What sound was dearest in his native dells?

comes al built

Far-far-away. quist

What vague world-whisper, mystic pain or joy,

Thro' those three words would haunt him when a boy,

Far far-away?

A whisper from his dawn of life? a breath From some fair dawn beyond the doors of death

Far far away?

Far, far, how far? from o'er the gates of birth,

The faint horizons, all the bounds of earth, Far far away?

Too full for sound and foam,

When that which drew from out the bound

less deep

Turns again home. turning of tide & soul.

Twilight and evening bell,

And after that the dark!

And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

SONG FROM PARACELSUS

[1835.]

OVER the sea our galleys went With cleaving prows in order brave To a speeding wind and a bounding wave, A gallant armament:

Each bark built out of a forest-tree

Left leafy and rough as first it grew, And nailed all over the gaping sides, Within and without, with black bull-hides, Seethed in fat and suppled in flame, To bear the playful billows' game: So, each good ship was rude to see, Rude and bare to the outward view,

But each upbore a stately tent Where cedar pales in scented row Kept out the flakes of the dancing brine, And an awning drooped the mast below, In fold on fold of the purple fine, That neither noontide nor starshine Nor moonlight cold which maketh mad, Might pierce the regal tenement. When the sun dawn'd, oh, gay and glad We set the sail and plied the oar; But when the night-wind blew like breath, For joy of one day's voyage more, We sang together on the wide sea, Like men at peace on a peaceful shore; Each sail was loosed to the wind so free, Each helm made sure by the twilight star, And in a sleep as calm as death, We, the voyagers from afar,

Lay stretched along, each weary crew In a circle round its wondrous tent Whence gleamed soft light and curled rich scent,

And with light and perfume, music too: So the stars wheeled round, and the darkness past,

And at morn we started beside the mast, And still each ship was sailing fast.

Now, one morn, land appeared a speck Dim trembling betwixt sea and sky: "Avoid it," cried our pilot, "check

The shout, restrain the eager eye!" But the heaving sea was black behind For many a night and many a day, And land, though but a rock, drew nigh; So, we broke the cedar pales away, Let the purple awning flap in the wind,

And a statue bright was on every deck! We shouted, every man of us,

And steered right into the harbor thus,

With pomp and pæan glorious.

A hundred shapes of lucid stone!
All day we built its shrine for each,
A shrine of rock for every one,
Nor paused till in the westering sun
We sat together on the beach

To sing because our task was done.
When lo! what shouts and merry songs!
What laughter all the distance stirs !
A loaded raft with happy throngs
Of gentle islanders!

"Our isles are just at hand," they cried, "Like cloudlets faint in even sleeping; Our temple-gates are opened wide,

Our olive-groves thick shade are keeping For these majestic forms" - they cried. Oh, then we awoke with sudden start From our deep dream, and knew, too late, How bare the rock, how desolate, Which had received our precious freight: Yet we called out - "Depart! Our gifts, once given, must here abide. Our work is done; we have no heart To mar our work," we cried.

CAVALIER TUNES*

[1842.]

I. MARCHING ALONG

1646

KENTISH Sir Byng stood for his King, Charles I
Bidding the crop-headed Parliament swing:
And, pressing a troop unable to stoop
And see the rogues flourish and honest
folk droop,

Marched them along, fifty-score strong,
Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.

God for King Charles! Pym and such
carles

To the Devil that prompts 'em their trea-
sonous parles!

Cavaliers, up! Lips from the cup,
Hands from the pasty, nor bite take nor sup
Till you're-

(Chorus) Marching along, fifty-score

strong,

Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.

The poems taken from the Dramatic Lyrics, Dramatic Romances, and Men and Women, follow Browning's final arrangement, which represents a redistribution subsequent to their original publication. This accounts for the irregularities in chronology.

Hampden to Hell, and his obsequies' knell Serve Hazelrig, Fiennes, and young Harry as well!

England, good cheer! Rupert is near! Kentish and loyalists, keep we not here (Chorus) Marching along. fifty-score strong,

Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song?

Then, God for King Charles! Pym and his snarls

To the Devil that pricks on such pestilent carles!

Hold by the right, you double your might; So, onward to Nottingham, fresh for the fight,

(Chorus) March we along, fifty-score strong,

Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song!

II. GIVE A ROUSE

King Charles, and who'll do him right now?

King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now?

Give a rouse: here's, in Hell's despite now, King Charles !

Who gave me the goods that went since? Who raised me the house that sank once? Who helped me to gold I spent since? Who found me in wine you drank once? (Chorus) King Charles, and who'll do him right now?

King Charles, and who 's ripe
for fight now?

Give a rouse: here 's, in Hell's
despite now,
King Charles!

To whom used my boy George quaff else,
By the old fool's side that begot him?
For whom did he cheer and laugh e'se.
While Noll's damned troopers shot him?
(Chorus) King Charles, and who'll do
him right now?

King Charles, and who 's ripe for fight now?

Give a rouse: here 's, in Hell's despite now,

King Charles!

III. BOOT AND SADDLE

I

Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! Rescue my Castle, before the hot day Brightens to blue from its silvery grey, (Chorus) Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!

holl-Cromwell

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!

We that had loved him so, followed him, honoured him,

Lived in his mild and magnificent eye, Learned his great language, caught his clear accents,

Made him our pattern to live and to die! Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us, Burns, Shelley, were with us, they watch from their graves!

He alone breaks from the van and the freemen,

He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves!

We shall march prospering, not thro' his

presence;

Songs may inspirit us, 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 triumph for devils 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 him, strike gallantly,

Menace our heart ere we master his own;

Then let him receive the new knowledge

and wait us,

Pardoned in Heaven, the first by the throne!

'HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX' [16-] [1845.]

I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three;

'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, chained slacker the bit,

Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

'Twas 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

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 eye-sockets' rim.

ear,

Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer;

Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good,

Til 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.

THROUGH THE METIDJA TO ABDEL-KADR

[1842.]

As I ride, as I ride,

With a full heart for my guide,
So its tide rocks my side,

As I ride, as I ride,

That, as I were double-eyed,
He, in whom our Tribes confide,
Is descried, ways untried
As I ride, as I ride.

As I ride, as I ride

To our Chief and his Allied,
Who dares chide my heart's pride
As I ride, as I ride?

Or are witnesses denied -
Through the desert waste and wide
Do I glide unespied
As I ride, as I ride?

As I ride, as I ride,

When an inner voice has cried,
The sands slide, nor abide
(As I ride, as I ride)

O'er each visioned homicide

That came vaunting (has he lied?) To reside where he died,

As I ride, as I ride.

As I ride, as I ride,

Ne'er has spur my swift horse plied,
Yet his hide, streaked and pied,
As I ride, as I ride,

Shows where sweat has sprung and dried,

-Zebra-footed, ostrich-thighed -
How has vied stride with stride
As I ride, as I ride!

As I ride, as I ride,

Could I loose what Fate has tied, Ere I pried, she should hide (As I ride, as I ride)

All that's meant me

satisfied

When the Prophet and the Bride
Stop veins I'd have subside
As I ride, as I ride!

SIBRANDUS SCHAFNABURGENSIS
[Published in Hood's Magazine, 1844. Reprinted
1845.]

PLAGUE take all your pedants, say I!
He who wrote what I hold in my hand,
Centuries back was so good as to die,
Leaving this rubbish to cumber the land;
This, that was a book in its time,

Printed on paper and bound in leather,
Last month in the white of a matin-prime
Just when the birds sang all together,
Into the garden I brought it to read,

And under the arbute and laurustine Read it, so help me grace in my need, From title-page to closing line. Chapter on chapter did I count, As a curious traveller counts Stonehenge; Added up the mortal amount; BARSTIL NO

And then proceeded to my revenge.

Yonder's a plum-tree with a crevice
An owl would build in, were he but sage;
For a lap of moss, like a fine pont-levis
In a castle of the Middle Age,
Joins to a lip of gum, pure amber;
When he'd be private, there might he
spend

Hours alone in his lady's chamber:

Into this crevice I dropped our friend. Splash, went he, as under he ducked,

-I knew at the bottom rain-drippings
stagnate;

Next a handful of blossoms I plucked
To bury him with, my bookshelf's mag-

nate;

Then I went indoors, brought out a loaf,
Half a cheese, and a bottle of Chablis ;
Lay on the grass and forgot the oaf
Over a jolly chapter of Rabelais.
Now, this morning, betwixt the moss
And gum that locked our friend in limbo,
A spider had spun his web_across,
And sat in the midst with arms akimbo:
So, I took pity, for learning's sake,
And, de profundis, accentibus laetis,
Cantate! quoth I, as I got a rake,

And up I fished his delectable treatise. Here you have it; dry in the sun,

With all the binding all of a blister, And great blue spots where the ink has