Browning's Shorter Poems Part 14

For there I picked upon the heather And there I put inside my breast A moulted feather, an eagle-feather!

Well, I forget the rest.

WHY I AM A LIBERAL

"Why?" Because all I haply can and do, All that I am now, all I hope to be,-- Whence comes it save from fortune setting free Body and soul the purpose to pursue, G.o.d traced for both? If fetters, not a few, Of prejudice, convention, fall from me, These shall I bid men--each in his degree Also G.o.d-guided--bear, and gayly too?

But little do or can the best of us: That little is achieved thro' Liberty. 10 Who then dares hold, emanc.i.p.ated thus, His fellow shall continue bound? not I, Who live, love, labour freely, nor discuss A brother's right to freedom. That is "Why."

PROSPICE

Fear death? to feel the fog in my throat, The mist in my face, When the snows begin, and the blasts denote I am nearing the place, The power of the night, the press of the storm, The post of the foe; Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form, Yet the strong man must go: For the journey is done and the summit attained, And the barriers fall, 10 Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained, The reward of it all.

I was ever a fighter, so--one fight more, The best and the last!

I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, And bade me creep past, No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness, and cold. 20 For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, The black minute's at end, And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave, Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, And with G.o.d be the rest!

EPILOGUE TO "ASOLANDO"

At the midnight in the silence of the sleep-time, When you set your fancies free, Will they pa.s.s to where--by death, fools think, imprisoned-- Low he lies who once so loved you whom you loved so, --Pity me?

Oh to love so, be so loved, yet so mistaken!

What had I on earth to do With the slothful, with the mawkish, the unmanly?

Like the aimless, helpless, hopeless, did I drivel --Being--who? 10

One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, Never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, tho' right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, Sleep to wake.

No, at noonday in the bustle of man's work-time Greet the unseen with a cheer!

Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be, "Strive and thrive!" cry "Speed,--fight on, fare ever There as here!" 20

"DE GUSTIBUS--"

Your ghost will walk, you lover of trees, (If our loves remain) In an English lane, By a cornfield-side a-flutter with poppies.

Hark, those two in the hazel coppice-- A boy and a girl, if the good fates please, Making love, say,-- The happier they!

Draw yourself up from the light of the moon.

And let them pa.s.s, as they will too soon, 10 With the beanflower's boon, And the blackbird's tune, And May, and June!

What I love best in all the world Is a castle, precipice-encurled, In a gash of the wind-grieved Apennine.

Or look for me, old fellow of mine, (If I get my head from out the mouth O' the grave, and loose my spirit's bands, And come again to the land of lands)-- 20 In a sea-side house to the farther South, Where the baked cicala dies of drouth, And one sharp tree--'tis a cypress--stands, By the many hundred years red-rusted, Bough iron-spiked, ripe fruit-o'ercrusted, My sentinel to guard the sands To the water's edge. For, what expands Before the house, but the great opaque Blue breadth of sea without a break?

While, in the house, forever crumbles 30 Some fragment of the frescoed walls, From blisters where a scorpion sprawls.

A girl bare-footed brings, and tumbles Down on the pavement, green-flesh melons, And says there's news to-day--the king Was shot at, touched in the liver-wing, Goes with his Bourbon arm in a sling: --She hopes they have not caught the felons.

Italy, my Italy!

Queen Mary's saying serves for me-- 40 (When fortune's malice Lost her, Calais) Open my heart and you will see Graved inside of it, "Italy."

Such lovers old are I and she: So it always was, so shall ever be!

THE ITALIAN IN ENGLAND

That second time they hunted me From hill to plain, from sh.o.r.e to sea, And Austria, hounding far and wide Her blood-hounds thro' the country-side, Breathed hot an instant on my trace,-- I made, six days, a hiding-place Of that dry green old aqueduct Where I and Charles, when boys, have plucked 8 The fire-flies from the roof above, Bright creeping thro' the moss they love: 10 --How long it seems since Charles was lost!

Six days the soldiers crossed, and crossed The country in my very sight; And when that peril ceased at night, The sky broke out in red dismay With signal-fires. Well, there I lay Close covered o'er in my recess, Up to the neck in ferns and cress.

Thinking on Metternich, our friend, 19 And Charles's miserable end, 20 And much beside, two days; the third, Hunger o'ercame me when I heard The peasants from the village go To work among the maize: you know, With us in Lombardy, they bring 25 Provisions packed on mules, a string, With little bells that cheer their task, And casks, and boughs on every cask To keep the sun's heat from the wine; These I let pa.s.s in jingling line; 30 And, close on them, dear noisy crew, The peasants from the village, too; For at the very rear would troop Their wives and sisters in a group To help, I knew. When these had pa.s.sed, I threw my glove to strike the last, Taking the chance: she did not start, Much less cry out, but stooped apart, One instant rapidly glanced round, And saw me beckon from the ground. 40 A wild bush grows and hides my crypt; She picked my glove up while she stripped A branch off, then rejoined the rest With that; my glove lay in her breast: Then I drew breath; they disappeared: It was for Italy I feared.

An hour, and she returned alone Exactly where my glove was thrown.

Meanwhile came many thoughts: on me Rested the hopes of Italy. 50 I had devised a certain tale Which, when 'twas told her, could not fail Persuade a peasant of its truth; I meant to call a freak of youth This hiding, and give hopes of pay, And no temptation to betray.

But when I saw that woman's face, Its calm simplicity of grace, Our Italy's own att.i.tude In which she walked thus far, and stood, 60 Planting each naked foot so firm, To crush the snake and spare the worm-- At first sight of her eyes, I said, "I am that man upon whose head They fix the price, because I hate The Austrians over us; the State Will give you gold--oh, gold so much!-- If you betray me to their clutch.

And be your death, for aught I know, If once they find you saved their foe. 70 Now, you must bring me food and drink, And also paper, pen and ink, And carry safe what I shall write To Padua, which you'll reach at night Before the duomo shuts; go in, And wait till Tenebrae begin; 76 Walk to the third confessional, Between the pillar and the wall, And kneeling whisper, _Whence comes peace?_ Say it a second time, then cease; 80 And if the voice inside returns, _From Christ and Freedom; what concerns The cause of Peace?_--for answer, slip My letter where you placed your lip; Then come back happy we have done Our mother service--I, the son, As you the daughter of our land!"

Three mornings more, she took her stand In the same place, with the same eyes: I was no surer of sun-rise 90 Than of her coming. We conferred Of her own prospects, and I heard She had a lover--stout and tall, She said--then let her eyelids fall, "He could do much"--as if some doubt Entered her heart,--then, pa.s.sing out, "She could not speak for others, who Had other thoughts; herself she knew;"

And so she brought me drink and food.

After four days, the scouts pursued 100 Another path; at last arrived The help my Paduan friends contrived To furnish me: she brought the news.

For the first time I could not choose But kiss her hand, and lay my own Upon her head--"This faith was shown To Italy, our mother; she Uses my hand and blesses thee."

She followed down to the sea-sh.o.r.e; I left and never saw her more. 110

How very long since I have thought Concerning--much less wished for--aught Beside the good of Italy, For which I live and mean to die!

I never was in love; and since Charles proved false, what shall now convince My inmost heart I have a friend?

However, if I pleased to spend Real wishes on myself--say, three-- I know at least what one should be. 120 I would grasp Metternich until I felt his red wet throat distil In blood thro' these two hands. And next, --Nor much for that am I perplexed-- Charles, perjured traitor, for his part, Should die slow of a broken heart Under his new employers. Last --Ah, there, what should I wish? For fast Do I grow old and out of strength.

If I resolved to seek at length 130 My father's house again, how scared They all would look, and unprepared!

My brothers live in Austria's pay --Disowned me long ago, men say; And all my early mates who used To praise me so--perhaps induced More than one early step of mine-- Are turning wise: while some opine "Freedom grows license," some suspect "Haste breeds delay," and recollect 140 They always said, such premature Beginnings never could endure!

So, with a sullen "All's for best,"

The land seems settling to its rest.

I think then, I should wish to stand This evening in that dear, lost land, Over the sea the thousand miles, And know if yet that woman smiles With the calm smile; some little farm She lives in there, no doubt: what harm 150 If I sat on the door-side bench, And while her spindle made a trench Fantastically in the dust, Inquired of all her fortunes--just Her children's ages and their names, And what may be the husband's aims For each of them. I'd talk this out, And sit there, for an hour about, Then kiss her hand once more, and lay Mine on her head, and go my way. 160

So much for idle wis.h.i.+ng--how It steals the time! To business now.