Browning's Shorter Poems Part 23

And I bent once again to my playing, pursued it unchecked, As I sang,--

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"Oh, our manhood's prime vigor! No spirit feels waste, Not a muscle is stopped in its playing nor sinew unbraced.

Oh, the wild joys of living! the leaping from rock up to rock, 70 The strong rending of boughs from the fir-tree, the cool silver shock Of the plunge in a pool's living water, the hunt of the bear, And the sultriness showing the lion is couched in his lair.

And the meal, the rich dates yellowed over with gold-dust divine, And the locust-flesh steeped in the pitcher, the full draught of wine, And the sleep in the dried river-channel where bulrushes tell That the water was wont to go warbling so softly and well.

How good is man's life, the mere living! how fit to employ All the heart and the soul and the senses for ever in joy!

Hast thou loved the white locks of thy father, whose sword thou didst guard 80 When he trusted thee forth with the armies, for glorious reward?

Didst thou see the thin hands of thy mother, held up as men sung The low song of the nearly departed, and hear her faint tongue Joining in while it could to the witness, 'Let one more attest, I have lived, seen G.o.d's hand thro' a lifetime, and all was for best!'

Then they sung thro' their tears in strong triumph, not much, but the rest.

And thy brothers, the help and the contest, the working whence grew Such result as, from seething grape-bundles, the spirit strained true: And the friends of thy boyhood--that boyhood of wonder and hope, Present promise and wealth of the future beyond the eye's scope,-- 90 Till lo, thou art grown to a monarch; a people is thine: And all gifts which the world offers singly, on one head combine!

On one head, all the beauty and strength, love and rage (like the throe That, a-work in the rock, helps its labour and lets the gold go), High ambition and deeds which surpa.s.s it, fame crowning them,--all Brought to blaze on the head of one creature--King Saul!"

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And lo, with that leap of my spirit,--heart, hand, harp, and voice, Each lifting Saul's name out of sorrow, each bidding rejoice Saul's fame in the light it was made for----as when, dare I say, The Lord's army, in rapture of service, strains thro' its array, 100 And upsoareth the cherubim-chariot--"Saul!" cried I, and stopped, And waited the thing that should follow. Then Saul, who hung propped By the tent's cross-support in the centre, was struck by his name.

Have ye seen when Spring's arrowy summons goes right to the aim, And some mountain, the last to withstand her, that held (he alone, While the vale laughed in freedom and flowers) on a broad bust of stone A year's snow bound about for a breastplate,--leaves grasp of the sheet?

Fold on fold all at once it crowds thunderously down to his feet, And there fronts you, stark, black, but alive yet, your mountain of old, With his rents, the successive bequeathings of ages untold: 110 Yea, each harm got in fighting your battles, each furrow and scar Of his head thrust 'twixt you and the tempest--all hail, there they are!

--Now again to be softened with verdure, again hold the nest Of the dove, tempt the goat and its young to the green on his crest For their food in the ardours of summer. One long shudder thrilled.

All the tent till the very air tingled, then sank and was stilled At the King's self left standing before me, released and aware.

What was gone, what remained? All to traverse 'twixt hope and despair.

Death was past, life not come; so he waited. Awhile his right hand Held the brow, helped the eyes left too vacant, forthwith to remand 120 To their place what new objects should enter: 'twas Saul as before.

I looked up, and dared gaze at those eyes, nor was hurt any more Than by slow pallid sunsets in autumn, ye watch from the sh.o.r.e, At their sad level gaze o'er the ocean--a sun's slow decline Over hills which, resolved in stern silence, o'erlap and entwine Base with base to knit strength more intensely: so, arm folded arm O'er the chest whose slow heavings subsided.

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What spell or what charm, (For, awhile there was trouble within me) what next should I urge To sustain him where song had restored, him? Song filled to the verge His cup with the wine of this life, pressing all that it yields 130 Of mere fruitage, the strength and the beauty: beyond, on what fields Glean a vintage more potent and perfect to brighten the eye, And bring blood to the lip, and commend them the cup they put by?

He saith, "It is good:" still he drinks not: he lets me praise life, Gives a.s.sent, yet would die for his own part.

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Then fancies grew rife Which had come long ago on the pasture, when round me the sheep Fed in silence--above, the one eagle wheeled slow as in sleep; And I lay in my hollow and mused on the world that might lie 'Neath his ken, tho' I saw but the strip 'twixt the hill and the sky: And I laughed--"Since my days are ordained to be pa.s.sed with my flocks, 140 Let me people at least, with my fancies, the plains and the rocks, Dream the life I am never to mix with, and image the show Of mankind as they live in those fashions I hardly shall know!

Schemes of life, its best rules and right uses, the courage that gains, And the prudence that keeps what men strive for!" And now these old trains Of vague thought came again; I grew surer; so, once more the string Of my harp made response to my spirit, as thus--

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"Yea, my King,"

I began--"thou dost well in rejecting mere comforts that spring From the mere mortal life held in common by man and by brute: In our flesh grows the branch of this life, in our soul it bears fruit. 150 Thou hast marked the slow rise of the tree,--how its stem trembled first Till it pa.s.sed the kid's lip, the stag's antler; then safely outburst The fan-branches all round; and thou mindest when these too, in turn Broke a-bloom and the palm-tree seemed perfect: yet more was to learn, E'en the good that comes in with the palm-fruit. Our dates shall we slight, When their juice brings a cure for all sorrow? or care for the plight Of the palm's self whose slow growth produced them? Not so! stem and branch.

Shall decay, nor be known in their place, while the palm-wine shall staunch Every wound of man's spirit in winter. I pour thee such wine.

Leave the flesh to the fate it was fit for! the spirit be thine! 160 By the spirit, when age shall o'ercome thee, thou still shalt enjoy More indeed, than at first when, inconscious, the life of a boy.

Crush that life, and behold its wine running! Each deed thou hast done Dies, revives, goes to work in the world; until e'en as the sun Looking down on the earth, tho' clouds spoil him, tho' tempests efface, Can find nothing his own deed produced not, must everywhere trace The results of his past summer-prime,--so, each ray of thy will.

Every flash of thy pa.s.sion and prowess, long over, shall thrill Thy whole people, the countless, with ardour, till they too give forth A like cheer to their sons: who in turn, fill the South and the North 170 With the radiance thy deed was the germ of. Carouse in the past!

But the license of age has its limit; thou diest at last.

As the lion, when age dims his eyeball, the rose at her height, So with man--so his power and his beauty forever take flight.

No! Again a long draught of my soul-wine! Look forth o'er the years!

Thou hast done now with eyes for the actual; begin with the seer's!

Is Saul dead? In the depth of the vale make his tomb--bid arise A gray mountain of marble heaped four-square, till, built to the skies, Let it mark where the great First King slumbers: whose fame would ye know?

Up above see the rock's naked face, where the record shall go 180 In great characters cut by the scribe,--Such was Saul, so he did; With the sages directing the work, by the populace chid,-- For not half, they'll affirm, is comprised there! Which fault to amend, In the grove with his kind grows the cedar, whereon they shall spend (See, in tablets 'tis level before them) their praise, and record With the gold of the graver, Saul's story,--the statesman's great word.

Side by side with the poet's sweet comment. The river's a-wave With smooth paper-reeds grazing each other when prophet-winds rave; So the pen gives unborn generations their due and their part In thy being! Then, first of the mighty, thank G.o.d that thou art!" 190

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And behold while I sang ... but O Thou who didst grant me that day, And before it not seldom had granted Thy help to essay.

Carry on and complete an adventure,--my shield and my sword In that act where my soul was Thy servant, Thy word was my word,-- Still be with me, who then at the summit of human endeavour And scaling the highest, man's thought could, gazed hopeless as ever On the new stretch of heaven above me--till, mighty to save, Just one lift of Thy hand cleared that distance--G.o.d's throne from man's grave!

Let me tell out my tale to its ending--my voice to my heart Which can scarce dare believe in what marvels last night I took part, 200 As this morning I gather the fragments, alone with my sheep, And still fear lest the terrible glory evanish like sleep!

For I wake in the gray dewy covert, while Hebron, upheaves The dawn struggling with night on his shoulder, and Kidron retrieves Slow the damage of yesterday's sunshine.

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I say then,--my song While I sang thus, a.s.suring the monarch, and, ever more strong, Made a proffer of good to console him--he slowly resumed.

His old motions and habitudes kingly. The right hand replumed His black locks to their wonted composure, adjusted the swathes Of his turban, and see--the huge sweat that his countenance bathes, 210 He wipes off with the robe; and he girds now his loins as of yore, And feels slow for the armlets of price, with the clasp set before, He is Saul, ye remember in glory,--ere error had bent The broad brow from the daily communion; and still, tho' much spent Be the life and bearing that front you, the same, G.o.d did choose, To receive what a man may waste, desecrate, never quite lose.

So sank he along by the tent-prop, till, stayed by the pile Of his armour and war-cloak and garments, he leaned there awhile, And sat out my singing,--one arm round the tent-prop, to raise His bent head, and the other hung slack--till I touched on the praise 220 I foresaw from all men in all time, to the man patient there; And thus ended, the harp falling forward. Then first I was 'ware That he sat, as I say, with my head just above his vast knees Which were thrust out each side around me, like oak roots which please To encircle a lamb when it slumbers. I looked up to know If the best I could do had brought solace: he spoke not, but slow Lifted up the hand slack at his side, till he laid it with care Soft and grave, but in mild settled will, on my brow: thro' my hair The large fingers were pushed, and he bent back my head, with kind power-- All my face back, intent to peruse it, as men do a flower. 230 Thus held he me there with his great eyes that scrutinized mine-- And oh, all my heart how it loved him! but where was the sign?

I yearned--"Could I help thee, my father, inventing a bliss, I would add, to that life of the past, both the future and this; I would give thee new life altogether, as good, ages hence.

As this moment,--had love but the warrant, love's heart to dispense!"

XVI

Then the truth came upon me. No harp more--no song more! outbroke--

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"I have gone the whole round of creation: I saw and I spoke; I, a work of G.o.d's hand for that purpose, received in my brain And p.r.o.nounced on the rest of his handwork--returned him again 240 His creation's approval or censure: I spoke as I saw, Reported, as man may of G.o.d's work--all's love, yet all's law.

Now I lay down the judgeship he lent me. Each faculty tasked To perceive him has gained an abyss, where a dewdrop was asked.

Have I knowledge? confounded it shrivels at Wisdom laid bare.

Have I forethought? how purblind, how blank, to the Infinite Care!

Do I task any faculty highest, to image success?

I but open my eyes,--and perfection, no more and no less, In the kind I imagined, full-fronts me, and G.o.d is seen G.o.d In the star, in the stone, in the flesh, in the soul and the clod. 250 And thus looking within and around me, I ever renew (With that stoop of the soul which in bending upraises it too) The submission of man's nothing-perfect to G.o.d's all complete, As by each new obeisance in spirit, I climb to His feet.

Yet with all this abounding experience, this deity known, I shall dare to discover some province, some gift of my own, There's a faculty pleasant to exercise, hard to hoodwink, I am fain to keep still in abeyance (I laugh as I think), Lest, insisting to claim and parade in it, wot ye, I worst E'en the Giver in one gift.--Behold, I could love if I durst! 260 But I sink the pretension as fearing a man may o'ertake G.o.d's own speed in the one way of love; I abstain for love's sake.

--What, my soul? see thus far and no farther? when doors great and small, Nine-and-ninety flew ope at our touch; should the hundredth appal?

In the least things have faith, yet distrust in the greatest of all?

Do I find love so full in my nature, G.o.d's ultimate gift, That I doubt His own love can compete with it? Here, the parts shift?

Here, the creature surpa.s.s the creator,--the end, what began?

Would I fain in my impotent yearning do all for this man, And dare doubt He alone shall not help him, who yet alone can? 270 Would it ever have entered my mind, the bare will, much less power, To bestow on this Saul what I sang of, the marvellous dower Of the life he was gifted and filled with? to make such a soul, Such a body, and then such an earth for insphering the whole?

And doth it not enter my mind (as my warm tears attest), These good things being given, to go on, and give one more, the best?

Ay, to save and redeem and restore him, maintain at the height This perfection,--succeed with life's dayspring, death's minute of night?

Interpose at the difficult minute, s.n.a.t.c.h Saul the mistake, Saul the failure, the ruin he seems now,--and bid him awake 280 From the dream, the probation, the prelude, to find himself set Clear and safe in new light and new life,--a new harmony yet To be run and continued, and ended--who knows?--or endure!

The man taught enough by life's dream, of the rest to make sure; By the pain-throb, triumphantly winning intensified bliss, And the next world's reward and repose, by the struggles in this.

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