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

Would but a twenty-cubit plectre reach;

A clever hand, consummate instrument,

Were both brought close; each excellency went

For nothing, else. The question Naddo asked,

Had just a lifetime moderately tasked

To answer, Naddo’s fashion. More disgust

And more: why move his soul, since move it must

At minute’s notice or as good it failed

To move at all? The end was, he retailed

Some ready-made opinion, put to use

This quip, that maxim, ventured reproduce

Gestures and tones — at any folly caught

Serving to finish with, nor too much sought

If false or true ‘t was spoken; praise and blame

Of what he said grew pretty nigh the same

— Meantime awards to meantime acts: his soul,

Unequal to the compassing a whole,

Saw, in a tenth part, less and less to strive

About. And as for men in turn… contrive

Who could to take eternal interest

In them, so hate the worst, so love the best,

Though, in pursuance of his passive plan,

He hailed, decried, the proper way.

As Man

So figured he; and how as Poet? Verse

Came only not to a stand-still. The worse,

That his poor piece of daily work to do

Was — not sink under any rivals; who

Loudly and long enough, without these qualms,

Turned, from Bocafoli’s stark-naked psalms,

To Plara’s sonnets spoilt by toying with,

“As knops that stud some almug to the pith

“Prickèd for gum, wry thence, and crinklèd worse

“Than pursèd eyelids of a river-horse

“Sunning himself o’ the slime when whirrs the breese” —

Gad-fly, that is. He might compete with these!

But — but —

”Observe a pompion-twine afloat;

“Pluck me one cup from off the castle-moat!

“Along with cup you raise leaf, stalk and root,

“The entire surface of the pool to boot.

“So could I pluck a cup, put in one song

“A single sight, did not my hand, too strong,

“Twitch in the least the root-strings of the whole.

“How should externals satisfy my soul?”

“Why that’s precise the error Squarcialupe”

(Hazarded Naddo) “finds; ‘the man can’t stoop

“‘To sing us out,’ quoth he, ‘a mere romance;

“‘He’d fain do better than the best, enhance

“‘The subjects’ rarity, work problems out

“‘Therewith.’ Now, you ‘re a bard, a bard past doubt,

“And no philosopher; why introduce

“Crotchets like these? fine, surely, but no use

“In poetry — which still must be, to strike,

“Based upon common sense; there’s nothing like

“Appealing to our nature! what beside

“Was your first poetry? No tricks were tried

“In that, no hollow thrills, affected throes!

“‘The man,’ said we, ‘tells his own joys and woes:

“‘We’ll trust him.’ Would you have your songs endure?

“Build on the human heart! — why, to be sure

“Yours is one sort of heart — but I mean theirs,

“Ours, every one’s, the healthy heart one cares

“To build on! Central peace, mother of strength,

“That’s father of… nay, go yourself that length,

“Ask those calm-hearted doers what they do

“When they have got their calm! And is it true,

“Fire rankles at the heart of every globe?

“Perhaps. But these are matters one may probe

“Too deeply for poetic purposes:

“Rather select a theory that… yes,

“Laugh! what does that prove? — stations you midway

“And saves some little o’er-refining. Nay,

“That’s rank injustice done me! I restrict

“The poet? Don’t I hold the poet picked

“Out of a host of warriors, statesmen… did

“I tell you? Very like! As well you hid

“That sense of power, you have! True bards believe

“All able to achieve what they achieve —

“That is, just nothing — in one point abide

“Profounder simpletons than all beside.

“Oh, ay! The knowledge that you are a bard

“Must constitute your prime, nay sole, reward!”

So prattled Naddo, busiest of the tribe

Of genius-haunters — how shall I describe

What grubs or nips or rubs or rips — your louse

For love, your flea for hate, magnanimous,

Malignant, Pappacoda, Tagliafer,

Picking a sustenance from wear and tear

By implements it sedulous employs

To undertake, lay down, mete out, o’er-toise

Sordello? Fifty creepers to elude

At once! They settled staunchly; shame ensued:

Behold the monarch of mankind succumb

To the last fool who turned him round his thumb,

As Naddo styled it! ‘T was not worth oppose

The matter of a moment, gainsay those

He aimed at getting rid of; better think

Their thoughts and speak their speech, secure to slink

Back expeditiously to his safe place,

And chew the cud — what he and what his race

Were really, each of them. Yet even this

Conformity was partial. He would miss

Some point, brought into contact with them ere

Assured in what small segment of the sphere

Of his existence they attended him;

Whence blunders, falsehoods rectified — a grim

List — slur it over! How? If dreams were tried,

His will swayed sicklily from side to side,

Nor merely neutralized his waking act

But tended e’en in fancy to distract

The intermediate will, the choice of means.

He lost the art of dreaming: Mantuan scenes

Supplied a baron, say, he sang before,

Handsomely reckless, full to running-o’er

Of gallantries; “abjure the soul, content

“With body, therefore!” Scarcely had he bent

Himself in dream thus low, when matter fast

Cried out, he found, for spirit to contrast

And task it duly; by advances slight,

The simple stuff becoming composite,

Count Lori grew Apollo: best recall

His fancy! Then would some rough peasant-Paul,

Like those old Ecelin confers with, glance

His gay apparel o’er; that countenance

Gathered his shattered fancies into one,

And, body clean abolished, soul alone

Sufficed the grey Paulician: by and by,

To balance the ethereality,

Passions were needed; foiled he sank again.

Meanwhile the world rejoiced (‘t is time explain)

Because a sudden sickness set it free

From Adelaide. Missing the mother-bee,

Her mountain-hive Romano swarmed; at once

A rustle-forth of daughters and of sons

Blackened the valley. “I am sick too, old,

“Half-crazed I think; what good’s the Kaiser’s gold

“To such an one? God help me! for I catch

“My children’s greedy sparkling eyes at watch —

“‘He bears that double breastplate on,’ they say,

“‘So many minutes less than yesterday!’

“Beside, Monk Hilary is on his knees

“Now, sworn to kneel and pray till God shall please

“Exact a punishment for many things

“You know, and some you never knew; which brings

“To memory, Azzo’s sister Beatrix

“And Richard’s Giglia are my Alberic’s

“And Ecelin’s betrothed; the Count himself

“Must get my Palma: Ghibellin and Guelf

“Mean to embrace each other.” So began

Romano’s missive to his fighting man

Taurello — on the Tuscan’s death, away

With Friedrich sworn to sail from Naples’ bay

Next month for Syria. Never thunderclap

Out of Vesuvius’ throat, like this mishap

Startled him. “That accursed Vicenza! I

“Absent, and she selects this time to die!

“Ho, fellows, for Vicenza!” Half a score

Of horses ridden dead, he stood before

Romano in his reeking spurs: too late —