound!See, safe through shoal and rock,How they follow in a flock,Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground,Not a spar that comes to grief!The peril, see, is past,All are harbored to the last,And just as Hervé Riel hollas "Anchor!"—sure as fate,Up the English come—too late!VIIISo, the storm subsides to calm:They see the green trees waveOn the heights o'erlooking Grève.Hearts that bled are stanched with balm."Just our rapture to enhance,Let the English rake the bay,Gnash their teeth and glare askanceAs they cannonade away!'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Rance!"How hope succeeds despair on each Captain's countenance!Out burst all with one accord,"This is Paradise for Hell!Let France, let France's KingThank the man that did the thing!"What a shout, and all one word,"Hervé Riel!"As he stepped in front once more,Not a symptom of surpriseIn the frank blue Breton eyes,Just the same man as before.IXThen said Damfreville, "My friend,I must speak out at the end,Though I find the speaking hard.Praise is deeper than the lips:You have saved the King his ships,You must name your own reward.'Faith, our sun was near eclipse!Demand whate'er you will,France remains your debtor still.Ask to heart's content and have! or my name 's not Damfreville."XThen a beam of fun outbrokeOn the bearded mouth that spoke,As the honest heart laughed throughThose frank eyes of Breton blue:"Since I needs must say my say,Since on board the duty 's done.And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run?—Since 't is ask and have, I may—Since the others go ashore—Come! A good whole holiday!Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!"That he asked and that he got,—nothing more.XIName and deed alike are lost:Not a pillar nor a postIn his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell;Not a head in white and blackOn a single fishing-smack,In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrackAll that France saved from the fight whence England bore the bell.Go to Paris: rank on rankSearch the heroes flung pell-mellOn the Louvre, face and flank!You shall look long enough ere you come to Hervé Riel.So, for better and for worse,Hervé Riel, accept my verse!In my verse, Hervé Riel, do thou once moreSave the squadron, honor France, love thy wife the Belle Aurore!

On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two,Did the English fight the French,—woe to France!And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue,Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue,Came crowding ship on ship to Saint Malo on the Rance,With the English fleet in view.

On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two,

Did the English fight the French,—woe to France!

And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue,

Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue,

Came crowding ship on ship to Saint Malo on the Rance,

With the English fleet in view.

'T was the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase;First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville;Close on him fled, great and small,Twenty-two good ships in all;And they signalled to the place"Help the winners of a race!Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick—or, quicker still,Here 's the English can and will!"

'T was the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase;

First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville;

Close on him fled, great and small,

Twenty-two good ships in all;

And they signalled to the place

"Help the winners of a race!

Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick—or, quicker still,

Here 's the English can and will!"

III

Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board;"Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?" laughed they:"Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and scored,Shall the 'Formidable' here with her twelve and eighty gunsThink to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way,Trust to enter where 't is ticklish for a craft of twenty tons,And with flow at full beside?Now, 't is slackest ebb of tide.Reach the mooring? Rather say,While rock stands or water runs,Not a ship will leave the bay!"

Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board;

"Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?" laughed they:

"Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and scored,

Shall the 'Formidable' here with her twelve and eighty guns

Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way,

Trust to enter where 't is ticklish for a craft of twenty tons,

And with flow at full beside?

Now, 't is slackest ebb of tide.

Reach the mooring? Rather say,

While rock stands or water runs,

Not a ship will leave the bay!"

Then was called a council straight.Brief and bitter the debate:"Here 's the English at our heels; would you have them take in towAll that 's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow,For a prize to Plymouth Sound?Better run the ships aground!"(Ended Damfreville his speech)."Not a minute more to wait!Let the Captains all and eachShove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach!France must undergo her fate.

Then was called a council straight.

Brief and bitter the debate:

"Here 's the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow

All that 's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow,

For a prize to Plymouth Sound?

Better run the ships aground!"

(Ended Damfreville his speech).

"Not a minute more to wait!

Let the Captains all and each

Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach!

France must undergo her fate.

"Give the word!" But no such wordWas ever spoke or heard;For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these—A Captain? A Lieutenant? A Mate—first, second, third?No such man of mark, and meetWith his betters to compete!But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the fleet,A poor coasting-pilot he, Hervé Riel the Croisickese.

"Give the word!" But no such word

Was ever spoke or heard;

For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these

—A Captain? A Lieutenant? A Mate—first, second, third?

No such man of mark, and meet

With his betters to compete!

But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the fleet,

A poor coasting-pilot he, Hervé Riel the Croisickese.

And "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Hervé Riel:"Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or rogues?Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tellOn my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell'Twixt the offing here and Grève where the river disembogues?Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying 's for?Morn and eve, night and day,Have I piloted your bay,Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor.Burn the fleet and ruin France? That were worse than fifty Hogues!Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me there 's a way!Only let me lead the line,Have the biggest ship to steer,Get this 'Formidable' clear,Make the others follow mine,And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know well,Right to Solidor past Grève,And there lay them safe and sound;And if one ship misbehave,—Keel so much as grate the ground,Why, I 've nothing but my life,—here 's my head!" cries Hervé Riel.

And "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Hervé Riel:

"Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or rogues?

Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tell

On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell

'Twixt the offing here and Grève where the river disembogues?

Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying 's for?

Morn and eve, night and day,

Have I piloted your bay,

Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor.

Burn the fleet and ruin France? That were worse than fifty Hogues!

Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me there 's a way!

Only let me lead the line,

Have the biggest ship to steer,

Get this 'Formidable' clear,

Make the others follow mine,

And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know well,

Right to Solidor past Grève,

And there lay them safe and sound;

And if one ship misbehave,

—Keel so much as grate the ground,

Why, I 've nothing but my life,—here 's my head!" cries Hervé Riel.

VII

Not a minute more to wait."Steer us in, then, small and great!Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!" cried its chief.Captains, give the sailor place!He is Admiral, in brief.Still the north-wind, by God's grace!See the noble fellow's faceAs the big ship, with a bound,Clears the entry like a hound,Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's profound!See, safe through shoal and rock,How they follow in a flock,Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground,Not a spar that comes to grief!The peril, see, is past,All are harbored to the last,And just as Hervé Riel hollas "Anchor!"—sure as fate,Up the English come—too late!

Not a minute more to wait.

"Steer us in, then, small and great!

Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!" cried its chief.

Captains, give the sailor place!

He is Admiral, in brief.

Still the north-wind, by God's grace!

See the noble fellow's face

As the big ship, with a bound,

Clears the entry like a hound,

Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's profound!

See, safe through shoal and rock,

How they follow in a flock,

Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground,

Not a spar that comes to grief!

The peril, see, is past,

All are harbored to the last,

And just as Hervé Riel hollas "Anchor!"—sure as fate,

Up the English come—too late!

VIII

So, the storm subsides to calm:They see the green trees waveOn the heights o'erlooking Grève.Hearts that bled are stanched with balm."Just our rapture to enhance,Let the English rake the bay,Gnash their teeth and glare askanceAs they cannonade away!'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Rance!"How hope succeeds despair on each Captain's countenance!Out burst all with one accord,"This is Paradise for Hell!Let France, let France's KingThank the man that did the thing!"What a shout, and all one word,"Hervé Riel!"As he stepped in front once more,Not a symptom of surpriseIn the frank blue Breton eyes,Just the same man as before.

So, the storm subsides to calm:

They see the green trees wave

On the heights o'erlooking Grève.

Hearts that bled are stanched with balm.

"Just our rapture to enhance,

Let the English rake the bay,

Gnash their teeth and glare askance

As they cannonade away!

'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Rance!"

How hope succeeds despair on each Captain's countenance!

Out burst all with one accord,

"This is Paradise for Hell!

Let France, let France's King

Thank the man that did the thing!"

What a shout, and all one word,

"Hervé Riel!"

As he stepped in front once more,

Not a symptom of surprise

In the frank blue Breton eyes,

Just the same man as before.

Then said Damfreville, "My friend,I must speak out at the end,Though I find the speaking hard.Praise is deeper than the lips:You have saved the King his ships,You must name your own reward.'Faith, our sun was near eclipse!Demand whate'er you will,France remains your debtor still.Ask to heart's content and have! or my name 's not Damfreville."

Then said Damfreville, "My friend,

I must speak out at the end,

Though I find the speaking hard.

Praise is deeper than the lips:

You have saved the King his ships,

You must name your own reward.

'Faith, our sun was near eclipse!

Demand whate'er you will,

France remains your debtor still.

Ask to heart's content and have! or my name 's not Damfreville."

Then a beam of fun outbrokeOn the bearded mouth that spoke,As the honest heart laughed throughThose frank eyes of Breton blue:"Since I needs must say my say,Since on board the duty 's done.And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run?—Since 't is ask and have, I may—Since the others go ashore—Come! A good whole holiday!Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!"That he asked and that he got,—nothing more.

Then a beam of fun outbroke

On the bearded mouth that spoke,

As the honest heart laughed through

Those frank eyes of Breton blue:

"Since I needs must say my say,

Since on board the duty 's done.

And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run?—

Since 't is ask and have, I may—

Since the others go ashore—

Come! A good whole holiday!

Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!"

That he asked and that he got,—nothing more.

Name and deed alike are lost:Not a pillar nor a postIn his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell;Not a head in white and blackOn a single fishing-smack,In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrackAll that France saved from the fight whence England bore the bell.Go to Paris: rank on rankSearch the heroes flung pell-mellOn the Louvre, face and flank!You shall look long enough ere you come to Hervé Riel.So, for better and for worse,Hervé Riel, accept my verse!In my verse, Hervé Riel, do thou once moreSave the squadron, honor France, love thy wife the Belle Aurore!

Name and deed alike are lost:

Not a pillar nor a post

In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell;

Not a head in white and black

On a single fishing-smack,

In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack

All that France saved from the fight whence England bore the bell.

Go to Paris: rank on rank

Search the heroes flung pell-mell

On the Louvre, face and flank!

You shall look long enough ere you come to Hervé Riel.

So, for better and for worse,

Hervé Riel, accept my verse!

In my verse, Hervé Riel, do thou once more

Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife the Belle Aurore!

Back to Index Next