An angel had not
startled
him,
Alighted from heaven's burning rim
To breathe from glory in the Dim;
Much less a lady riding slow
Upon a palfrey white as snow,
And smooth as a snow-cloud could go.
Alighted from heaven's burning rim
To breathe from glory in the Dim;
Much less a lady riding slow
Upon a palfrey white as snow,
And smooth as a snow-cloud could go.
Elizabeth Browning
_ In Heavens aye.
In Heavens aye! tell, may I it obtayne
By alms, by fasting, prayer,--by paine?
_Echo. _ By paine
Show me the paine, it shall be undergone.
I to mine end will still go on.
_Echo. _ Go on.
_Britannia's Pastorals. _
A VISION OF POETS.
A poet could not sleep aright,
For his soul kept up too much light
Under his eyelids for the night.
And thus he rose disquieted
With sweet rhymes ringing through his head,
And in the forest wandered
Where, sloping up the darkest glades,
The moon had drawn long colonnades
Upon whose floor the verdure fades
To a faint silver: pavement fair,
The antique wood-nymphs scarce would dare
To foot-print o'er, had such been there,
And rather sit by breathlessly,
With fear in their large eyes, to see
The consecrated sight. But HE--
The poet who, with spirit-kiss
Familiar, had long claimed for his
Whatever earthly beauty is,
Who also in his spirit bore
A beauty passing the earth's store,--
Walked calmly onward evermore.
His aimless thoughts in metre went,
Like a babe's hand without intent
Drawn down a seven-stringed instrument:
Nor jarred it with his humour as,
With a faint stirring of the grass,
An apparition fair did pass.
He might have feared another time,
But all things fair and strange did chime
With his thoughts then, as rhyme to rhyme.
An angel had not startled him,
Alighted from heaven's burning rim
To breathe from glory in the Dim;
Much less a lady riding slow
Upon a palfrey white as snow,
And smooth as a snow-cloud could go.
Full upon his she turned her face,
"What ho, sir poet! dost thou pace
Our woods at night in ghostly chase
"Of some fair Dryad of old tales
Who chants between the nightingales
And over sleep by song prevails? "
She smiled; but he could see arise
Her soul from far adown her eyes,
Prepared as if for sacrifice.
She looked a queen who seemeth gay
From royal grace alone. "Now, nay,"
He answered, "slumber passed away,
"Compelled by instincts in my head
That I should see to-night, instead
Of a fair nymph, some fairer Dread. "
She looked up quickly to the sky
And spake: "The moon's regality
Will hear no praise; She is as I.
"She is in heaven, and I on earth;
This is my kingdom: I come forth
To crown all poets to their worth. "
He brake in with a voice that mourned;
"To their worth, lady? They are scorned
By men they sing for, till inurned.
"To their worth? Beauty in the mind
Leaves the hearth cold, and love-refined
Ambitions make the world unkind.
"The boor who ploughs the daisy down,
The chief whose mortgage of renown,
Fixed upon graves, has bought a crown--
"Both these are happier, more approved
Than poets! --why should I be moved
In saying, both are more beloved? "
"The south can judge not of the north,"
She resumed calmly; "I come forth
To crown all poets to their worth.
"Yea, verily, to anoint them all
With blessed oils which surely shall
Smell sweeter as the ages fall.
In Heavens aye! tell, may I it obtayne
By alms, by fasting, prayer,--by paine?
_Echo. _ By paine
Show me the paine, it shall be undergone.
I to mine end will still go on.
_Echo. _ Go on.
_Britannia's Pastorals. _
A VISION OF POETS.
A poet could not sleep aright,
For his soul kept up too much light
Under his eyelids for the night.
And thus he rose disquieted
With sweet rhymes ringing through his head,
And in the forest wandered
Where, sloping up the darkest glades,
The moon had drawn long colonnades
Upon whose floor the verdure fades
To a faint silver: pavement fair,
The antique wood-nymphs scarce would dare
To foot-print o'er, had such been there,
And rather sit by breathlessly,
With fear in their large eyes, to see
The consecrated sight. But HE--
The poet who, with spirit-kiss
Familiar, had long claimed for his
Whatever earthly beauty is,
Who also in his spirit bore
A beauty passing the earth's store,--
Walked calmly onward evermore.
His aimless thoughts in metre went,
Like a babe's hand without intent
Drawn down a seven-stringed instrument:
Nor jarred it with his humour as,
With a faint stirring of the grass,
An apparition fair did pass.
He might have feared another time,
But all things fair and strange did chime
With his thoughts then, as rhyme to rhyme.
An angel had not startled him,
Alighted from heaven's burning rim
To breathe from glory in the Dim;
Much less a lady riding slow
Upon a palfrey white as snow,
And smooth as a snow-cloud could go.
Full upon his she turned her face,
"What ho, sir poet! dost thou pace
Our woods at night in ghostly chase
"Of some fair Dryad of old tales
Who chants between the nightingales
And over sleep by song prevails? "
She smiled; but he could see arise
Her soul from far adown her eyes,
Prepared as if for sacrifice.
She looked a queen who seemeth gay
From royal grace alone. "Now, nay,"
He answered, "slumber passed away,
"Compelled by instincts in my head
That I should see to-night, instead
Of a fair nymph, some fairer Dread. "
She looked up quickly to the sky
And spake: "The moon's regality
Will hear no praise; She is as I.
"She is in heaven, and I on earth;
This is my kingdom: I come forth
To crown all poets to their worth. "
He brake in with a voice that mourned;
"To their worth, lady? They are scorned
By men they sing for, till inurned.
"To their worth? Beauty in the mind
Leaves the hearth cold, and love-refined
Ambitions make the world unkind.
"The boor who ploughs the daisy down,
The chief whose mortgage of renown,
Fixed upon graves, has bought a crown--
"Both these are happier, more approved
Than poets! --why should I be moved
In saying, both are more beloved? "
"The south can judge not of the north,"
She resumed calmly; "I come forth
To crown all poets to their worth.
"Yea, verily, to anoint them all
With blessed oils which surely shall
Smell sweeter as the ages fall.
