Triumphal arches gleaming swell

15

His breast with thoughts of boundless sway : What recked the Roman what befell

A paltry province far away,
In the solemn midnight
Centuries ago!

Within that province far away

Went plodding home a weary boor :

A streak of light before him lay,

Fall'n through a half-shut stable door
Across his path. He passed-for naught
Told what was going on within ;
How keen the stars! his only thought ;
The air how calm and cold and thin,
In the solemn midnight
Centuries ago!

O strange indifference !—low and high
Drowsed over common joys and cares :
The earth was still-but knew not why;
The world was listening-unawares;
How calm a moment may precede

One that shall thrill the world for ever!
To that still moment none would heed,
Man's doom was linked no more to sever
In the solemn midnight
Centuries ago!

It is the calm and solemn night!

A thousand bells ring out, and throw

Their joyous peals abroad, and smite

The darkness, charmed and holy now!

The night that erst no name had worn,
To it a happy name is given ;

For in that stable lay new-born

The peaceful Prince of Earth and Heaven,
În the solemn midnight
Centuries ago.

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25

30

35

40

45

50

A. DOMETT.

338

The year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven ;

The hill-side 's dew-pearled;

The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn:
God's in his heaven-

All's right with the world!

339

R. BROWNING.

Give her but a least excuse to love me!
When-where-

How

can this arm establish her above me, If fortune fixed her as my lady there, There already, to eternally reprove me? ('Hist! —said Kate the queen;

But Oh '-cried the maiden, binding her tresses, 'Tis only a page that carols unseen, Crumbling your hounds their messes ! ')

Is she wronged ?-To the rescue of her honour, 10
My heart!

Is she poor ?-What costs it to be styled a donor ?
Merely an earth to cleave, a sea to part.
But that fortune should have thrust all this upon

her!

('Nay, list!'-bade Kate the queen; And still cried the maiden, binding her tresses, 'Tis only a page that carols unseen, 'Fitting your hawks their jesses ! ')

340

R. BROWNING.

THE LOST LEADER

Just for a handful of silver he left us,
Just for a riband to stick in his coat-
Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us,
Lost all the others she lets us devote;

15

They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver, So much was theirs who so little allowed: How all our copper had gone for his service!

6

Rags were they purple, his heart had been proud!

10

Wethat had loved him so, followed him,honoured him,
Lived in his mild and magnificent eye,
Learned his great language, caught his clear accents,
Made him our pattern to live and to die!
Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us,

Burns, Shelley, were with us,-they watch from their graves!

He alone breaks from the van and the freemen, He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves!

16

We shall march prospering,-not thro' his presence;
Songs may inspirit us,-not from his lyre;
Deeds will be done,-while he boasts his quiescence,
Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire :
Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more,
One task more declined, one more footpath untrod,
One more devils'-triumph and sorrow for angels,
One wrong more to man, one more insult to God!
Life's night begins : let him never come back to us!
There would be doubt, hesitation, and pain, 26
Forced praise on our part-the glimmer of twilight,
Never glad confident morning again!
Best fight on well, for we taught him,—strike
gallantly,

30

Menace our heart ere we master his own; Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us, Pardoned in heaven, the first by the throne!

R. BROWNING.

341

HOME-THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD

Oh, to be in England now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England sees, some morning, unaware,

That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England-now!

And after April, when May follows,

4

And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows! Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops-at the bent spray's edge— That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,

12

16

Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower
-Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!
R. BROWNING.

342

HOME-THOUGHTS, FROM THE SEA

Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the North-West died away;

Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay;

Bluish mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay;

In the dimmest North-East distance, dawned Gibraltar grand and grey;

5

'Here and here did England help me how can I help England ? '—say, Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray,

While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa. R. BROWNING.

343

MISCONCEPTIONS

This is a spray the Bird clung to,
Making it blossom with pleasure,
Ere the high tree-top she sprung to,
Fit for her nest and her treasure.
Oh, what a hope beyond measure

5

Was the poor spray's, which the flying feet hung to,—
So to be singled out, built in, and sung to!

This is a heart the Queen leant on,
Thrilled in a minute erratic,

Ere the true bosom she bent on,
Meet for love's regal dalmatic.

Oh, what a fancy ecstatic

10

Was the poor heart's, ere the wanderer went on--Love to be saved for it, proffered to, spent on!