And woven gold to catch her looks turned maidenly to ground,
Yet may the bride-veil hide from her a little of that state,
While loving hopes for retinues about her sweetness wait.
She vows to love who vowed to rule — (the chosen at her side)
Let none say, God preserve the queen! but rather, Bless the bride!
None blow the trump, none bend the knee, none violate the dream
Wherein no monarch but a wife she to herself may seem.
Or if ye say, Preserve the queen! oh, breathe it inward low —
She is a woman , and beloved ! and ‘tis enough but so.
Count it enough, thou noble prince who tak’st her by the hand
And claimest for thy lady-love our lady of the land!
And since, Prince Albert, men have called thy spirit high and rare,
And true to truth and brave for truth as some at Augsburg were,
We charge thee by thy lofty thoughts and by thy poet-mind
Which not by glory and degree takes measure of mankind,
Esteem that wedded hand less dear for sceptre than for ring,
And hold her uncrowned womanhood to be the royal thing.
IV.
And now, upon our queen’s last vow what blessings shall we pray?
None straitened to a shallow crown will suit our lips to-day:
Behold, they must be free as love, they must be broad as free,
Even to the borders of heaven’s light and earth’s humanity.
Long live she! — send up loyal shouts, and true hearts pray between, —
“The blessings happy peasants have, be thine, O crownèd queen!”
CROWNED AND BURIED.
I
Napoleon! — years ago, and that great word
Compàct of human breath in hate and dread
And exultation, skied us overhead —
An atmosphere whose lightning was the sword
Scathing the cedars of the world, — drawn down
In burnings, by the metal of a crown.
II
Napoleon! — nations, while they cursed that name,
Shook at their own curse; and while others bore
Its sound, as of a trumpet, on before,
Brass-fronted legions justified its fame;
And dying men on trampled battle-sods
Near their last silence uttered it for God’s.
III
Napoleon! — sages, with high foreheads drooped,
Did use it for a problem; children small
Leapt up to greet it, as at manhood’s call;
Priests blessed it from their altars overstooped
By meek-eyed Christs; and widows with a moan
Spake it, when questioned why they sat alone.
IV
That name consumed the silence of the snows
In Alpine keeping, holy and cloud-hid;
The mimic eagles dared what Nature’s did,
And over-rushed her mountainous repose
In search of eyries: and the Egyptian river
Mingled the same word with its grand “For ever.”
V
That name was shouted near the pyramidal
Nilotic tombs, whose mummied habitants,
Packed to humanity’s significance,
Motioned it back with stillness, — shouts as idle
As hireling artists’ work of myrrh and spice
Which swathed last glories round the Ptolemies.
VI
The world’s face changed to hear it; kingly men
Came down in chidden babes’ bewilderment
From autocratic places, each content
With sprinkled ashes for anointing: then
The people laughed or wondered for the nonce,
To see one throne a composite of thrones.
VII
Napoleon! — even the torrid vastitude
Of India felt in throbbings of the air
That name which scattered by disastrous blare
All Europe’s bound-lines, — drawn afresh in blood.
Napoleon! — from the Russias west to Spain:
And Austria trembled till ye heard her chain.
VIII
And Germany was ‘ware; and Italy
Oblivious of old fames — her laurel-locked,
High-ghosted Cæsars passing uninvoked —
Did crumble her own ruins with her knee,
To serve a newer: ay! but Frenchmen cast
A future from them nobler than their past:
IX
For verily though France augustly rose
With that raised name , and did assume by such
The purple of the world, none gave so much
As she in purchase — to speak plain, in loss —
Whose hands, toward freedom stretched, dropped paralysed
To wield a sword or fit an undersized
X
King’s crown to a great man’s head. And though along
Her Paris’ streets did float on frequent streams
Of triumph, pictured or emmarbled dreams
Dreamt right by genius in a world gone wrong, —
No dream of all so won was fair to see
As the lost vision of her liberty.
XI
Napoleon!— ‘twas a high name lifted high:
It met at last God’s thunder sent to clear
Our compassing and covering atmosphere
And open a clear sight beyond the sky
Of supreme empire; this of earth’s was done —
And kings crept out again to feel the sun.
XII
The kings crept out — the peoples sat at home,
And finding the long-invocated peace
(A pall embroidered with worn images
Of rights divine) too scant to cover doom
Such as they suffered, cursed the corn that grew
Rankly, to bitter bread, on Waterloo.
XIII
A deep gloom centred in the deep repose;
The nations stood up mute to count their dead:
And he who owned the Name which vibrated
Through silence, — trusting to his noblest foes
When earth was all too grey for chivalry,
Died of their mercies ‘mid the desert sea.
XIV
O wild Saint Helen! very still she kept him,
With a green willow for all pyramid,
Which stirred a little if the low wind did,
A little more if pilgrims overwept him,
Disparting the lithe boughs to see the clay
Which seemed to cover his for judgment-day.
XV
Nay, not so long! France kept her old affection
As deeply as the sepulchre the corse;
Until, dilated by such love’s remorse
To a new angel of the resurrection,
She cried “Behold, thou England! I would have
The dead, whereof thou wottest, from that grave.”
XVI
And England answered in the courtesy
Which, ancient foes turned lovers, may befit:
“Take back thy dead! and when thou buriest it,
Throw in all former strifes ‘twixt thee and me.”
Amen, mine England! ‘tis a courteous claim:
But ask a little room too — for thy shame!
XVII
Because it was not well, it was not well,
Nor tuneful with thy lofty-chanted part
Among the Oceanides, — that Heart
To bind and bare and vex with vulture fell.
I would, my noble England, men might seek
All crimson stains upon thy breast — not cheek!
XVIII
I would that hostile fleets had scarred Torbay,
Instead of the lone ship which waited moored
Until thy princely purpose was assured,
Then left a shadow, not to pass a
way —
Not for to-night’s moon, nor to-morrow’s sun:
Green watching hills, ye witnessed what was done!
XIX
But since it was done, — in sepulchral dust
We fain would pay back something of our debt
To France, if not to honour, and forget
How through much fear we falsified the trust
Of a fallen foe and exile. We return
Orestes to Electra — in his urn.
XX
A little urn — a little dust inside,
Which once outbalanced the large earth, albeit
To-day a four-years child might carry it
Sleek-browed and smiling, “Let the burden ‘bide!”
Orestes to Electra! — O fair town
Of Paris, how the wild tears will run down
XXI
And run back in the chariot-marks of time,
When all the people shall come forth to meet
The passive victor, death-still in the street
He rode through ‘mid the shouting and bell-chime
And martial music, under eagles which
Dyed their rapacious beaks at Austerlitz!
XXII
Napoleon! — he hath come again, borne home
Upon the popular ebbing heart, — a sea
Which gathers its own wrecks perpetually,
Majestically moaning. Give him room!
Room for the dead in Paris! welcome solemn
And grave-deep, ‘neath the cannon-moulded column!
XXIII
There, weapon spent and warrior spent ma rest
From roar of fields, — provided Jupiter
Dare trust Saturnus to lie down so near
His bolts! — and this he may: for, dispossessed
Of any godship lies the godlike arm —
The goat, Jove sucked, as likely to do harm.
XXIV
And yet . . . Napoleon! — the recovered name
Shakes the old casements of the world; and we
Look out upon the passing pageantry,
Attesting that the Dead makes good his claim
To a French grave, — another kingdom won,
The last, of few spans — by Napoleon.
XXV
Blood fell like dew beneath his sunrise — sooth
But glittered dew-like in the covenanted
Meridian light. He was a despot — granted!
But the of his autocratic mouth
Said yea i’ the people’s French; he magnified
The image of the freedom he denied:
XXVI
And if they asked for rights, he made reply
“Ye have my glory!” — and so, drawing round them
His ample purple, glorified and bound them
In an embrace that seemed identity.
He ruled them like a tyrant — true! but none
Were ruled like slaves: each felt Napoleon.
XXVII
I do not praise this man: the man was flawed
For Adam — much more, Christ! — his knee unbent,
His hand unclean, his aspiration pent
Within a sword-sweep — pshaw! — but since he had
The genius to be loved, why, let him have
The justice to be honoured in his grave.
XXVIII
I think this nation’s tears thus poured together,
Better than shouts. I think this funeral
Grander than crownings, though a Pope bless all.
I think this grave stronger than thrones. But whether
The crowned Napoleon or the buried clay
Be worthier, I discern not: angels may.
TO FLUSH, MY DOG.
I
Loving friend, the gift of one
Who her own true faith has run
Through thy lower nature,
Be my benediction said
With my hand upon thy head,
Gentle fellow-creature!
II
Like a lady’s ringlets brown,
Flow thy silken ears adown
Either side demurely
Of thy silver-suited breast
Shining out from all the rest
Of thy body purely.
III
Darkly brown thy body is,
Till the sunshine striking this
Alchemise its dulness,
When the sleek curls manifold
Flash all over into gold
With a burnished fulness.
IV
Underneath my stroking hand,
Startled eyes of hazel bland
Kindling, growing larger,
Up thou leapest with a spring,
Full of prank and curveting,
Leaping like a charger.
V
Leap! thy broad tail waves a light,
Leap! thy slender feet are bright,
Canopied in fringes;
Leap! those tasselled ears of thine
Flicker strangely, fair and fine
Down their golden inches.
VI
Yet, my pretty, sportive friend,
Little is’t to such an end
That I praise thy rareness;
Other dogs may be thy peers
Haply in these drooping ears
And this glossy fairness.
VII
But of thee it shall be said,
This dog watched beside a bed
Day and night unweary,
Watched within a curtained room
Where no sunbeam brake the gloom
Round the sick and dreary.
VIII
Roses, gathered for a vase,
In that chamber died apace,
Beam and breeze resigning;
This dog only, waited on,
Knowing that when light is gone
Love remains for shining.
IX
Other dogs in thymy dew
Tracked the hares and followed through
Sunny moor or meadow;
This dog only, crept and crept
Next a languid cheek that slept,
Sharing in the shadow.
X
Other dogs of loyal cheer
Bounded at the whistle clear,
Up the woodside hieing;
This dog only, watched in reach
Of a faintly uttered speech
Or a louder sighing.
XI
And if one or two quick tears
Dropped upon his glossy ears
Or a sigh came double,
Up he sprang in eager haste,
Fawning, fondling, breathing fast,
In a tender trouble.
XII
And this dog was satisfied
If a pale thin hand would glide
Down his dewlaps sloping, —
Which he pushed his nose within,
After, — platforming his chin
On the palm left open.
XIII
This dog, if a friendly voice
Call him now to blither choice
Than such chamber-keeping,
“Come out!” praying from the door, —
Presseth backward as before,
Up against me leaping.
XIV
Therefore to this dog will I,
Tenderly not scornfully,
Render praise and favour:
With my hand upon his head,
Is my benediction said
Therefore and for ever.
XV
And because he loves me so,
Better than his kind will do
Often man or woman,
Give I back more love again
Than dogs often take of men,
Leaning from my Human.
XVI
Blessings on thee, dog of mine,
Pretty collars make thee fine,
Sugared milk make fat thee!
Pleasures wag on in thy tail,
Hands of gentle motion fail
Nevermore, to pat thee!
XVII
Downy pillow take thy head,
Silken coverlid bestead,
Sunshine help thy sleeping!
No fly’s buzzing wake thee up,
No man break thy purple cup
Set for drinking deep in.
XVIII
Whiskered cats arointed flee,
Sturdy stoppers keep from thee
Cologne distillations;
Nuts lie in thy path for stones,
And thy feast-day macaroons
Turn to daily rations!
XIX
Mock I thee, in wishing weal? —
Tears are in my eyes to feel
Thou art made so straitly,
Blessing needs must straiten too, —
Little canst thou joy or do,
Thou who lovest greatly .
XX
Yet be blessèd to the height
Of all good and all delight
Pervious to thy nature;
Only loved beyond that line,
With a love that answers thine,
Loving fellow-creature!
THE DESERTED GARDEN.
I mind me in the days departed,
How often underneath the sun
With childish bounds I used to run
To a garden long deserted.
The beds and walks were vanished quite;
And wheresoe’er had struck the spade,
The greenest grasses Nature laid
To sanctify her right.
I called the place my wilderness,
Complete Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning Page 56