Selections From The Poems And Plays Of Robert Browning Part 5

And the thick, heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. 30

By Ha.s.selt Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur!

Your Roos galloped bravely--the fault's not in her; We'll remember at Aix"--for one heard the quick wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees, And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, 35 As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

So we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, 'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; 40 Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!"

"How they'll greet us!"--and all in a moment his roan Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight 45 Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim.

Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall, Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, 50 Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer; Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

And all I remember is--friends flocking round 55 As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground; And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent. 60

GARDEN FANCIES

THE FLOWER'S NAME

Here's the garden she walked across, Arm in my arm, such a short while since; Hark, now I push its wicket, the moss Hinders the hinges and makes them wince!

She must have reached this shrub ere she turned, 5 As back with that murmur the wicket swung; For she laid the poor snail, my chance foot spurned, To feed and forget it the leaves among.

Down this side of the gravel-walk She went while her robe's edge brushed the box; 10 And here she paused in her gracious talk To point me a moth on the milk-white phlox.

Roses, ranged in valiant row, I will never think that she pa.s.sed you by!

She loves you, n.o.ble roses, I know; 15 But yonder, see, where the rock-plants lie!

This flower she stopped at, finger on lip, Stooped over, in doubt, as settling its claim; Till she gave me, with pride to make no slip, Its soft meandering Spanish name. 20 What a name! Was it love or praise?

Speech half-asleep or song half-awake?

I must learn Spanish, one of these days, Only for that slow sweet name's sake.

Roses, if I live and do well, 25 I may bring her, one of these days, To fix you fast with as fine a spell, Fit you each with his Spanish phrase; But do not detain me now; for she lingers There, like sunshine over the ground, 30 And ever I see her soft white fingers Searching after the bud she found.

Flower, you Spaniard, look that you grow not; Stay as you are and be loved forever!

Bud, if I kiss you 'tis that you blow not; 35 Mind, the shut pink month opens never!

For while it pouts, her fingers wrestle, Twinkling the audacious leaves between, Till round they turn and down they nestle-- Is not the dear mark still to be seen? 40

Where I find her not, beauties vanish; Whither I follow her, beauties flee; Is there no method to tell her in Spanish June's twice June since she breathed it with me?

Come, bud, show me the least of her traces, 45 Treasure my lady's lightest footfall!

--Ah, you may flout and turn up your faces-- Roses, you are not so fair after all!

MEETING AT NIGHT

The gray sea and the long black land; And the yellow half-moon large and low; And the startled little waves that leap In fiery ringlets from their sleep, As I gain the cove with pushing prow, 5 And quench its speed i' the slushy sand.

Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach; Three fields to cross till a farm appears; A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch And blue spurt of a lighted match, 10 And a voice less loud, through its joys and fears, Than the two hearts beating each to each!

PARTING AT MORNING

Round the cape of a sudden came the sea, And the sun looked over the mountain's rim; And straight was a path of gold for him, And the need of a world of men for me.

EVELYN HOPE

Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead!

Sit and watch by her side an hour.

That is her book-shelf, this her bed; She plucked that piece of geranium-flower, Beginning to die too, in the gla.s.s; 5 Little has yet been changed, I think; The shutters are shut, no light may pa.s.s Save two long rays through the hinge's c.h.i.n.k.

Sixteen years old when she died!

Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name; 10 It was not her time to love; beside, Her life had many a hope and aim, Duties enough and little cares, And now was quiet, now astir, Till G.o.d's hand beckoned unawares-- 15 And the sweet white brow is all of her.

Is it too late then, Evelyn Hope?

What, your soul was pure and true, The good stars met in your horoscope, Made you of spirit, fire, and dew-- 20 And just because I was thrice as old And our paths in the world diverged so wide, Each was naught to each, must I be told?

We were fellow mortals, naught beside?

No, indeed! for G.o.d above 25 Is great to grant, as mighty to make, And creates the love to reward the love; I claim you still, for my own love's sake!

Delayed it may be for more lives yet, Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few; 30 Much is to learn, much to forget Ere the time be come for taking you.

But the time will come--at last it will, When, Evelyn Hope, what meant (I shall say) In the lower earth, in the years long still, 35 That body and soul so pure and gay?

Why your hair was amber, I shall divine, And your mouth of your own geranium's red-- And what you would do with me, in fine, In the new life come in the old one's stead. 40

I have lived (I shall say) so much since then, Given up myself so many times, Gained me the gains of various men, Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes; Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope, 45 Either I missed or itself missed me; And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope!

What is the issue? let us see!

I loved you, Evelyn, all the while!

My heart seemed full as it could hold; 50 There was place and to spare for the frank young smile, And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold.

So, hush--I will give you this leaf to keep; See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand!

There, that is our secret; go to sleep! 55 You will wake, and remember, and understand.

LOVE AMONG THE RUINS

Where the quiet-colored end of evening smiles, Miles and miles On the solitary pastures where our sheep Half-asleep Tinkle homeward through the twilight, stray or stop 5 As they crop-- Was the site once of a city great and gay (So they say) Of our country's very capital, its prince Ages since 10 Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far Peace or war.

Now--the country does not even boast a tree, As you see, To distinguish slopes of verdure; certain rills 15 From the hills Intersect and give a name to (else they run Into one) Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires Up like fires 20 O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall Bounding all, Made of marble, men might march on nor be pressed, Twelve abreast.