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

As find our common nature — overmuch

Despised because restricted and unfit

To bear the burthen they impose on it —

Cling when they would discard it; craving strength

To leap from the allotted world, at length

They do leap, — flounder on without a term,

Each a god’s germ, doomed to remain a germ

In unexpanded infancy, unless …

But that ‘s the story — dull enough, confess!

There might be fitter subjects to allure;

Still, neither misconceive my portraiture

Nor undervalue its adornments quaint:

What seems a fiend perchance may prove a saint.

Ponder a story ancient pens transmit,

Then say if you condemn me or acquit.

John the Beloved, banished Antioch

For Patmos, bade collectively his flock

Farewell, but set apart the closing eve

To comfort those his exile most would grieve,

He knew: a touching spectacle, that house

In motion to receive him! Xanthus’ spouse

You missed, made panther’s meat a month since; but

Xanthus himself (his nephew ‘t was, they shut

‘Twixt boards and sawed asunder) Polycarp,

Soft Charicle, next year no wheel could warp

To swear by Cæsar’s fortune, with the rest

Were ranged; thro’ whom the grey disciple pressed,

Busily blessing right and left, just stopped

To pat one infant’s curls, the hangman cropped

Soon after, reached the portal. On its hinge

The door turns and he enters: what quick twinge

Ruins the smiling mouth, those wide eyes fix

Whereon, why like some spectral candlestick’s

Branch the disciple’s arms? Dead swooned he, woke

Anon, heaved sigh, made shift to gasp, heart-broke,

“Get thee behind me, Satan! Have I toiled

“To no more purpose? Is the gospel foiled

“Here too, and o’er my son’s, my Xanthus’ hearth,

“Portrayed with sooty garb and features swarth —

“Ah Xanthus, am I to thy roof beguiled

“To see the — the — the Devil domiciled?”

Whereto sobbed Xanthus, “Father, ‘t is yourself

“Installed, a limning which our utmost pelf

“Went to procure against tomorrow’s loss;

“And that’s no twy-prong, but a pastoral cross,

“You ‘re painted with!”

His puckered brows unfold —

And you shall hear Sordello’s story told.

Table of Contents

Meantime Ferrara lay in rueful case;

The lady-city, for whose sole embrace

Her pair of suitors struggled, felt their arms

A brawny mischief to the fragile charms

They tugged for — one discovering that to twist

Her tresses twice or thrice about his wrist

Secured a point of vantage — one, how best

He ‘d parry that by planting in her breast

His elbow spike — each party too intent

For noticing, howe’er the battle went,

The conqueror would but have a corpse to kiss.

“May Boniface be duly damned for this!”

— Howled some old Ghibellin, as up he turned,

From the wet heap of rubbish where they burned

His house, a little skull with dazzling teeth:

“A boon, sweet Christ — let Salinguerra seethe

“In hell for ever, Christ, and let myself

“Be there to laugh at him!” — moaned some young Guelf

Stumbling upon a shrivelled hand nailed fast

To the charred lintel of the doorway, last

His father stood within to bid him speed.

The thoroughfares were overrun with weed

— Docks, quitchgrass, loathy mallows no man plants.

The stranger, none of its inhabitants

Crept out of doors to taste fresh air again,

And ask the purpose of a splendid train

Admitted on a morning; every town

Of the East League was come by envoy down

To treat for Richard’s ransom: here you saw

The Vicentine, here snowy oxen draw

The Paduan carroch, its vermilion cross

On its white field. A-tiptoe o’er the fosse

Looked Legate Montelungo wistfully

After the flock of steeples he might spy

In Este’s time, gone (doubts he) long ago

To mend the ramparts: sure the laggards know

The Pope’s as good as here! They paced the streets

More soberly. At last, “Taurello greets

“The League,” announced a pursuivant, — ”will match

“Its courtesy, and labours to dispatch

“At earliest Tito, Friedrich’s Pretor, sent

“On pressing matters from his post at Trent,

“With Mainard Count of Tyrol, — simply waits

“Their going to receive the delegates.”

“Tito!” Our delegates exchanged a glance,

And, keeping the main way, admired askance

The lazy engines of outlandish birth,

Couched like a king each on its bank of earth —

Arbalist, manganel and catapult;

While stationed by, as waiting a result,

Lean silent gangs of mercenaries ceased

Working to watch the strangers. “This, at least,

“Were better spared; he scarce presumes gainsay

“The League’s decision! Get our friend away

“And profit for the future: how else teach

“Fools ‘t is not safe to stray within claw’s reach

“Ere Salinguerra’s final gasp be blown?

“Those mere convulsive scratches find the bone.

“Who bade him bloody the spent osprey’s nare?”

The carrochs halted in the public square.

Pennons of every blazon once a-flaunt,

Men prattled, freelier than the crested gaunt

White ostrich with a horse-shoe in her beak

Was missing, and whoever chose might speak

“Ecelin” boldly out: so, — ”Ecelin

“Needed his wife to swallow half the sin

“And sickens by himself: the devil’s whelp,

“He styles his son, dwindles away, no help

“From conserves, your fine triple-curded froth

“Of virgin’s blood, your Venice viper-broth —

“Eh? Jubilate!” — ”Peace! no little word

“You utter here that ‘s not distinctly heard

“Up at Oliero: he was absent sick

“When we besieged Bassano — who, i’ the thick

“O’ the work, perceived the progress Azzo made,

“Like Ecelin, through his witch Adelaide?

“She managed it so well that, night by night

“At their bedfoot stood up a soldier-sprite,

“First fresh, pale by-and-by without a wound,

“And, when it came with eyes filmed as in swound,

“They knew the place was taken.” — ”Ominous

“That Ghibellins should get what cautelous

“Old Redbeard sought from Azzo’s sire to wrench

“Vainly; Saint George contrived his town a trench

“O’ the marshes, an impermeable bar.”

“ — Young Ecelin is meant the tutelar

“Of Padua, rather; veins embrace upon

“His hand like Brenta and Bacchiglion.”

What now? — ”The founts! God’s bread, touch not a plank!

“A crawling hell of carrion — every tank

“Choke-full! — found out just now to Cino’s cost —

“The same who gave Taurello up for lost,

“And, making no account of fortune’s freaks,

“Refused to budge from Padua then, but sneaks

“Back now with Concorezzi: ‘faith! they drag

“Their carroch to San Vitale, plant the flag

“On his own palace, so adroitly razed

“He knew it not; a sort of Guelf folk gazed

“And laughed apart; Cino disliked their air —

“Must pluck up spirit, show he does not care —

“Seats himself on the tank’s edge — will begin

“To hum, za, za, Cavaler Ecelin —

“A silence; he gets warmer, clinks to chime,

“Now both feet plough the ground, deeper each time,

“At last, za, za and up with a fierce kick

“Comes his own mother’s face caught by the thick