Read Ebook: The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning Volume 4 by Browning Elizabeth Barrett

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I heard an angel speak last night, And he said "Write! Write a Nation's curse for me, And send it over the Western Sea."

I faltered, taking up the word: "Not so, my lord! If curses must be, choose another To send thy curse against my brother.

"Therefore," the voice said, "shalt thou write My curse to-night. From the summits of love a curse is driven, As lightning is from the tops of heaven."

"Not so," I answered. "Evermore My heart is sore For my own land's sins: for little feet Of children bleeding along the street:

"For parked-up honours that gainsay The right of way: For almsgiving through a door that is Not open enough for two friends to kiss:

"For love of freedom which abates Beyond the Straits: For patriot virtue starved to vice on Self-praise, self-interest, and suspicion:

"For an oligarchic parliament, And bribes well-meant. What curse to another land assign, When heavy-souled for the sins of mine?"

"Not so," I answered once again. "To curse, choose men. For I, a woman, have only known How the heart melts and the tears run down."

"Therefore," the voice said, "shalt thou write My curse to-night. Some women weep and curse, I say , night and day.

"And thou shalt take their part to-night, Weep and write. A curse from the depths of womanhood Is very salt, and bitter, and good."

So thus I wrote, and mourned indeed, What all may read. And thus, as was enjoined on me, I send it over the Western Sea.

THE CURSE.

Because ye have broken your own chain With the strain Of brave men climbing a Nation's height, Yet thence bear down with brand and thong On souls of others,--for this wrong This is the curse. Write.

Because yourselves are standing straight In the state Of Freedom's foremost acolyte, Yet keep calm footing all the time On writhing bond-slaves,--for this crime This is the curse. Write.

Because ye prosper in God's name, With a claim To honour in the old world's sight, Yet do the fiend's work perfectly In strangling martyrs,--for this lie This is the curse. Write.

Ye shall watch while kings conspire Round the people's smouldering fire, And, warm for your part, Shall never dare--O shame! To utter the thought into flame Which burns at your heart. This is the curse. Write.

Ye shall watch while nations strive With the bloodhounds, die or survive, Drop faint from their jaws, Or throttle them backward to death; And only under your breath Shall favour the cause. This is the curse. Write.

Ye shall watch while strong men draw The nets of feudal law To strangle the weak; And, counting the sin for a sin, Your soul shall be sadder within Than the word ye shall speak. This is the curse. Write.

When good men are praying erect That Christ may avenge his elect And deliver the earth, The prayer in your ears, said low, Shall sound like the tramp of a foe That's driving you forth. This is the curse. Write.

When wise men give you their praise, They shall pause in the heat of the phrase, As if carried too far. When ye boast your own charters kept true Ye shall blush; for the thing which ye do Derides what ye are. This is the curse. Write.

When fools cast taunts at your gate, Your scorn ye shall somewhat abate As ye look o'er the wall; For your conscience, tradition, and name Explode with a deadlier blame Than the worst of them all. This is the curse. Write.

Go, wherever ill deeds shall be done, Go, plant your flag in the sun Beside the ill-doers! And recoil from clenching the curse Of God's witnessing Universe With a curse of yours. THIS is the curse. Write.

LAST POEMS

ADVERTISEMENT.

These Poems are given as they occur on a list drawn up last June. A few had already been printed in periodicals.

There is hardly such direct warrant for publishing the Translations; which were only intended, many years ago, to accompany and explain certain Engravings after ancient Gems, in the projected work of a friend, by whose kindness they are now recovered: but as two of the original series have subsequently appeared, it is presumed that the remainder may not improperly follow.

A single recent version is added.

TO "GRATEFUL FLORENCE," TO THE MUNICIPALITY HER REPRESENTATIVE, AND TO TOMMASEO ITS SPOKESMAN, MOST GRATEFULLY.

LITTLE MATTIE.

Dead! Thirteen a month ago! Short and narrow her life's walk; Lover's love she could not know Even by a dream or talk: Too young to be glad of youth, Missing honour, labour, rest, And the warmth of a babe's mouth At the blossom of her breast. Must you pity her for this And for all the loss it is, You, her mother, with wet face, Having had all in your case?

Cross her quiet hands, and smooth Down her patient locks of silk, Cold and passive as in truth You your fingers in spilt milk Drew along a marble floor; But her lips you cannot wring Into saying a word more, "Yes," or "No," or such a thing: Though you call and beg and wreak Half your soul out in a shriek, She will lie there in default And most innocent revolt.

Ay, and if she spoke, maybe She would answer, like the Son, "What is now 'twixt thee and me?" Dreadful answer! better none. Yours on Monday, God's to-day! Yours, your child, your blood, your heart, Called ... you called her, did you say, "Little Mattie" for your part? Now already it sounds strange, And you wonder, in this change, What He calls His angel-creature, Higher up than you can reach her.

'T was a green and easy world As she took it; room to play . What she suffered she shook off In the sunshine; what she sinned She could pray on high, enough To keep safe above the wind. If reproved by God or you, 'T was to better her, she knew; And if crossed, she gathered still 'T was to cross out something ill.

You, you had the right, you thought, To survey her with sweet scorn, Poor gay child, who had not caught Yet the octave-stretch forlorn Of your larger wisdom! Nay, Now your places are changed so, In that same superior way She regards you dull and low As you did herself exempt From life's sorrows. Grand contempt Of the spirits risen awhile, Who look back with such a smile!

There's the sting of't. That, I think, Hurts the most a thousandfold! To feel sudden, at a wink, Some dear child we used to scold, Praise, love both ways, kiss and tease, Teach and tumble as our own, All its curls about our knees, Rise up suddenly full-grown. Who could wonder such a sight Made a woman mad outright? Show me Michael with the sword Rather than such angels, Lord!

A FALSE STEP.

Sweet, thou hast trod on a heart. Pass; there's a world full of men; And women as fair as thou art Must do such things now and then.

Thou only hast stepped unaware,-- Malice, not one can impute; And why should a heart have been there In the way of a fair woman's foot?

It was not a stone that could trip, Nor was it a thorn that could rend: Put up thy proud under-lip! 'T was merely the heart of a friend.

And yet peradventure one day Thou, sitting alone at the glass, Remarking the bloom gone away, Where the smile in its dimplement was,

And seeking around thee in vain From hundreds who flattered before, Such a word as "Oh, not in the main Do I hold thee less precious, but more!"...

Thou'lt sigh, very like, on thy part, "Of all I have known or can know, I wish I had only that Heart I trod upon ages ago!"

VOID IN LAW.

Sleep, little babe, on my knee, Sleep, for the midnight is chill, And the moon has died out in the tree, And the great human world goeth ill. Sleep, for the wicked agree: Sleep, let them do as they will. Sleep.

Sleep, thou hast drawn from my breast The last drop of milk that was good; And now, in a dream, suck the rest, Lest the real should trouble thy blood. Suck, little lips dispossessed, As we kiss in the air whom we would. Sleep.

O lips of thy father! the same, So like! Very deeply they swore When he gave me his ring and his name, To take back, I imagined, no more! And now is all changed like a game, Though the old cards are used as of yore? Sleep.

"Void in law," said the Courts. Something wrong In the forms? Yet, "Till death part us two, I, James, take thee, Jessie," was strong, And ONE witness competent. True Such a marriage was worth an old song, Heard in Heaven though, as plain as the New. Sleep.

My child! though the world take her part, Saying "She was the woman to choose; He had eyes, was a man in his heart,"-- We twain the decision refuse: We ... weak as I am, as thou art, ... Cling on to him, never to loose. Sleep.

He thinks that, when done with this place, All's ended? he'll new-stamp the ore? Yes, Caesar's--but not in our case. Let him learn we are waiting before The grave's mouth, the heaven's gate, God's face With implacable love evermore. Sleep.

He's ours, though he kissed her but now, He's ours, though she kissed in reply: He's ours, though himself disavow, And God's universe favour the lie; Ours to claim, ours to clasp, ours below, Ours above, ... if we live, if we die. Sleep.

Ah baby, my baby, too rough Is my lullaby? What have I said? Sleep! When I've wept long enough I shall learn to weep softly instead, And piece with some alien stuff My heart to lie smooth for thy head. Sleep.

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