The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Volume 1

CONCLUSION

Life treads on life, and heart on heart;We press too close in church and martTo keep a dream or grave apart:And I was 'ware of walking downThat same green forest where had goneThe poet-pilgrim. One by oneI traced his footsteps. From the eastA red and tender radiance pressedThrough the near trees, until I guessedThe sun behind shone full and round;While up the leafiness profoundA wind scarce old enough for soundStood ready to blow on me whenI turned that way, and now and thenThe birds sang and brake off againTo shake their pretty feathers dryOf the dew sliding droppinglyFrom the leaf-edges and applyBack to their song: 'twixt dew and birdSo sweet a silence ministered,God seemed to use it for a word,Yet morning souls did leap and runIn all things, as the least had wonA joyous insight of the sun,And no one looking round the woodCould help confessing as he stood,This Poet-God is glad and good.But hark! a distant sound that grows,A heaving, sinking of the boughs,A rustling murmur, not of those,A breezy noise which is not breeze!And white-clad children by degreesSteal out in troops among the trees,Fair little children morning-bright,With faces grave yet soft to sight,Expressive of restrained delight.Some plucked the palm-boughs within reach,And others leapt up high to catchThe upper boughs and shake from eachA rain of dew till, wetted so,The child who held the branch let goAnd it swang backward with a flowOf faster drippings. Then I knewThe children laughed; but the laugh flewFrom its own chirrup as might doA frightened song-bird; and a childWho seemed the chief said very mild,"Hush! keep this morning undefiled."His eyes rebuked them from calm spheres,His soul upon his brow appearsIn waiting for more holy years.I called the child to me, and said,"What are your palms for?" "To be spread,"He answered, "on a poet dead."The poet died last month, and nowThe world which had been somewhat slowIn honouring his living brow,"Commands the palms; they must be strownOn his new marble very soon,In a procession of the town."I sighed and said, "Did he foreseeAny such honour?" "VerilyI cannot tell you," answered he."But this I know, I fain would layMy own head down, another day,As he did, – with the fame away."A lily, a friend's hand had plucked,Lay by his death-bed, which he lookedAs deep down as a bee had sucked,"Then, turning to the lattice, gazedO'er hill and river and upraisedHis eyes illumined and amazed"With the world's beauty, up to God,Re-offering on their iris broadThe images of things bestowed"By the chief Poet. 'God!' he cried,'Be praised for anguish which has tried,For beauty which has satisfied:"'For this world's presence half withinAnd half without me – thought and scene —This sense of Being and Having Been."'I thank Thee that my soul hath roomFor Thy grand world: both guests may come —Beauty, to soul – Body, to tomb."'I am content to be so weak:Put strength into the words I speak,And I am strong in what I seek."'I am content to be so bareBefore the archers, everywhereMy wounds being stroked by heavenly air."'I laid my soul before Thy feetThat images of fair and sweetShould walk to other men on it."'I am content to feel the stepOf each pure image: let those keepTo mandragore who care to sleep."'I am content to touch the brinkOf the other goblet and I thinkMy bitter drink a wholesome drink."'Because my portion was assignedWholesome and bitter, Thou art kind,And I am blessed to my mind."'Gifted for giving, I receiveThe maythorn and its scent outgive:I grieve not that I once did grieve."'In my large joy of sight and touchBeyond what others count for such,I am content to suffer much."'I know– is all the mourner saith,Knowledge by suffering entereth,And Life is perfected by Death.'"The child spake nobly: strange to hear,His infantine soft accents clearCharged with high meanings, did appear;And fair to see, his form and faceWinged out with whiteness and pure graceFrom the green darkness of the place.Behind his head a palm-tree grew;An orient beam which pierced it throughTransversely on his forehead drewThe figure of a palm-branch brownTraced on its brightness up and downIn fine fair lines, – a shadow-crown:Guido might paint his angels so —A little angel, taught to goWith holy words to saints below —Such innocence of action yetSignificance of object metIn his whole bearing strong and sweet.And all the children, the whole band,Did round in rosy reverence stand,Each with a palm-bough in his hand."And so he died," I whispered. "Nay,Not so," the childish voice did say,"That poet turned him first to pray"In silence, and God heard the rest'Twixt the sun's footsteps down the west.Then he called one who loved him best,"Yea, he called softly through the room(His voice was weak yet tender) – 'Come,'He said, 'come nearer! Let the bloom"'Of Life grow over, undenied,This bridge of Death, which is not wide —I shall be soon at the other side."'Come, kiss me!' So the one in truthWho loved him best, – in love, not ruth,Bowed down and kissed him mouth to mouth:"And in that kiss of love was wonLife's manumission. All was done:The mouth that kissed last, kissed alone."But in the former, confluent kiss,The same was sealed, I think, by His,To words of truth and uprightness."The child's voice trembled, his lips shookLike a rose leaning o'er a brook,Which vibrates though it is not struck."And who," I asked, a little movedYet curious-eyed, "was this that lovedAnd kissed him last, as it behoved?""I," softly said the child; and then"I," said he louder, once again:"His son, my rank is among men:"And now that men exalt his nameI come to gather palms with them,That holy love may hallow fame."He did not die alone, nor shouldHis memory live so, 'mid these rudeWorld-praisers – a worse solitude."Me, a voice calleth to that tombWhere these are strewing branch and bloomSaying, 'Come nearer:' and I come."Glory to God!" resumèd he,And his eyes smiled for victoryO'er their own tears which I could seeFallen on the palm, down cheek and chin —"That poet now has entered inThe place of rest which is not sin."And while he rests, his songs in troopsWalk up and down our earthly slopes,Companioned by diviner hopes.""But thou," I murmured to engageThe child's speech farther – "hast an ageToo tender for this orphanage.""Glory to God – to God!" he saith:"Knowledge by Suffering Entereth,And Life Is Perfected by Death."

THE POET'S VOW

O be wiser thou,Instructed that true knowledge leads to love.Wordsworth.

THE POET'S VOW

PART THE FIRST.

SHOWING WHEREFORE THE VOW WAS MADE

IEve is a twofold mystery;The stillness Earth doth keep,The motion wherewith human heartsDo each to either leapAs if all souls between the polesFelt "Parting comes in sleep."IIThe rowers lift their oars to viewEach other in the sea;The landsmen watch the rocking boatsIn a pleasant company;While up the hill go gladlier stillDear friends by two and three.IIIThe peasant's wife hath looked withoutHer cottage door and smiled,For there the peasant drops his spadeTo clasp his youngest childWhich hath no speech, but its hand can reachAnd stroke his forehead mild.IVA poet sate that eventideWithin his hall alone,As silent as its ancient lordsIn the coffined place of stone,When the bat hath shrunk from the praying monk,And the praying monk is gone.VNor wore the dead a stiller faceBeneath the cerement's roll:His lips refusing out in wordsTheir mystic thoughts to dole,His steadfast eye burnt inwardly,As burning out his soul.VIYou would not think that brow could e'erUngentle moods express,Yet seemed it, in this troubled world,Too calm for gentleness,When the very star that shines from farShines trembling ne'ertheless.VIIIt lacked, all need, the softening lightWhich other brows supply:We should conjoin the scathèd trunksOf our humanity,That each leafless spray entwining mayLook softer 'gainst the sky.VIIINone gazed within the poet's face,The poet gazed in none;He threw a lonely shadow straightBefore the moon and sun,Affronting nature's heaven-dwelling creaturesWith wrong to nature done:IXBecause this poet daringly,– The nature at his heart,And that quick tune along his veinsHe could not change by art, —Had vowed his blood of brotherhoodTo a stagnant place apart.XHe did not vow in fear, or wrath,Or grief's fantastic whim,But, weights and shows of sensual thingsToo closely crossing him,On his soul's eyelid the pressure slidAnd made its vision dim.XIAnd darkening in the dark he strove'Twixt earth and sea and skyTo lose in shadow, wave and cloud,His brother's haunting cry:The winds were welcome as they swept,God's five-day work he would accept,But let the rest go by.XIIHe cried, "O touching, patient EarthThat weepest in thy glee,Whom God created very good,And very mournful, we!Thy voice of moan doth reach His throne,As Abel's rose from thee.XIII"Poor crystal sky with stars astray!Mad winds that howling goFrom east to west! perplexèd seasThat stagger from their blow!O motion wild! O wave defiled!Our curse hath made you so.XIV'We! and our curse! do I partakeThe desiccating sin?Have I the apple at my lips?The money-lust within?Do I human stand with the wounding hand,To the blasting heart akin?XV"Thou solemn pathos of all thingsFor solemn joy designed!Behold, submissive to your cause,A holy wrath I findAnd, for your sake, the bondage breakThat knits me to my kind.XVI"Hear me forswear man's sympathies,His pleasant yea and no,His riot on the piteous earthWhereon his thistles grow,His changing love – with stars above,His pride – with graves below.XVII"Hear me forswear his roof by night,His bread and salt by day,His talkings at the wood-fire hearth,His greetings by the way,His answering looks, his systemed books,All man, for aye and aye.XVIII"That so my purged, once human heart,From all the human rent,May gather strength to pledge and drinkYour wine of wonderment,While you pardon me all blessinglyThe woe mine Adam sent.XIX"And I shall feel your unseen looksInnumerous, constant, deepAnd soft as haunted Adam once,Though sadder, round me creep, —As slumbering men have mystic kenOf watchers on their sleep.XX"And ever, when I lift my browAt evening to the sun,No voice of woman or of childRecording 'Day is done.'Your silences shall a love express,More deep than such an one."

PART THE SECOND.

SHOWING TO WHOM THE VOW WAS DECLARED

IThe poet's vow was inly sworn,The poet's vow was told.He shared among his crowding friendsThe silver and the gold,They clasping bland his gift, – his handIn a somewhat slacker hold.IIThey wended forth, the crowding friends,With farewells smooth and kind.They wended forth, the solaced friends,And left but twain behind:One loved him true as brothers do,And one was Rosalind.IIIHe said, "My friends have wended forthWith farewells smooth and kind;Mine oldest friend, my plighted bride,Ye need not stay behind:Friend, wed my fair bride for my sake,And let my lands ancestral makeA dower for Rosalind.IV"And when beside your wassail boardYe bless your social lot,I charge you that the giver beIn all his gifts forgot,Or alone of all his words recallThe last, – Lament me not."VShe looked upon him silentlyWith her large, doubting eyes,Like a child that never knew but loveWhom words of wrath surprise,Till the rose did break from either cheekAnd the sudden tears did rise.VIShe looked upon him mournfully,While her large eyes were grownYet larger with the steady tears,Till, all his purpose known,She turnèd slow, as she would go —The tears were shaken down.VIIShe turnèd slow, as she would go,Then quickly turned again,And gazing in his face to seekSome little touch of pain,"I thought," she said, – but shook her head, —She tried that speech in vain.VIII"I thought – but I am half a childAnd very sage art thou —The teachings of the heaven and earthShould keep us soft and low:They have drawn my tears in early years,Or ere I wept – as now.IX"But now that in thy face I readTheir cruel homily,Before their beauty I would fainUntouched, unsoftened be, —If I indeed could look on evenThe senseless, loveless earth and heavenAs thou canst look on me!X"And couldest thou as coldly viewThy childhood's far abode,Where little feet kept time with thineAlong the dewy sod,And thy mother's look from holy bookRose like a thought of God?XI"O brother, – called so, ere her lastBetrothing words were said!O fellow-watcher in her room,With hushèd voice and tread!Rememberest thou how, hand in handO friend, O lover, we did stand,And knew that she was dead?XII"I will not live Sir Roland's bride,That dower I will not hold;I tread below my feet that go,These parchments bought and sold:The tears I weep are mine to keep,And worthier than thy gold."XIIIThe poet and Sir Roland stoodAlone, each turned to each,Till Roland brake the silence leftBy that soft-throbbing speech —"Poor heart!" he cried, "it vainly triedThe distant heart to reach.XIV"And thou, O distant, sinful heartThat climbest up so highTo wrap and blind thee with the snowsThat cause to dream and die,What blessing can, from lips of man,Approach thee with his sigh?XV"Ay, what from earth – create for manAnd moaning in his moan?Ay, what from stars – revealed to manAnd man-named one by one?Ay, more! what blessing can be givenWhere the Spirits seven do show in heavenA Man upon the throne?XVI"A man on earth He wandered once,All meek and undefiled,And those who loved Him said 'He wept' —None ever said He smiled;Yet there might have been a smile unseen,When He bowed his holy face, I ween,To bless that happy child.XVII"And now He pleadeth up in heavenFor our humanities,Till the ruddy light on seraphs' wingsIn pale emotion dies.They can better bear their Godhead's glareThan the pathos of his eyes.XVIII"I will go pray our God to-dayTo teach thee how to scanHis work divine, for human useSince earth on axle ran, —To teach thee to discern as plainHis grief divine, the blood-drop's stainHe left there, Man for man.XIX"So, for the blood's sake shed by HimWhom angels God declare,Tears like it, moist and warm with love,Thy reverent eyes shall wearTo see i' the face of Adam's raceThe nature God doth share."XX"I heard," the poet said, "thy voiceAs dimly as thy breath:The sound was like the noise of lifeTo one anear his death, —Or of waves that fail to stir the paleSere leaf they roll beneath.XXI"And still between the sound and meWhite creatures like a mistDid interfloat confusedly,Mysterious shapes unwist:Across my heart and across my browI felt them droop like wreaths of snow,To still the pulse they kist.XXII"The castle and its lands are thine —The poor's – it shall be done.Go, man, to love! I go to liveIn Courland hall, alone:The bats along the ceilings cling,The lizards in the floors do run,And storms and years have worn and reftThe stain by human builders leftIn working at the stone."

PART THE THIRD.

SHOWING HOW THE VOW WAS KEPT

IHe dwelt alone, and sun and moonWere witness that he madeRejection of his humannessUntil they seemed to fade;His face did so, for he did growOf his own soul afraid.IIThe self-poised God may dwell aloneWith inward glorying,But God's chief angel waiteth forA brother's voice, to sing;And a lonely creature of sinful natureIt is an awful thing.IIIAn awful thing that feared itself;While many years did roll,A lonely man, a feeble man,A part beneath the whole,He bore by day, he bore by nightThat pressure of God's infiniteUpon his finite soul.IVThe poet at his lattice sate,And downward lookèd he.Three Christians wended by to prayers,With mute ones in their ee;Each turned above a face of loveAnd called him to the far chapèlleWith voice more tuneful than its bell:But still they wended three.VThere journeyed by a bridal pomp,A bridegroom and his dame;He speaketh low for happiness,She blusheth red for shame:But never a tone of benisonFrom out the lattice came.VIA little child with inward song,No louder noise to dare,Stood near the wall to see at playThe lizards green and rare —Unblessed the while for his childish smileWhich cometh unaware.

PART THE FOURTH.

SHOWING HOW ROSALIND FARED BY THE KEEPING OF THE VOW

IIn death-sheets lieth RosalindAs white and still as they;And the old nurse that watched her bedRose up with "Well-a-day!"And oped the casement to let inThe sun, and that sweet doubtful dinWhich droppeth from the grass and boughSans wind and bird, none knoweth how —To cheer her as she lay.IIThe old nurse started when she sawHer sudden look of woe:But the quick wan tremblings round her mouthIn a meek smile did go,And calm she said, "When I am dead,Dear nurse it shall be so.III"Till then, shut out those sights and sounds,And pray God pardon meThat I without this pain no moreHis blessed works can see!And lean beside me, loving nurse,That thou mayst hear, ere I am worse,What thy last love should be."IVThe loving nurse leant over her,As white she lay beneath;The old eyes searching, dim with life,The young ones dim with death,To read their look if sound forsookThe trying, trembling breath.V"When all this feeble breath is done,And I on bier am laid,My tresses smoothed for never a feast,My body in shroud arrayed,Uplift each palm in a saintly calm,As if that still I prayed.VI"And heap beneath mine head the flowersYou stoop so low to pull,The little white flowers from the woodWhich grow there in the cool,Which he and I, in childhood's games,Went plucking, knowing not their names,And filled thine apron full.VII"Weep not! I weep not. Death is strong,The eyes of Death are dry!But lay this scroll upon my breastWhen hushed its heavings lie,And wait awhile for the corpse's smileWhich shineth presently.VIII"And when it shineth, straightway callThy youngest children dear,And bid them gently carry meAll barefaced on the bier;But bid them pass my kirkyard grassThat waveth long anear.IX"And up the bank where I used to sitAnd dream what life would be,Along the brook with its sunny lookAkin to living glee, —O'er the windy hill, through the forest still,Let them gently carry me.X"And through the piny forest still,And down the open moorlandRound where the sea beats mistilyAnd blindly on the foreland;And let them chant that hymn I know,Bearing me soft, bearing me slow,To the ancient hall of Courland.XI"And when withal they near the hall,In silence let them layMy bier before the bolted door,And leave it for a day:For I have vowed, though I am proud,To go there as a guest in shroud,And not be turned away."XIIThe old nurse looked within her eyesWhose mutual look was gone;The old nurse stooped upon her mouth,Whose answering voice was done;And nought she heard, till a little birdUpon the casement's woodbine swingingBroke out into a loud sweet singingFor joy o' the summer sun:"Alack! alack!" – she watched no more,With head on knee she wailèd sore,And the little bird sang o'er and o'erFor joy o' the summer sun.

PART THE FIFTH.

SHOWING HOW THE VOW WAS BROKEN

IThe poet oped his bolted doorThe midnight sky to view;A spirit-feel was in the airWhich seemed to touch his spirit bareWhenever his breath he drew;And the stars a liquid softness had,As alone their holiness forbadeTheir falling with the dew.IIThey shine upon the steadfast hills,Upon the swinging tide,Upon the narrow track of beachAnd the murmuring pebbles pied:They shine on every lovely place,They shine upon the corpse's face,As it were fair beside.IIIIt lay before him, humanlike,Yet so unlike a thing!More awful in its shrouded pompThan any crownèd king:All calm and cold, as it did holdSome secret, glorying.IVA heavier weight than of its clayClung to his heart and knee:As if those folded palms could strikeHe staggered groaningly,And then o'erhung, without a groan,The meek close mouth that smiled alone,Whose speech the scroll must be.

THE WORDS OF ROSALIND'S SCROLL

"I left thee last, a child at heart,A woman scarce in years.I come to thee, a solemn corpseWhich neither feels nor fears.I have no breath to use in sighs;They laid the dead-weights on mine eyesTo seal them safe from tears."Look on me with thine own calm look:I meet it calm as thou.No look of thine can change this smile,Or break thy sinful vow:I tell thee that my poor scorned heartIs of thine earth – thine earth, a part:It cannot vex thee now."But out, alas! these words are writBy a living, loving one,Adown whose cheeks, the proofs of lifeThe warm quick tears do run:Ah, let the unloving corpse controlThy scorn back from the loving soulWhose place of rest is won."I have prayed for thee with bursting sobWhen passion's course was free;I have prayed for thee with silent lips,In the anguish none could see:They whispered oft, 'She sleepeth soft' —But I only prayed for thee."Go to! I pray for thee no more:The corpse's tongue is still,Its folded fingers point to heaven,But point there stiff and chill:No farther wrong, no farther woeHath license from the sin belowIts tranquil heart to thrill."I charge thee, by the living's prayer,And the dead's silentness,To wring from out thy soul a cryWhich God shall hear and bless!Lest Heaven's own palm droop in my hand,And pale among the saints I stand,A saint companionless."

VBow lower down before the throne,Triumphant Rosalind!He boweth on thy corpse his face,And weepeth as the blind:'Twas a dread sight to see them so,For the senseless corpse rocked to and froWith the wail of his living mind.VIBut dreader sight, could such be seen,His inward mind did lie,Whose long-subjected humannessGave out its lion-cry,And fiercely rent its tenementIn a mortal agony.VIII tell you, friends, had you heard his wail,'Twould haunt you in court and mart,And in merry feast until you setYour cup down to depart —That weeping wild of a reckless childFrom a proud man's broken heart.VIIIO broken heart, O broken vow,That wore so proud a feature!God, grasping as a thunderboltThe man's rejected nature,Smote him therewith i' the presence highOf his so worshipped earth and skyThat looked on all indifferently —A wailing human creature.IXA human creature found too weakTo bear his human pain —(May Heaven's dear grace have spoken peaceTo his dying heart and brain!)For when they came at dawn of dayTo lift the lady's corpse away,Her bier was holding twain.XThey dug beneath the kirkyard grass,For born one dwelling deep;To which, when years had mossed the stone,Sir Roland brought his little sonTo watch the funeral heap:And when the happy boy would ratherTurn upward his blithe eyes to seeThe wood-doves nodding from the tree,"Nay, boy, look downward," said his father,"Upon this human dust asleep.And hold it in thy constant kenThat God's own unity compresses(One into one) the human many,And that his everlastingness isThe bond which is not loosed by any:That thou and I this law must keep,If not in love, in sorrow then, —Though smiling not like other men,Still, like them we must weep."END OF THE FIRST VOLUME

1

The entry in the Parish Register of Kelloe Church is as follows: – Elizabeth Barrett Moulton Barrett, daughter and first child of Edward Barrett Moulton Barrett, of Coxhoe Hall, native of St James's, Jamaica, by Mary, late Clarke, native of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, was born, March 6th, 1806, and baptized 10th of February, 1808.

2

Adam recognizes in Aquarius, the Water-bearer, and Sagittarius, the Archer, distinct types of the man bearing and the man combating, – the passive and active forms of human labour. I hope that the preceding zodiacal signs – transferred to the earthly shadow and representative purpose – of Aries, Taurus, Cancer, Leo, Libra, Scorpio, Capricornus, and Pisces, are sufficiently obvious to the reader.

3

Her maternal instinct is excited by Gemini.

4

"His angels he charged with folly." —Job iv. 18.