Parched the pleasant April herbage, and the lark's heart's outbreak tuneless,

If you loved me not!" And I who—(ah, for words of flame!) adore her, Who am mad to lay my spirit prostrate palpably before her

I may enter at her portal soon, as now her lattice takes me,

And by noontide as by midnight make her mine, as hers she makes me! 1843.

THE LOST LEADER'

JUST for a handful of silver he left us, Just for a riband to stick in his coatFound the one gift of which fortune bereft us,

Lost all the others she lets us devote; They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver,

So much was theirs who so little allowed:

How all our copper had gone for his service!

Rags-were they purple, his heart had been proud!

1 Browning admitted that in writing this poem he had Wordsworth in mind, but insisted that he did not mean it as an exact portrait of Wordsworth. Browning's mature judgment on the matter is best expressed in his own words: “I did in my hasty youth presume to use the great and venerated personality of Wordsworth as a sort of painter's model; one from which this or the other particular feature may be selected and turned to account; had I intended more, above all, such a boldness as portraying the entire man, I should not have talked about 'handfuls of silver and bits of ribbon.' These never influenced the change of politics in the great poet, whose defection, nevertheless, accompanied as it was by a regular face-about of his special party, was to my juvenile apprehension, and even mature consideration, an event to deplore." See also Mrs. Orr's Browning (Life and Letters), I, 191. Compare Shelley's early Sonnet

We shall march

prospering, not through his presence;

Songs may inspirit us,-not from his lyre;

Deeds will be done,-while he boasts his quiescence,

Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire:

Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more,

One task more declined, one more footpath untrod,

One more devils'-triumph and sorrow for angels,

One wrong more to man, one more insult to God!

Life's night begins: let him never come back to us!

There would be doubt, hesitation and pain,

Forced praise on our part-the glimmer of twilight,

Never glad confident morning again! Best fight on well, for we taught himstrike gallantly,

Menace our heart ere we master his

“Good speed!” cried the watch, as the gatebolts undrew ;

"Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through:

Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest,

And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace

Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place;

I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight,

Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right,

Rebuckled the cheek-strap,

slacker the bit,

chained

Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

"T was moonset at starting; but while we drew near

Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear;

At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see;

At Düffeld, 't was morning as plain as could be:

And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime,

So Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time!"

At Aershot, up leaped of a sudden the

sun,

And against him the cattle stood black every one, [ing past, To stare through the mist at us gallopAnd I saw my stout galloper Roland at last,

With resolute shoulders, each butting

away

The haze, as some bluff river headland

its spray:

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back

For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;

And one eye's black intelligence,- -ever that glance

O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance !

And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon [ing on. His fierce lips shook upwards in gallopBy Hasselt, 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,

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; [laugh, The broad sun above laughed a pitiless 'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff;

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

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 eyesockets' rim.

Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall,

Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, [his ear. Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted 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

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.

1838. 1845.

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,
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,
And a voice less loud, through its joys
and fears,

Than the two hearts beating each to each! 1845.

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.

1845.

I'VE a Friend, over the sea;
I like him, but he loves me.
It all grew out of the books I write ;
They find such favor in his sight
That he slaughters you with savage looks
Because you don't admire my books.
He does himself though,-and if some
vein

Were to snap to-night in this heavy brain,

To-morrow month, if I lived to try,
Round should I just turn quietly,

Or out of the bedclothes stretch my hand Till I found him, come from his foreign land

To be my nurse in this poor place,
And make my broth and wash my face
And light my fire and, all the while,
Bear with his old good-humored smile
That I told him "Better have kept away
Than come and kill me, night and day.
With, worse than fever throbs and
shoots,

The creaking of his clumsy boots."
I am as sure that this he would do,
As that Saint Paul's is striking two.
And I think I rather. . woe is me!

--Yes, rather should see him than not

see.

If lifting a hand could seat him there
Before me in the empty chair
To-night, when my head aches indeed,
And I can neither think nor read,
Nor make these purple fingers hold
The pen; this garret's freezing cold!

And I've a Lady-there he wakes,
The laughing fiend and prince of snakes
Within me, at her name, to pray
Fate send some creature in the way
Of my love for her, to be down-torn,
Upthrust and outward-borne,

So I might prove myself that sea
Of passion which I needs must be!
Call my thoughts false and my fancies
quaint

And my style infirm and its figures faint,
All the critics say, and more blame yet,
And not one angry word you get.
But, please you, wonder I would put
My cheek beneath that lady's foot
Rather than trample under mine
The laurels of the Florentine,

And you shall see how the devil spends
A fire God gave for other ends!

I tell you, I ride up and down

This garret, crowned with love's best crown,

And feasted with love's perfect feast,
To think I kill for her, at least,
Body and soul and peace and fame,
Alike youth's end and manhood's aim,
-So is my spirit, as flesh with sin,
Filled full, eaten out and in

With the face of her, the eyes of her,
The lips, the little chin, the stir

Of shadow round her mouth; and she
-I'll tell you-calmly would decree
That I should roast at a slow fire,
If that would compass her desire
And make her one whom they invite
To the famous ball to-morrow night.

There may be heaven; there must be hell;

Meantime, there is our earth herewell! 1845.

Up to the neck in ferns and cress,
Thinking on Metternich our friend,
And Charles's miserable end,
And much beside, two days; the third,
Hunger o'ercame me when I heard
The peasants from the village go
To work among the maize; you know,
With us in Lombardy, they bring
Provisions packed on mules, a string
With little bells that cheer their task,
And casks, and boughs on every cask
To keep the sun's heat from the wine;
These I let pass in jingling line,
And, close on them, dear noisy crew,
The peasants from the village, too;
For at the very rear would troop
Their wives and sisters in a group
To help, I knew.

passed,

When these had

I threw my glove to strike the last,
Taking the chance: she did not start,
Much less cry out, but stooped apart,
One instant rapidly glanced round,
And saw me beckon from the ground;
A wild bush grows and hides my crypt:
She picked my glove up while she
stripped

A branch off, then rejoined the rest
With that; my glove lay in her breast.
Then I drew breath: they disappeared:
It was for Italy I feared.

An hour, and she returned alone Exactly where my glove was thrown. Meanwhile came many thoughts; on me Rested the hopes of Italy:

I had devised a certain tale

Which, when 't was told her, could not fail

Persuade a peasant of its truth;
I meant to call a freak of youth
This hiding, and give hopes of pay,
And no temptation to betray.

But when I saw that woman's face,
Its calm simplicity of grace,
Our Italy's own attitude

In which she walked thus far, and stood,
Planting each naked foot so firm,

To crush the snake and spare the wormAt first sight of her eyes, I said,

I am that man upon whose head They fix the price, because I hate The Austrians over us: the State Will give you gold-oh, gold so much!— If you betray me to their clutch, And be your death, for aught I know, If once they find you saved their foe. Now, you must bring me food and drink, And also paper, pen and ink,

And carry safe what I shall write
To Padua, which you'll reach at night
Before the duomo shuts; go in,
And wait till Tenebræ begin;
Walk to the third confessional,
Between the pillar and the wall,
And kneeling whisper, Whence comes
peace?

Say it a second time, then cease;
And if the voice inside returns,
From Christ and Freedom; what concerns
The cause of Peace ?-for answer, slip
My letter where you placed your lip;
Then come back happy we have done
Our mother service-I. the son,

As you the daughter of our land!"

Three mornings more, she took her stand

In the same place, with the same eyes: I was no surer of sunrise

Than of her coming. We conferred
Of her own prospects, and I heard
She had a lover--stout and tall,
She said then let her eyelids fall,
"He could do much "-as if some doubt
Entered her heart,-then, passing out,
'She could not speak for others, who
Had other thoughts; herself she knew: "
And so she brought me drink and food.
After four days, the scouts pursued
Another path; at last arrived
The help my Paduan friends contrived
To furnish me: she brought the news.
For the first time I could not choose
But kiss her hand, and lay my own
Upon her head-"This faith was shown
To Italy, our mother; she

Uses my hand and blesses thee."
She followed down to the sea-shore;

I left and never saw her more.

How very long since I have thought Concerning-much less wished foraught

Beside the good of Italy,

For which I live and mean to die!

I never was in love; and since

Charles proved false, what shall now convince

My inmost heart I have a friend?
However, if I pleased to spend
Real wishes on myself-say, three-
I know at least what one should be.

I would grasp Metternich until

I felt his red wet throat distil

In blood through these two hands. And

next

-Nor much for that am I perplexed