Selections From The Poems And Plays Of Robert Browning Part 25

"Some suburb-palace, parked about 90 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 selects 95 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 residence 100 Fit to receive and entertain-- Nor Hampstead villa's kind defense From noise and crowd, from dust and drain-- Nor country-box was soul's domain!

Nowise! At back of all that spread 105 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 life 110 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? 115 c.u.mbers my counter! Stock no more!

This article, no such great shakes, Fizzes like wildfire? Underscore The cheap thing--thousands to the fore!"

'Twas lodging best to live most nigh 120 (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-prince 125 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? 130 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! 135 Since somehow business must be done At cost of trouble--see, he throws You choice of jewels, everyone, Good, better, best, star, moon, and sun!

Which lies within your power of purse? 140 This ruby that would tip aright Solomon's scepter? Oh, your nurse Wants simply coral, the delight Of teething baby--stuff to bite!

Howe'er your choice fell, straight you took 145 Your purchase, prompt your money rang On counter--scarce the man forsook His study of the "Times," just sw.a.n.g Till-ward his hand that stopped the clang--

Then off made buyer with a prize, 150 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, 155 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-c.h.i.n.k.

Because a man has shop to mind 160 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, 165 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! 170 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!

HERVe RIEL

I

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 s.h.i.+p on s.h.i.+p to Saint Malo on the Rance, 5 With the English fleet in view.

II

'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase; First and foremost of the drove, in his great s.h.i.+p, Damfreville; Close on him fled, great and small, Twenty-two good s.h.i.+ps in all; 10 And they signaled 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 15 board; "Why, what hope or chance have s.h.i.+ps like these to pa.s.s?" laughed they; "Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the pa.s.sage 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 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons, 20 And with flow at full beside?

Now, 'tis slackest ebb of tide.

Reach the mooring? Rather say, While rock stands or water runs, Not a s.h.i.+p will leave the bay!" 25

IV

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? 30 Better run the s.h.i.+ps aground!"

(Ended Damfreville his speech).

"Not a minute more to wait!

Let the Captains all and each Shove ash.o.r.e, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach! 35 France must undergo her fate.

V

"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? 40 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, Herve Riel the Croisickese.

VI

And "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Herve Riel; 45 "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 smell 'Twixt the offing here and Greve where the river disembogues?

Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying's for? 50 Morn and eve, night and day, Have I piloted your bay, Entered free and anch.o.r.ed 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 55 there's a way!

Only let me lead the line, Have the biggest s.h.i.+p to steer, Get this _Formidable_ clear, Make the others follow mine, And I lead them, most and least, by a pa.s.sage I know well, 60 Right to Solidor past Greve, And there lay them safe and sound; And if one s.h.i.+p misbehave --Keel so much as grate the ground, Why, I've nothing but my life;--here's my head!" cries Herve 65 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. 70 Still the north-wind, by G.o.d's grace!

See the n.o.ble fellow's face As the big s.h.i.+p, with a bound, Clears the entry like a hound, Keeps the pa.s.sage as its inch of way were the wide sea's 75 profound!

See, safe through shoal and rock, How they follow in a flock; Not a s.h.i.+p that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground, Not a spar that comes to grief!