85 95 15 My gain or loss thereby ; And I shall weigh the same, Give life its praise or blame : 16 91 A certain moment cuts The deed off, calls the glory from the grey : A whisper from the west Shoots Add this to the rest, Take it and try its worth : here dies another day.' 17 Though lifted o'er its strife, This rage was right i' the main, That acquiescence vain : The Future I may face now I have proved the Past.' 18 To man, with soul just nerved Here, work enough to watch The Master work, and catch Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the tool's true play. 19 As it was better, youth Should strive, through acts uncouth, Toward making, than repose on aught found made ; So, better, age, exempt From strise, should know, than tempt Further. Thou waitedst age ; wait death nor be afraid ! 100 105 110 115 20 Enough now, if the Right And Good and Infinite Be named here, as thou callest thy hand thinc own, With knowledge absolute, Subject to no dispute From fools that crowded youth, nor let thee feel alone. 120 21 Be there, for once and all, Severed great minds from small, Was I, the world arraigned, 125 Right ? Let age speak the truth and give us peace at last ! 22 Ten men love what I hate, 130 Match me : we all surmise, They, this thing, and I, that : whom shall my soul believe ? 23 Not on the vulgar mass Called 'work,' must sentence pass, Things done, that took the eye and had the price ; Ö'er which, from level stand, The low world laid its hand, Found straightway to its mind, could value in a trice : 24 110 So passed in making up the main account ; All instincts immature, All purposes unsure, That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man's amount : 136 145 150 155 25 Thoughts hardly to be packed Into a narrow act, Fancies that broke through language and escaped ; AU I could never be, All, men ignored in me. This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped. 26 That metaphor ! and feel Thou, to whom fools propound, When the wine makes its round, Since life fleets, all is change ; the Past gone, seize to-day ! 27 Fool! All that is, at all, Lasts ever, past recall ; Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure : What entered into thee, That was, is, and shall be : Time's wheel runs back or stops ; Potter and clay endure. 28 Of plastic circumstance, Machinery just meant To give thy soul its bent, Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently impressed. 160 166 170 29 Which ran the laughing loves What though, about thy rim, Skull-things in order grim Grow out, in graver mood, obey the sterner stress ? 175 30 To uses of a cup, The new wine's foaming flow, The Master's lips aglow ! Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what needst thou with earth's wheel ? 180 185 31 Thee, God, who mouldest men ; Did 1,4to the wheel of life With shapes and colours rife, Bound dizzily,mistake my end, to slake Thy thirst : 32 Amend what flaws may lurk, aim ! Perfect the cup as planned ! Let age approve of youth, and death complete the same ! R. BROWNING. W 190 349 PROSPICE Fear death it to feel the fog in my throat, w ? , ) in my , When the snows/ begin, and the blasts denote I am' nearing the place, The power of the night, the press of the storm, 5 The post of the foe; Where he stands, the Arch Fear) in a visible form, Yet the strong man must go : 15 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. The best and the last ! 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 God be the rest ! R, BROWNING. 26 350 THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE 5 1 Come, stand beside my knee- Towards the wintry sea. There's war within the blast Old forms go trooping past : Amidst the din of fight, Upon the verge of night. 10 |