1841-46), Men and Women (1855), Dramatis Persona (1864), Dramatic Idyls (1879-80), Jocoseria (1883), Ferishtah's Fancies (1884), Asolando (1889), etc. Much of his poetry is so difficult to understand, from superabundance of reflexion, remoteness of allusions, and abruptness of language, that, during the poet's life time, a 'Browning Society' was formed (1881) for the study and explanation of his works, and a friend of the poet (Mrs. Orr) published (1885) a volume of proseanalyses of his principal poems. His verse, though always powerful and impressive, is some-times wanting in melody and smoothness. THE JOY OF THE WORLD. The centre-fire heaves underneath the earth, Crumbles into fine sand where sunbeams bask - Buds tenderly upon rough banks, between The grass grows bright, the boughs are swoln with blooms The shining dorrs are busy, beetles run PIPPA'S SONG. [From Bells and Pomegranates, No. I: Pippa Passes, I (1841)] The year's at the spring And day's at the morn; 4 The hill-side's dew-pearled; The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn: MY LAST DUCHESS. FERRARA. [From Bells and Pomegranates, No. III: Dramatic Lyrics (1842)] That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's hands And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, A heart how shall I say? too soon made glad, Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. 25 Sir, 'twas all one! My favour at her breast, The dropping of the daylight in the West, The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule She rode with round the terrace all and each 80 Would draw from her alike the approving speech, Or blush, at least. She thanked men,- good! but thanked Somehow I know not how as if she ranked --- My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame 85 This sort of trifling? Even had you skill In speech (which I have not) to make your will Quite clear to such an one, and say, 'Just this - Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, Or there exceed the mark' and if she let 40 Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt, Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without 45 Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands; Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands The Count your master's known munificence 55 Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me! HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX. [From Bells and Pomegranates, No. VII: Dramatic Romances and Lyrics (1845)] I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace 'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, 24 The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray: And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back ever that glance And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, 'Stay spur! 32 Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her, We'll remember at Aix' for one heard the quick wheeze 36 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; 40 'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; And 'Gallop', gasped Joris, 'for Aix is in sight!' mit who li 'How they'll greet us!' and all in a moment his roan 44 Rolled neck and croup_over, lay dead as a stone; And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, 48 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, Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, 52 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 66 As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground; 60 Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent. HOME-THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD. [From Bells and Pomegranates, No. VII: Dramatic Romances and Lyrics (1845)] Oh, to be in England Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England 4 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 8 In England now! And after April, when May follows, And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows! Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge 12 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, Lest you should think he never could recapture 16 The first fine careless rapture! 20 And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower! 8 12 16 20 24 28 LOVE AMONG THE RUINS. [From Men and Women (1855)] Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles, On the solitary pastures where our sheep Half-asleep Tinkle homeward thro' the twilight, stray or stop Was the site once of a city great and gay, (So they say) Of our country's very capital, its prince Ages since Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far Now, the country does not even boast a tree, To distinguish slopes of verdure, certain rills Intersect and give a name to, (else they run Into one) Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall Bounding all, Made of marble, men might march on nor be pressed, Twelve abreast. |