'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 CCCLXXIII MISCONCEPTIONS This is a spray the Bird clung to, 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, Ere the true bosom she bent on, Was the poor heart's, ere the wanderer went on— R. Browning CCCLXXIV A WOMAN'S LAST WORD Let's contend no more, Love, Strive nor weep: All be as before, Love, -Only sleep! Teach me, only teach, Love! I will speak thy speech, Love, Meet, if thou require it, Both demands, Laying flesh and spirit In thy hands. That shall be to-morrow Not to-night: I must bury sorrow Out of sight: -Must a little weep, Love, (Foolish me!) And so fall asleep, Love, Loved by thee. R. Browning CCCLXXV RABBI BEN EZRA I Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made: Who saith 'A whole I planned, Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!' 2 Not that, amassing flowers, Youth sighed 'Which rose make ours, Which lily leave and then as best recall?' Not that, admiring stars, It yearned 'Nor Jove, nor Mars; Mine be some figured flame which blends, transcends them all!' 3 Not for such hopes and fears Do I remonstrate: folly wide the mark! Rather I prize the doubt Low kinds exist without, Finished and finite clods, untroubled by a spark. 4 Poor vaunt of life indeed, Were man but formed to feed On joy, to solely seek and find and feast: Such feasting ended, then As sure an end to men; Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the maw-crammed beast? And not partake, effect and not receive! A spark disturbs our clod; Nearer we hold of God Who gives, than of His tribes that take, I must believe. 6 Then, welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go! Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe! 7 For thence,- -a paradox Which comforts while it mocks,— Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail: What I aspired to be, And was not, comforts me: A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale. 8 What is he but a brute Whose flesh hath soul to suit, Whose spirit works lest arms and legs want play? To man, propose this test Thy body at its best, How far can that project thy soul on its lone way? 9 Yet gifts should prove their use: I own the Past profuse Of power each side, perfection every turn: Eyes, ears took in their dole, Brain treasured up the whole; Should not the heart beat once 'How good to live and learn'? ΙΟ Not once beat 'Praise be Thine! I see the whole design, I, who saw power, see now Love perfect too: Thanks that I was a man! Maker, remake, complete,-I trust what Thou shalt do!' II For pleasant is this flesh; Our soul in its rose-mesh Pulled ever to the earth, still yearns for rest: To match those manifold Possessions of the brute,-gain most, as we did best! 12 Let us not always say 'Spite of this flesh to-day I strove, made head, gained ground upon the whole!' As the bird wings and sings, Let us cry 'All good things Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than flesh helps soul!' 13 Therefore I summon age To grant youth's heritage, Life's struggle having so far reached its term: A man, for ay removed From the developed brute; a God though in the germ. 14 And I shall thereupon Take rest, ere I be gone Once more on my adventure brave and new: |
