Robert Browning - The Complete Poems of Robert Browning - 22 Poetry Collections in One Edition

“As our Taurello,” say his faded friends,

“By granting him our Palma!” — the sole child,

They mean, of Agnes Este who beguiled

Ecelin, years before this Adelaide

Wedded and turned him wicked: “but the maid

“Rejects his suit,” those sleepy women boast.

She, scorning all beside, deserves the most

Sordello: so, conspicuous in his world

Of dreams sat Palma. How the tresses curled

Into a sumptuous swell of gold and wound

About her like a glory! even the ground

Was bright as with spilt sunbeams; breathe not, breathe

Not! — poised, see, one leg doubled underneath,

Its small foot buried in the dimpling snow,

Rests, but the other, listlessly below,

O’er the couch-side swings feeling for cool air,

The vein-streaks swollen a richer violet where

The languid blood lies heavily; yet calm

On her slight prop, each flat and outspread palm,

As but suspended in the act to rise

By consciousness of beauty, whence her eyes

Turn with so frank a triumph, for she meets

Apollo’s gaze in the pine glooms.

Time fleets:

That ‘s worst! Because the pre-appointed age

Approaches. Fate is tardy with the stage

And crowd she promised. Lean he grows and pale,

Though restlessly at rest. Hardly avail

Fancies to soothe him. Time steals, yet alone

He tarries here! The earnest smile is gone.

How long this might continue matters not;

— For ever, possibly; since to the spot

None come: our lingering Taurello quits

Mantua at last, and light our lady flits

Back to her place disburthened of a care.

Strange — to be constant here if he is there!

Is it distrust? Oh, never! for they both

Goad Ecelin alike, Romano’s growth

Is daily manifest, with Azzo dumb

And Richard wavering: let but Friedrich come,

Find matter for the minstrelsy’s report

— Lured from the Isle and its young Kaiser’s court

To sing us a Messina morning up,

And, double rillet of a drinking cup,

Sparkle along to ease the land of drouth,

Northward to Provence that, and thus far south

The other! What a method to apprise

Neighbours of births, espousals, obsequies,

Which in their very tongue the Troubadour

Records! and his performance makes a tour,

For Trouveres bear the miracle about,

Explain its cunning to the vulgar rout,

Until the Formidable House is famed

Over the country — as Taurello aimed,

Who introduced, although the rest adopt,

The novelty. Such games, her absence stopped,

Begin afresh now Adelaide, recluse

No longer, in the light of day pursues

Her plans at Mantua: whence an accident

Which, breaking on Sordello’s mixed content

Opened, like any flash that cures the blind,

The veritable business of mankind.

Table of Contents

The woods were long austere with snow: at last

Pink leaflets budded on the beech, and fast

Larches, scattered through pinetree solitudes,

Brightened, “as in the slumbrous heart o’ the woods

“Our buried year, a witch, grew young again

“To placid incantations, and that stain

“About were from her cauldron, green smoke blent

“With those black pines” — so Eglamor gave vent

To a chance fancy. Whence a just rebuke

From his companion; brother Naddo shook

The solemnest of brows: “Beware,” he said,

“Of setting up conceits in nature’s stead!”

Forth wandered our Sordello. Nought so sure

As that to-day’s adventure will secure

Palma, the visioned lady — only pass

O’er you damp mound and its exhausted grass,

Under that brake where sundawn feeds the stalks

Of withered fern with gold, into those walks

Of pine and take her! Buoyantly he went.

Again his stooping forehead was besprent

With dewdrops from the skirting ferns. Then wide

Opened the great morass, shot every side

With flashing water through and through; a-shine,

Thick-steaming, all-alive. Whose shape divine,

Quivered i’ the farthest rainbow-vapour, glanced

Athwart the flying herons? He advanced,

But warily; though Mincio leaped no more,

Each footfall burst up in the marish-floor

A diamond jet: and if he stopped to pick

Rose-lichen, or molest the leeches quick,

And circling blood-worms, minnow, newt or loach,

A sudden pond would silently encroach

This way and that. On Palma passed. The verge

Of a new wood was gained. She will emerge

Flushed, now, and panting, — crowds to see, — will own

She loves him — Boniface to hear, to groan,

To leave his suit! One screen of pinetrees still

Opposes: but — the startling spectacle —

Mantua, this time! Under the walls — a crowd

Indeed, real men and women, gay and loud

Round a pavilion. How he stood!

In truth

No prophecy had come to pass: his youth

In its prime now — and where was homage poured

Upon Sordello? — born to be adored,

And suddenly discovered weak, scarce made

To cope with any, cast into the shade

By this and this. Yet something seemed to prick

And tingle in his blood; a sleight — a trick —

And much would be explained. It went for nought —

The best of their endowments were ill bought

With his identity: nay, the conceit,

That this day’s roving led to Palma’s feet

Was not so vain — list! The word, “Palma!” Steal

Aside, and die, Sordello; this is real,

And this — abjure!

What next? The curtains see

Dividing! She is there; and presently

He will be there — the proper You, at length —

In your own cherished dress of grace and strength:

Most like, the very Boniface!

Not so.

It was a showy man advanced; but though

A glad cry welcomed him, then every sound

Sank and the crowd disposed themselves around,

— ”This is not he,” Sordello felt; while, “Place

“For the best Troubadour of Boniface!”

Hollaed the Jongleurs, — ”Eglamor, whose lay

“Concludes his patron’s Court of Love to-day!”

Obsequious Naddo strung the master’s lute

With the new lute-string, “Elys,” named to suit

The song: he stealthily at watch, the while,

Biting his lip to keep down a great smile

Of pride: then up he struck. Sordello’s brain

Swam; for he knew a sometime deed again;

So, could supply each foolish gap and chasm

The minstrel left in his enthusiasm,

Mistaking its true version — was the tale

Not of Apollo? Only, what avail

Luring her down, that Elys an he pleased,

If the man dared no further? Has he ceased

And, lo, the people’s frank applause half done,

Sordello was beside him, had begun

(Spite of indignant twitchings from his friend

The Trouvere) the true lay with the true end,

Taking the other’s names and time and place

For his. On flew the song, a giddy race,

After the flying story; word made leap

Out word, rhyme — rhyme; the lay could barely keep

Pace with the action visibly rushing past:

Both ended. Back fell Naddo more aghast

Than some Egyptian from the harassed bull

That wheeled abrupt and, bellowing, fronted full

His plague, who spied a scarab ‘neath the tongue,

And found ‘t was Apis’ flank his hasty prong

Insulted. But the people — but the cries,

The crowding round, and proffering the prize!

— For he had gained some prize. He seemed to shrink

Into a sleepy cloud, just at whose brink

One sight withheld him. There sat Adelaide,