Poetical works
Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 1806-1861
; -o ;co CO *~s .^4&4€4tded/w// S X't L, \ u*fc — r / <^/ ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING'S POETICAL WORKS VOL. v. S? ROM E . M AR CH, 1359. Lo'ilK'.Pubhahedby Snulh.ElderAC' IS.Witerloo Plio THE POETICAL WORKS OF ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING IN SIX VOLUMES VOL. V. LONDON SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE 1890 v-S" CONTENTS LAST POEMS— continued PAGE DE PROFUNDIS .; 3 A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT 10 FIRST NEWS FROM VILLAFRANCA 13 KING VICTOR EMANUEL ENTERING FLORENCE, APRIL 1860 16 THE SWORD OF CASTRUCCIO CASTRACANI . . . .20 SUMMING UP IN ITALY 23 "DIED ..." 27 THE FORCED RECRUIT 30 GARIBALDI 33 ONLY A CURL 36 A VIEW ACROSS THE ROMAN CAMPAGNA . . . .40 THE KING'S GIFT 43 PARTING LOVERS 45 MOTHER AND POET 49 NATURE'S REMORSES .56 THE NORTH AND THE SOUTH 61 TRANSLATIONS. FROM THEOCRITUS :— THE CYCLOPS . 67 vi CONTENTS FROM APULEIUS :— PAGE PSYCHF GAZING ON CUPID ... • • 72 PSYCHE WAFTED BY ZEPHYRUS 74 PSYCHE AND PAN 75 PSYCHE PROPITIATING CERES 77 PSYCHE AND THE EAGLE ... ... 79 PSYCHE AND CERBERUS 80 PSYCHE AND PROSERPINE 81 PSYCHE AND VENUS 82 MERCURY CARRIES PSYCHE TO OLYMPUS . . . 82 MARRIAGE OF PSYCHE AND CUPID . . . .82 FROM NONNUS :— How BACCHUS FINDS ARIADNE SLEEPING . . . 84 How BACCHUS COMFORTS ARIADNE . . . .87 FROM HESIOD:— BACCHUS AND ARIADNE 9° FROM EURIPIDES :— AURORA AND TITHONUS . . . : . .91 FROM HOMER :— HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE . . . ... 93 THE DAUGHTERS OF PANDARUS 98 ANOTHER VERSION 99 FROM ANACREON :— ODE TO THE SWALLOW 101 FROM HEINE 103 THE GREEK CHRISTIAN POETS 109 THE BOOK OF THE POETS . . 201 LAST POEMS (CONTINUED) DE PROFUNDI& i. THE face which, duly as the sun, Rose up for me with life begun, To mark all bright hours of the day With hourly love, is dimmed away, — And yet my days go on, go on. H. The tongue which, like a stream, could run Smooth music from the roughest stone, And every morning with " Good day " Make each day good, is hushed away, — And yet my days go on, go on, in. The heart which, like a staff, was one For mine to lean and rest upon, The strongest on the longest day With steadfast love, is caught away, — And yet my days go on, go on. Bfl DE PROFUNDIS IV. And cold before my summer 's done, And deaf in Nature's general tune, And fallen too low for special fear, And here, with hope no longer here, — While the tears drop, my days go on. v. The world goes whispering to its own, " This anguish pierces to the bone ; " And tender friends go sighing round, " What love can ever cure this wound ? " My days go on, my days go on. VI. The past rolls forward on the sun And makes all night. O dreams begun, Not to be ended ! Ended bliss, And life that will not end in this ! My days go on, my days go on. VII. Breath freezes on my lips to moan : As one alone, once not alone, I sit and knock at Nature's door, Heart-bare, heart-hungry, very poor, Whose desolated days go on. DE PROFUNDIS VIII. I knock and cry, — Undone, undone ! Is there no help, no comfort, — none ? No gleaning in the wide wheat-plains Where others drive their loaded wains ? My vacant days go on, go on. IX. This Nature, though the snows be down, Thinks kindly of the bird of June : The little red hip on the tree Is ripe for such. What is for me, Whose days so winterly go on ? x. No bird am I, to sing in June, And dare not ask an equal boon. Good nests and berries red are Nature's To give away to better creatures, — And yet my days go on, go on. XI. /ask less kindness to be done, — Only to loose these pilgrim -shoon. (Too early worn and grimed) with sweet Cool deathly touch to these tired feet Till days go out which now go on. DE PROFUNDIS XII. Only to lift the turf unmown From off the earth where it has grown, Some cubit-space, and say " Behold, Creep in, poor Heart, beneath that fold, Forgetting how the days go on." XIII. What harm would that do ? Green anon The sward would quicken, overshone By skies as blue ; and crickets might Have leave to chirp there day and night While my new rest went on, went on. XIV. From gracious Nature have I won Such liberal bounty ? may I run So, lizard-like, within her side, And there be safe, who now am tried By days that painfully go on ? xv. — A Voice reproves me thereupon, More sweet than Nature's when the drone Of bees is sweetest and more deep Than when the rivers overleap The shuddering pines, and thunder on. DE PROFUND1S XVI. God's Voice, not Nature's ! Night and noon He sits upon the great white throne And listens for the creatures' praise. What babble we of days and days ? The Day-spring He, whose days go on. XVII. He reigns above, He reigns alone ; Systems burn out and leave His throne ; Fair mists of seraphs melt and fall Around Him, changeless amid all,— Ancient of Days, whose days go on. XVIII. He reigns below, He reigns alone, And, having life in love forgone Beneath the crown of sovran thorns, He reigns the Jealous God. Who mourns Or rules with Him, while days go on ? XIX. By anguish which made pale the sun, I hear Him charge His saints that none Among His creatures anywhere Blaspheme against Him with despair. However darkly days go on. DE PROFUNDIS XX. Take from my head the thorn-wreath brown ! No mortal grief deserves that crown. 0 supreme Love, chief misery, The sharp regalia are for THEE Whose days eternally go on ! XXI. For us, — whatever 's undergone, Thou knowest, wiliest what is done. Grief may be joy misunderstood ; Only the Good discerns the good. 1 trust Thee while my days go on. XXII. Whatever 's lost, it first was won ; We will not struggle nor impugn. Perhaps the cup was broken here, That Heaven's new wine might show more clear. I praise Thee while my days go on. XXIII. I praise Thee while my days go on ; I love Thee while my days go on : Through dark and dearth, through fire and frost, With emptied arms and treasure lost, I thank Thee while my days go on. DE PROFUNDIS XXIV. And having in thy life-depth thrown Being and suffering (which are one), As a child drops his pebble small Down some deep well, and hears it fall Smiling — so I. THY DAYS GO ON. A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT. WHAT was he doing, the great god Pan, Down in the reeds by the river ? Spreading ruin and scattering ban, Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat, And breaking the golden lilies afloat With the dragon-fly on the river. n. He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, From the deep cool bed of the river : The limpid water turbidly ran, And the broken lilies a-dying lay, And the dragon-fly had fled away, Ere he brought it out of the river. A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT III. High on the shore sat the great god Pan While turbidly flowed the river ; And hacked and hewed as a great god can, With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed, Till there was not a sign of the leaf indeed To prove it fresh from the river. IV. He cut it short, did the great god Pan, (How tall it stood in the river !) Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man, Steadily from the outside ring, And notched the poor dry empty thing In holes, as he sat by the river. " This is the way," laughed the great god Pan (Laughed while he sat by the river), " The only way, since gods began To make sweet music, they could succeed." Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed, He blew in power by the river. A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT VI. Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan ! Piercing sweet by the river ! Blinding sweet, O great god Pan ! The sun on the hill forgot to die, And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly Came back to dream on the river. VII. Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, To laugh as he sits by the river, Making a poet out of a man : The true gods sigh for the cost and pain, — • For the reed which grows nevermore again As a reed with the reeds in the river. FIRST NEWS FROM VILLAFRANCA. i. PEACE, peace, peace, do you say ? What ! — with the enemy's guns in our ears ? With the country's wrong not rendered back? What ! — while Austria stands at bay In Mantua, and our Venice bears The cursed flag of the yellow and black ? ii. Peace, peace, peace, do you say ? And this the Mincio ? Where 's the fleet, And where 's the sea ? Are we all blind Or mad with the blood shed yesterday, Ignoring Italy under our feet, And seeing things before, behind ? FIRST NEWS FROM V1LLAFRANCA III. Peace, peace, peace, do you say ? What !— uncontested, undenied ? Because we triumph, we succumb ? A pair of Emperors stand in the way (One of whom is a man, beside), To sign and seal our cannons dumb ? IV. No, not Napoleon ! — he who mused At Paris, and at Milan spake, And at Solferino led the fight : Not he we trusted, honoured, used Our hopes and hearts for ... till they break Even so, you tell us , . . in his sight v. Peace, peace, is still your word ? We say you lie then ! — that is plain. There is no peace, and shall be none. Our very Dead would cry " Absurd ! " And clamour that they died in vain, And whine to come back to the sun. FIRST NEWS FROM VILLAFRANCA 15 VI. Hush ! more reverence for the Dead ! They Ve done the most for Italy Evermore since the earth was fair. Now would that we had died instead, Still dreaming peace meant liberty, And did not, could not, mean despair. VII. Peace, you say ? — yes, peace, in truth ! But such a peace as the ear can achieve 'Twixt the rifle's click and the rush of the ball, 'Twixt the tiger's spring and the crunch of the tooth, 'Twixt the dying atheist's negative And God's Face — waiting, after all ! KING VICTOR EMANUEL ENTERING FLORENCE, APRIL 1860. i. KING of us all, we cried to thee, cried to thee, Trampled to earth by the beasts impure, Dragged by the chariots which shame as they roll The dust of our torment far and wide to thee Went up, dark'ning thy royal soul. Be witness, Cavour, That the King was sad for the people in thrall, This King of us all ! ii. King, we cried to thee ! Strong in replying, Thy word and thy sword sprang rapid and sure, Cleaving our way to a nation's place. Oh, first soldier of Italy ! — crying Now grateful, exultant, we look in thy face. Be witness, Cavour, That, freedom's first soldier, the freed should call First King of them all ! KING VICTOR EMANUEL ENTERING FLORENCE 17 III. This is our beautiful Italy's birthday ; High-thoughted souls, whether many or fewer, Bring her the gift, and wish her the good, While Heaven presents on this sunny earth-day The noble King to the land renewed : Be witness, Cavour ! Roar, cannon-mouths ! Proclaim, install The King of us all ! IV. Grave he rides through the Florence gateway, Clenching his face into calm, to immure His struggling heart till it half disappears ; If he relaxed for a moment, straightway He would break out into passionate tears — (Be witness, Cavour !) While rings the cry without interval, " Live, King of us all ! " v. Cry, free peoples ! Honour the nation By crowning the true man — and none is truer : Pisa is here, and Livorno is here, And thousands of faces, in wild exultation, ' i8 KING VICTOR EMANUEL ENTERING FLORENCE Burn over the windows to feel him near — (Be witness, Cavour !) Burn over from terrace, roof, window and wall, On this King of us all. VI. Grave ! A good man 's ever the graver For bearing a nation's trust secure ; And he, he thinks of the Heart, beside, Which broke for Italy, failing to save her, And pining away by Oporto's tide : Be witness, Cavour, That he thinks of his vow on that royal pall, This King of us all. VII. Flowers, flowers, from the flowery city ! Such innocent thanks for a deed so pure, As, melting away for joy into flowers, The nation invites him to enter his Pitti And evermore reign in this Florence of ours. Be witness, Cavour ! He '11 stand where the reptiles were used to crawl, This King of us all. KING VICTOR EMANUEL ENTERING FLORENCE 19 VIII. Grave, as the manner of noble men is — Deeds unfinished will weigh on the doer : And, baring his head to those crape-veiled flags, He bows to the grief of the South and Venice. Oh, riddle the last of the yellow to rags, And swear by Cavour That the King shall reign where the tyrants fall, True King of us all ! C2 THE S WORD OF CASTR UCCIO C ASTRA CANL " Questa e per me."— KING VICTOR EMANUEL. I. WHEN Victor Emanuel the King Went down to his Lucca that day, The people, each vaunting the thing As he gave it, gave all things away, — In a burst of fierce gratitude, say, As they tore out their hearts for the King. ii. — Gave the green forest-walk on the wall, With the Apennine blue through the trees ; Gave the palaces, churches, and all The great pictures which burn out of these : But the eyes of the King seemed to freeze As he gazed upon ceiling and wall. THE SWORD OF CASTRUCCIO CASTRACAN1 21 III. Good," said the King as he passed. Was he cold to the arts ? — or else coy To possession ? or crossed, at the last (Whispered some), by the vote in Savoy ? Shout ! Love him enough for his joy ! " Good," said the King as he passed. IV. He, travelling the whole day through flowers And protesting amenities, found At Pistoia, betwixt the two showers Of red roses, the " Orphans " (renowned As the heirs of Puccini) who wound With a sword through the crowd and the flowers. v. "Tis the sword of Castruccio, O King,— In that strife of intestinal hate, Very famous ! Accept what we bring, We who cannot be sons, by our fate, Rendered citizens by thee of late, And endowed with a country and king. 22 THE SWORD OF CASTRUCCIO CASTRACANI VI. " Read ! Puccini has willed that this sword (Which once made in an ignorant feud Many orphans) remain in our ward Till some patriot its pure civic blood Wipe away in the foe's and make good, In delivering the land by the sword." VII. Then the King exclaimed " This is for me \ " And he dashed out his hand on the hilt, While his blue eye shot fire openly, And his heart overboiled till it spilt A hot prayer,—" God ! the rest as Thou wilt ! But grant me this ! — This is for me" VIII. O Victor Emanuel, the King, The sword is for thee, and the deed, And nought for the alien, next spring, Nought for Hapsburg and Bourbon agreed — But, for us, a great Italy freed, With a hero to head us,— our King ! SUMMING UP IN ITALY. (INSCRIBED TO INTELLIGENT PUBLICS OUT OF IT.) OBSERVE how it will be at last, When our Italy stands at full stature, A year ago tied down so fast That the cord cut the quick of her nature ! You '11 honour the deed and its scope, Then, in logical sequence upon it, Will use up the remnants of rope By hanging the men who have done it ii. The speech in the Commons, which hits you A sketch off, how dungeons must feel, — The official despatch, which commits you From stamping out groans with your heel,- 24 SUMMING UP IN ITALY Suggestions in journal or book for Good efforts, — are praised as is meet : But what in this world can men look for, Who only achieve and complete ? in. True, you Ve praise for the fireman who sets his Brave face to the axe of the flame, Disappears in the smoke, and then fetches A babe down, or idiot that 's lame, — For the boor even, who rescues through pity A sheep from the brute who would kick it : But saviours of nations ! — 't is pretty, And doubtful : they may be so wicked : IV. Azeglio, Farini, Mamiani, Ricasoli,— doubt by the dozen !— here 's Pepoli too, and Cipriani, Imperial cousins and cozeners — Arese, Laiatico, — courtly Of manners, if stringent of mouth : Garibaldi ! we '11 come to him shortly (As soon as he ends in the South). SUMMING UP IN ITALY 25 V. Napoleon — as strong as ten armies, Corrupt as seven devils — a fact You accede to, then seek where the harm is Drained off from the man to his act, And find — a free nation ! Suppose Some hell-brood in Eden's sweet greenery, Convoked for creating — a rose ! Would it suit the infernal machinery ? VI. Cavour, — to the despot's desire, Who his own thought so craftily marries — What is he but just a thin wire For conducting the lightning from Paris ? Yes, write down the two as compeers, Confessing (you would not permit a lie) He bore up his Piedmont ten years Till she suddenly smiled and was Italy. VII. And the King, with that " stain on his scutcheon," * Savoy — as the calumny runs ; (If it be not his blood, — with his clutch on The sword, and his face to the guns.) * Blue Book : Diplomatical Correspondence. SUMMING UP IN ITALY 0 first, where the battle-storm gathers, O loyal of heart on the throne, Let those keep the "graves of their fathers" Who quail, in a nerve, from their own ! VIII. For //fo?— through the dim Hades-portal The dream of a voice—" Blessed thou Who hast made all thy race twice immortal ! No need of the sepulchres now ! — Left to Bourbons and Hapsburgs, who fester Above-ground with worm-eaten souls, While the ghost of some pale feudal jester Before them strews treaties in holes." IX. But hush ! — am I dreaming a poem Of Hades, Heaven, Justice ? Not I ; 1 began too far off, in my proem, With what men believe and deny : And on earth, whatsoever the need is (To sum up as thoughtful reviewers), The moral of every great deed is — The virtue of slandering the doers. " DIED . . ." (The " Times" Obituary.) I. WHAT shall we add now ? He is dead. And I who praise and you who blame, With wash of words across his name, Find suddenly declared instead — " On Sunday, third of August, dead" n. Which stops the whole we talked to-day. I, quickened to a plausive glance At his large general tolerance By common people's narrow way, Stopped short in praising. Dead, they say. in. And you, who had just put in a sort Of cold deduction—" rather, large Through weakness of the continent marge, Than greatness of the thing contained "- Broke off. Dead ! — there, you stood restrained. ''DIED . . ." IV. As if we had talked in following one Up some long gallery. " Would you choose An air like that ? The gait is loose — Or noble." Sudden in the sun An oubliette winks. Where is he ? Gone. v. Dead. Man's " I was " by God's " I am "— All hero-worship comes to that. High heart, high thought, high fame, as flat As a gravestone. Bring your facet jam — The epitaph 's an epigram. VI. Dead. There 's an answer to arrest All carping. Dust 's his natural place ? He '11 let the flies buzz round his face And, though you slander, not protest ? —From such an one, exact the Best ? VII. Opinions gold or brass are null. We chuck our flattery or abuse, Called Csesar's due, as Charon's dues, I' the teeth of some dead sage or fool, To mend the grinning of a skull. "DIED . . ." VIII. Be abstinent in praise and blame. The man 's still mortal, who stands first, And mortal only, if last and worst. Then slowly lift so frail a fame, Or softly drop so poor a shame. THE FORCED RECRUIT (SOLFERINO, 1859.) IN the ranks of the Austrian you found him; He died with his face to you all ; Yet bury him here where around him You honour your bravest that fall. ii. Venetian, fair-featured and slender, He lies shot to death in his youth, With a smile on his lips over-tender For any mere soldier's dead mouth. in. No stranger, and yet not a traitor, Though alien the cloth on his breast, Underneath it how seldom a greater Young heart has a shot sent to rest ! THE FORCED RECRUIT 31 IV. By your enemy tortured and goaded To march with them, stand in their file, His musket (see) never was loaded, He facing your guns with that smile ! v. As orphans yearn on to their mothers, He yearned to your patriot bands ; — Let me die for our Italy, brothers, If not in your ranks, by your hands ! VI. " Aim straightly, fire steadily ! spare me A ball in the body which may Deliver my heart here, and tear me This badge of the Austrian away ! " VII. So thought he, so died he this morning. What then ? many others have died. Ay, but easy for men to die scorning The death-stroke, who fought side by side — THE FORCED RECRUIT VIII. One tricolor floating above them ; Struck down 'mid triumphant acclaims Of an Italy rescued to love them And blazon the brass with their names. IX. But he, — without witness or honour, Mixed, shamed in his country's regard, With the tyrants who march in upon her, Died faithful and passive : 't was hard. x. 'T was sublime. In a cruel restriction Cut off from the guerdon of sons, With most filial obedience, conviction, His soul kissed the lips of her guns. XI. That moves you ? Nay, grudge not to show it, While digging a grave for him here : The others who died, says your poet, Have glory, — let him have a tear. 33 GARIBALDI. i. HE bent his head upon his breast Wherein his lion-heart lay sick : — " Perhaps we are not ill-repaid ; Perhaps this is not a true test ; Perhaps this was not a foul trick ; Perhaps none wronged, and none betrayed. n. " Perhaps the people's vote which here United, there may disunite, And both be lawful as they think ; Perhaps a patriot statesman, dear For chartering nations, can with right Disfranchise those who hold the ink. in. " Perhaps men's wisdom is not craft ; Men's greatness, not a selfish greed ; Men's justice, not the safer side ; v. n 34 GARIBALDI Perhaps even women, when they laughed, Wept, thanked us that the land was freed, Not wholly (though they kissed us) lied IV. " Perhaps no more than this we meant, When up at Austria's guns we flew, And quenched them with a cry apiece, It 'alia! — Yet a dream was sent . .. The little house my father knew, The olives and the palms of Nice." v. He paused, and drew his sword out slow, Then pored upon the blade intent, As if to read some written thing ; While many murmured, — " He will go In that despairing sentiment And break his sword before the King." VI. He poring still upon the blade, His large lid quivered, something fell. " Perhaps," he said, " I was not born With such fine brains to treat and trade,— And if a woman knew it well, Her falsehood only meant her scorn. GARIBALDI 35 VII. " Yet through Varese's cannon- smoke My eye saw clear : men feared this man At Como, where this sword could seal Death's protocol with every stroke : And now ... the drop there scarcely can Impair the keenness of the steel. VIII. " So man and sword may have their use ; And if the soil beneath my foot In valour's act is forfeited, I '11 strike the harder, take my dues Out nobler, and all loss confute From ampler heavens above my head. IX. " My King, King Victor, I am thine ! So much Nice-dust as what I am (To make our Italy) must cleave. Forgive that." Forward with a sign He went. You Ve seen the telegram ? Palermo 's taken^ we believe. ONLY A CURL. i. FRIENDS of faces unknown and a land Unvisited over the sea, Who tell me how lonely you stand With a single gold curl in the hand Held up to be looked at by me, — n. While you ask me to ponder and say What a father and mother can do, With the bright fellow-locks put away Out of reach, beyond kiss, in the clay Where the violets press nearer than you in. Shall I speak like a poet, or run Into weak woman's tears for relief? Oh, children ! — I never lost one, — Yet my arm 's round my own little son, And Love knows the secret of Grief. ONLY A CURL 37 IV. And I feel what it must be and is, When God draws a new angel so Through the house of a man up to His, With a murmur of music you miss, And a rapture of light you forgo. v. How you think, staring on at the door, Where the face of your angel flashed in, That its brightness, familiar before, Burns off from you ever the more For the dark of your sorrow and sin. VI. " God lent him and takes him," you sigh ; — Nay, there let me break with your pain : God 's generous in giving, say I, — And the thing which He gives, I deny That He ever can take back again. VII. He gives what He gives. I appeal To all who bear babes — in the hour When the veil of the body we feel Rent round us, — while torments reveal The motherhood's advent in power, 38 ONLY A CURL VIII. And the babe cries ! — has each of us known By apocalypse (God being there Full in nature) the child is our own, Life of life, love of love, moan of moan, Through all changes, all times, everywhere. IX. He 's ours and for ever. Believe, O father ! — O mother, look back To the first love's assurance ! To give Means with God not to tempt or deceive With a cup thrust in Benjamin's sack. x. He gives what He gives. Be content ! He resumes nothing given, — be sure ! God lend ? Where the usurers lent In His temple, indignant He went And scourged away all those impure. XI. He lends not ; but gives to the end, As He loves to the end. If it seem That He draws back a gift, comprehend 'T is to add to it rather, — amend, And finish it up to your dream, — ONLY A CURL 39 XII. Or keep, — as a mother will toys Too costly, though given by herself, Till the room shall be stiller from noise, And the children more fit for such joys, Kept over their heads on the shelf. XIII. So look up, friends ! you, who indeed Have possessed in your house a sweet piece Of the Heaven which men strive for, must need Be more earnest than others are, — speed Where they loiter, persist where they cease. XIV. You know how one angel smiles there : Then weep not. T is easy for you To be drawn by a single gold hair Of that curl, from earth's storm and despair, To the safe place above us. Adieu. A VIEW ACROSS THE ROMAN CAMPAGNA. \ (1861.) I. OVER the dumb Campagna-sea, Out in the offing through mist and rain, Saint Peter's Church heaves silently Like a mighty ship in pain, Facing the tempest with struggle and strain. ii. Motionless waifs of ruined towers, Soundless breakers of desolate land : The sullen surf of the mist devours That mountain-range upon either hand, Eaten away from its outline grand. in. And over the dumb Campagna-sea Where the ship of the Church heaves on to wreck, Alone and silent as God must be, The Christ walks. Ay, but Peter's neck Is stiff to turn on the foundering deck. A VIEW ACROSS THE ROMAN CAMPAGNA 41 IV. Peter, Peter ! if such be thy name, Now leave the ship for another to steer, And proving thy faith evermore the same, Come forth, tread out through the dark and drear, Since He who walks on the sea is here. v. Peter, Peter ! He does not speak ; He is not as rash as in old Galilee : Safer a ship, though it toss and leak, Than a reeling foot on a rolling sea ! And he 's got to be round in the girth, thinks he. VI. Peter, Peter ! He does not stir ; His nets are heavy with silver fish ; He reckons his gains, and is keen to infer — " The broil on the shore, if the Lord should wish ; But the sturgeon goes to the Caesar's dish." VII. Peter, Peter ! thou fisher of men, Fisher of fish wouldst thou live instead ? Haggling for pence with the other Ten, Cheating the market at so much a head, Griping the Bag of the traitor Dead ? 4-z A VIEW ACROSS THE ROMAN CAMPAGNA VIII. At the triple crow of the Gallic cock Thou weep'st not, thou, though thine eyes be dazed What bird comes next in the tempest-shock ? —Vultures ! see, — as when Romulus gazed, — To inaugurate Rome for a world amazed ! 43 THE KING'S GIFT. TERESA, ah, Teresita ! Now what has the messenger brought her, Our Garibaldi's young daughter, To make her stop short in her singing ? Will she not once more repeat a Verse from that hymn of our hero's, Setting the souls of us ringing ? Break off the song where the tear rose ? Ah, Teresita ! n. A young thing, mark, is Teresa : Her eyes have caught fire, to be sure, in That necklace of jewels from Turin, Till blind their regard to us men is. But still she remembers to raise a 44 THE KING'S GIFT Sly look to her father, and note— " Could she sing on as well about Venice, Yet wear such a flame at her throat ? Decide for Teresa." in. Teresa, ah, Teresita ! His right hand has paused on her head — "Accept it, my daughter," he said; " Ay, wear it, true child of thy mother ! Then sing, till all start to their feet, a New verse ever bolder and freer ! King Victor 's no king like another, But verily noble as we are, Child, Teresita ! " 45 PARTING LOVERS. (SlENA, i860.) I. I LOVE thee, love thee, Giulio ; Some call me cold, and some demure ; And if thou hast ever guessed that so I loved thee . . well, the proof was poor, And no one could be sure. n. Before thy song (with shifted rhymes To suit my name) did I undo The persian ? If it stirred sometimes, Thou hast not seen a hand push through A foolish flower or two. in. My mother listening to my sleep, Heard nothing but a sigh at night, — The short sigh rippling on the deep, When hearts run out of breath and sight Of men, to God's clear light. PARTING LOVERS IV. When others named thee, — thought thy brows Were straight, thy smile was tender — u Here He comes between the vineyard-rows ! " I said not " Ay," nor waited, Dear, To feel thee step too near. v. I left such things to bolder girls,— Olivia or Clotilda. Nay, When that Clotilda, through her curls, Held both thine eyes in hers one day, I marvelled, let me say. VI. I could not try the woman's trick : Between us straightway fell the blush Which kept me separate, blind and sick. A wind came with thee in a flush, As blown through Sinai's bush. VII. But now that Italy invokes Her young men to go forth and chase The foe or perish, — nothing chokes My voice, or drives me from the place. I look thee in the face. PARTING LOVERS 47 VIII. I love thee ! It is understood, Confest : I do not shrink or start. No blushes ! all my body's blood •Has gone to greaten this poor heart That, loving, we may part. IX. Our Italy invokes the youth To die if need be. Still there 's room, Though earth is strained with dead in truth : Since twice the lilies were in bloom They have not grudged a tomb. x. And many a plighted maid and wife And mother, who can say since then " My country," — cannot say through life " My son," " my spouse," " my flower of men," And not weep dumb again. XI. Heroic males the country bears, — But daughters give up more than sons : Flags wave, drums beat, and unawares You flash your souls out with the guns, And take your Heaven at once. 48 PARTING LOVERS XII. But we !— we empty heart and home Of life's life, love ! We bear to think You 're gone, — to feel you may not come, — To hear the door-latch stir and clink, Yet no more you ! . . . nor sink. XIII. Dear God ! when Italy is one, Complete, content from bound to bound, Suppose, for my share, earth 's undone By one grave in 't ! — as one small wound Will kill a man, 't is found. XIV. What then ? If love's delight must end, At least we '11 clear its truth from flaws. I love thee, love thee, sweetest friend ! Now take my sweetest without pause, And help the nation's cause. xv. And thus, of noble Italy We '11 both be worthy ! Let her show The future how we made her free, Not sparing life . . . nor Giulio, Nor this . . . this heartbreak ! Go. 49 MOTHER AND POET. (TURIN, AFTER NEWS FROM GAETA, 1861.) DEAD ! One of them shot by the sea in the east, And one of them shot in the west by the sea. Dead ! both my boys ! When you sit at the feast And are wanting a great song for Italy free, Let none look at me \ ii. Yet I was a poetess only last year, And good at my art, for a woman, men said ; But this woman, this, who is agonized here, — The east sea and west sea rhyme on in her head For ever instead, v. E 3o MOTHER AND POET III. What art can a woman be good at ? Oh, vain ! What art is she good at, but hurting her breast With the milk-teeth of babes, and a smile at the pain ? Ah boys, how you hurt ! you were strong as you pressed, And I proud, by that test. IV. What art 's for a woman ? To hold on her knees Both darlings ! to feel all their arms round her throat, Cling, strangle a little ! to sew by degrees And 'broider the long-clothes and neat little coat ; To dream and to doat. v. To teach them ... It stings there ! / made them indeed Speak plain the word country. I taught them, no doubt, That a country 's a thing men should die for at need, /prated of liberty, rights, and about The tyrant cast out. MOTHER AND POET 51 VI. And when their eyes flashed . . O my beautiful eyes ! .. / exulted ; nay, let them go forth at the wheels Of the guns, and denied not. But then the surprise When one sits quite alone I Then one weeps, then one kneels ! God, how the house feels ! VII. At first, happy news came, in gay letters moiled With my kisses, — of camp-life and glory, and how They both loved me ; and, soon coming home to be spoiled In return would fan off every fly from my brow With their green laurel-bough. VIII. Then was triumph at Turin : " Ancona was free ! " And someone came out of the cheers in the street, With a face pale as stone, to say something to me. My Guido was dead ! I fell down at his feet, While they cheered in the street. E 2 52 MOTHER AND POET IX. I bore it ; friends soothed me ; my grief looked sublime As the ransom of Italy. One boy remained To be leant on and walked with, recalling the time When the first grew immortal, while both of us strained To the height he had gained. And letters still came, shorter, sadder, more strong, Writ now but in one hand, " I was not to faint,— One loved me for two — would be with me ere long : And Viva F Italia ! — he died for, our saint, Who forbids our complaint." XI. My Nanni would add, " he was safe, and aware Of a presence that turned off the balls, — was imprest It was Guido himself, who knew what I could bear, And how 't was impossible, quite dispossessed, To live on for the rest." MOTHER AND POET XII. On which, without pause, up the telegraph-line Swept smoothly the next news from Gaeta : — Shot. Tell his mother. Ah, ah, " his," " their " mother, — not "mine," No voice says " My mother " again to me. What ! You think Guido forgot ? XIII. Are souls straight so happy that, dizzy with Heaven, They drop earth's affections, conceive not of woe ? I think not. Themselves were too lately forgiven Through THAT Love and Sorrow which reconciled so The Above and Below. XIV. O Christ of the five wounds, who look'dst through the dark To the face of Thy mother ! consider, I pray, How we common mothers stand desolate, mark, Whose sons, not being Christs, die with eyes turned away, And no last word to say ! 54 MOTHER AND POET XV. Both boys dead ? but that 's out of nature. We all Have been patriots, yet each house must always keep one. 'T were imbecile, hewing out roads to a wall ; And, when Italy 's made, for what end is it done If we have not a son ? XVI. Ah, ah, ah ! when Gaeta 's taken, what then ? When the fair wicked queen sits no more at her sport Of the fire-balls of death crashing souls out of men ? When the guns of Cavalli with final retort Have cut the game short ? XVII. When Venice and Rome keep their new jubilee, When your flag takes all heaven for its white, green, and red, When you have your country from mountain to sea, When King Victor has Italy's crown on his head, (And /have my Dead)— MOTHER AND POET 55 XVIII. What then ? Do not mock me. Ah, ring your bells low, And burn your lights faintly ! My country is there, Above the star pricked by the last peak of snow* My Italy 's THERE, with my brave civic Pair, To disfranchise despair ! XIX. Forgive me. Some women bear children in strength, And bite back the cry of their pain in self-scorn ; But the birth-pangs of nations will wring us at length Into wail such as this — and we sit on forlorn When the man-child is born. xx. Dead ! One of them shot by the sea in the east, And one of them shot in the west by the sea. Both ! both my boys ! If in keeping the feast You want a great song for your Italy free, Let none look at me! [This was Laura Savio, of Turin, a poetess and patriot, whose sons were killed at Ancona and Gaeta.l NATURE'S REMORSES. (ROME, 1861.) I. HER soul was bred by a throne, and fed From the sucking-bottle used in her race On starch and water (for mother's milk Which gives a larger growth instead), And, out of the natural liberal grace, Was swaddled away in violet silk. n. And young and kind, and royally blind, Forth she stepped from her palace-door On three-piled carpet of compliments, Curtains of incense drawn by the wind In between her for evermore And daylight issues of events. NATURE'S REMORSES III. On she drew, as a queen might do, To meet a Dream of Italy, — Of magical town and musical wave, Where even a god, his amulet blue Of shining sea, in an ecstasy Dropt and forgot in a Nereid's cave. IV. Down she goes, as the soft wind blows, To live more smoothly than mortals can, To love and to reign as queen and wife, To wear a crown that smells of a rose, And still, with a sceptre as light as a fan, Beat sweet time to the song of life. . v. What is this? As quick as a kiss Falls the smile from her girlish mouth ! The lion-people has left its lair, Roaring along her garden of bliss, And the fiery underworld of the South Scorched a way to the upper air. 57 S8 NATURE'S RE MORSES VI. And a fire-stone ran in the form of a man, Burningly, boundingly, fatal and fell, Bowling the kingdom down ! Where was the King? She had heard somewhat, since life began, Of terrors on earth and horrors in hell, But never, never of such a thing. VII, You think she dropped when her dream was stopped, When the blotch of Bourbon blood inlay, Lividly rank, her new lord's cheek ? Not so. Her high heart overtopped The royal part she had come to play. Only the men in that hour were weak. VIII. And twice a wife by her ravaged life, And twice a queen by her kingdom lost, She braved the shock and the counter-shock Of hero and traitor, bullet and knife, While Italy pushed, like a vengeful ghost, That son of the Cursed from Gaeta's rock. NATURE'S REMORSES 59 What will ye give her, who could not deliver, German Princesses ? A laurel-wreath All over-scored with your signatures, Graces, Serenities, Highnesses ever? Mock her not, fresh from the truth of Death, Conscious of dignities higher than yours. x. What will ye put in your casket shut, Ladies of Paris, in sympathy's name ? Guizot's daughter, what have you brought her ? Withered immortelles, long ago cut For guilty dynasties perished in shame, Putrid to memory, Guizot's daughter ? XI. Ah poor queen ! so young and serene ! What shall we do for her, now hope 's done, Standing at Rome in these ruins old, She too a ruin and no more a queen? Leave her that diadem made by the sun Turning her hair to an innocent gold. 60 NATURE'S REMORSES XII. Ay ! bring close to her, as 't were a rose, to her, Yon free child from an Apennine city Singing for Italy, — dumb in the place ! Something like solace, let us suppose, to her Given, in that homage of wonder and pity, By his pure eyes to her beautiful face. XIII. Nature, excluded, savagely brooded ; Ruined all queendom and dogmas of state : Then, in reaction remorseful and mild, Rescues the womanhood, nearly eluded, Shows her what 's sweetest in womanly fate — Sunshine from Heaven, and the eyes of a child. 6i THE NORTH AND THE SOUTH. THE LAST POEM. (ROME, MAY 1861.) " Now give us lands where the olives grow," Cried the North to the South, " Where the sun with a golden mouth can blow Blue bubbles of grapes down a vineyard-row ! " Cried the North to the South. " Now give us men from the sunless plain," Cried the South to the North, " By need of work in the snow and the rain, Made strong, and brave by familiar pain ! " Cried the South to the North. 62 THE NORTH AND THE SOUTH II. " Give lucider hills and intenser seas," Said the North to the South, " Since ever by symbols and bright degrees Art, childlike, climbs to the dear Lord's knees," Said the North to the South. " Give strenuous souls for belief and prayer," Said the South to the North, " That stand in the dark on the lowest stair, While affirming of God, ' He is certainly there,' " Said the South to the North. in. " Yet oh for the skies that are softer and higher ! " Sighed the North to the South ; " For the flowers that blaze, and the trees that aspire, And the insects made of a song or a fire ! " Sighed the North to the South. " And oh for a seer to discern the same ! " Sighed the South to the North ; " For a poet's tongue of baptismal flame, To call the tree or the flower by its name ! " Sighed the South to the North. THE NORTH AND THE SOUTH 63 IV. The North sent therefore a man of men As a grace to the South ; And thus to Rome came Andersen. — "Alas, but must you take him again ?" Said the South to the North. TRANSLATIONS V. FROM THEOCRITUS. THE CYCLOPS. (IDYL XL) AND so an easier life our Cyclops drew, The ancient Polyphemus, who in youth Loved Galatea while the manhood grew Adown his cheeks and darkened round his mouth. No jot he cared for apples, olives, roses; Love made him mad : the whole world was neglected, The very sheep went backward to their closes From out the fair green pastures, self-directed. And singing Galatea, thus, he wore The sunrise down along the weedy shore, And pined alone, and felt the cruel wound Beneath his heart, which Cypris' arrow bore, With a deep pang ; but, so, the cure was found ; And sitting on a lofty rock he cast His eyes upon the sea, and sang at last : — " O whitest Galatea, can it be F 2 68 FROM THEOCRITUS That thou shouldst spurn me off who love thee so ? More white than curds, my girl, thou art to see, More meek than lambs, more full of leaping glee Than kids, and brighter than the early glow On grapes that swell to ripen,— sour like thee ! Thou comest to me with the fragrant sleep, And with the fragrant sleep thou goest from me ; Thou fliest . . . fliest, as a frightened sheep Flies the grey wolf ! — yet Love did overcome me, So long ; — I loved thee, maiden, first of all When down the hills (my mother fast beside thee) I saw thee stray to pluck the summer-fall Of hyacinth bells, and went myself to guide thee : And since my eyes have seen thee, they can leave thee No more, from that day's light ! But thou ... by Zeus, Thou wilt not care for that, to let it grieve thee ! I know thee, fair one, why thou springest loose From my arm round thee. Why? I tell thee, Dear ! One shaggy eyebrow draws its smudging road Straight through my ample front, from ear to ear, — One eye rolls underneath ; and yawning, broad Flat nostrils feel the bulging lips too near. 