Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series

by Robert Browning

  Possesses the fool then whose fancy conceits him

  As happy? THE FATES.

  Man happy? APOLLO.

  If otherwise — solve

  This doubt which besets me! What friend ever greets him

  Except with “Live long as the seasons revolve,”

  Not “Death to thee straightway”? Your doctrines absolve

  Such hailing from hatred: yet Man should know best.

  He talks it, and glibly, as life were a load

  Man fain would be rid off: when put to the test,

  He whines “Let it lie, leave me trudging the road

  That is rugged so far, but methinks . . .” THE FATES.

  Ay, ‘t is owed

  To that glamour of thine, he bethinks him “Once past

  The stony, some patch, nay, a smoothness of sward

  Awaits my tired foot: life turns easy at last” —

  Thy largess so lures him, he looks for reward

  Of the labour and sorrow. APOLLO.

  It seems, then — debarred

  Of illusion — (I needs must acknowledge the plea)

  Man desponds and despairs. Yet, — still further to draw

  Due profit from counsel, — suppose there should be

  Some power in himself, some compensative law

  By virtue of which, independently . . .

  THE FATES.

  Faugh!

  Strength hid in the weakling!

  What bowl-shape hast there,

  Thus laughingly proffered? A gift to our shrine?

  Thanks — worsted in argument! Not so? Declare

  Its purpose! APOLLO.

  I proffer earth’s product, not mine.

  Taste, try, and approve Man’s invention of — Wine !

  THE FATES.

  We feeding suck honeycombs. APOLLO.

  Sustenance meagre!

  Such fare breeds the fumes that show all things amiss.

  Quaff wine, — how the spirits rise nimble and eager,

  Unscale the dim eyes! To Man’s cup grant one kiss

  Of your lip, then allow — no enchantment like this!

  CLOTHO.

  Unhook wings, unhood brows! Dost hearken?

  LACHESIS.

  I listen:

  I see — smell the food these fond mortals prefer

  To our feast, the bee’s bounty! ATROPOS.

  The thing leaps! But — glisten

  Its best, I withstand it — unless all concur

  In adventure so novel. APOLLO.

  Ye drink? THE FATES.

  We demur.

  APOLLO.

  Sweet Trine, be indulgent nor scout the contrivance

  Of Man — Bacchus-prompted! The juice, I uphold,

  Illuminates gloom without sunny connivance,

  Turns fear into hope and makes cowardice bold, —

  Touching all that is leadlike in life turns it gold!

  THE FATES.

  Faith foolish as false! APOLLO.

  But essay it, soft sisters!

  Then mock as ye may. Lift the chalice to lip!

  Good: thou next — and thou! Seems the web, to you twisters

  Of life’s yarn, so worthless? CLOTHO.

  Who guessed that one sip

  Would impart such a lightness of limb? LACHESIS.

  I could skip

  In a trice from the pied to the plain in my woof!

  What parts each from either? A hair’s breadth, no inch.

  Once learn the right method of stepping aloof,

  Though on black next foot falls, firm I fix it, nor flinch,

  — Such my trust white succeeds!

  ATROPOS.

  One could live — at a pinch!

  APOLLO.

  What beldames? Earth’s yield, by Man’s skill, can effect

  Such a cure of sick sense that ye spy the relation

  Of evil to good? But drink deeper, correct

  Blear sight more convincingly still! Take your station

  Beside me, drain dregs! Now for edification!

  Whose gift have ye gulped? Thank not me but my brother,

  Blithe Bacchus, our youngest of godships. ‘T was he

  Found all boons to all men, by one god or other

  Already conceded, so judged there must be

  New guerdon to grace the new advent, you see!

  Else how would a claim to Man’s homage arise?

  The plan lay arranged of his mixed woe and weal,

  So disposed — such Zeus’ will — with design to make wise

  The witless — that false things were mingled with real,

  Good with bad: such the lot whereto law set the seal.

  Now, human of instinct — since Semele’s son,

  Yet minded divinely — since fathered by Zeus,

  With nought Bacchus tampered, undid not things done,

  Owned wisdom anterior, would spare wont and use,

  Yet change — without shock to old rule — introduce.

  Regard how your cavern from crag-tip to base

  Frowns sheer, height and depth adamantine, one death!

  I rouse with a beam the whole rampart, displace

  No splinter — yet see how my flambeau, beneath

  And above, bids this gem wink, that crystal unsheath!

  Withdraw beam — disclosure once more Night forbids you

  Of spangle and sparkle — Day’s chance-gift, surmised

  Rock’s permanent birthright: my potency rids you

  No longer of darkness, yet light — recognized —

  Proves darkness a mask: day lives on though disguised.

  If Bacchus by wine’s aid avail so to fluster

  Your sense, that life’s fact grows from adverse and thwart

  To helpful and kindly by means of a cluster —

  Mere hand-squeeze, earth’s nature sublimed by Man’s art —

  Shall Bacchus claim thanks wherein Zeus has no part?

  Zeus — wisdom anterior? No, maids, be admonished!

  If morn’s touch at base worked such wonders, much more

  Had noontide in absolute glory astonished

  Your den, filled a-top to o’erflowing. I pour

  No such mad confusion. ‘T is Man’s to explore

  Up and down, inch by inch, with the taper his reason:

  No torch, it suffices — held deftly and straight.

  Eyes, purblind at first, feel their way in due season,

  Accept good with bad, till unseemly debate

  Turns concord — despair, acquiescence in fate.

  Who works this but Zeus? Are not instinct and impulse,

  Not concept and incept his work through Man’s soul

  On Man’s sense? Just as wine ere it reach brain must brim pulse,

  Zeus’ flash stings the mind that speeds body to goal,

  Bids pause at no part but press on, reach the whole.

  For petty and poor is the part ye envisage

  When — (quaff away, cummers!) — ye view, last and first,

  As evil Man’s earthly existence. Come! Is age,

  Is infancy — manhood — so uninterspersed

  With good — some faint sprinkle?

  CLOTHO.

  I’d speak if I durst.

  APOLLO.

  Draughts dregward loose tongue-tie. LACHESIS.

  I’d see, did no web

  Set eyes somehow winking. APOLLO.

  Drains-deep lies their purge

  — True collyrium! ATROPOS.

  Words, surging at high-tide, soon ebb

  From starved ears. APOLLO.

  Drink but down to the source, they resurge.

  Join hands! Yours and yours too! A dance or a dirge?

  CHORUS.

  Quashed be our quarrel! Sourly and smilingly,

  Bare and gowned, bleached limbs and browned,

  Drive we a dance, three and one, reconcilingly,

  Thanks to the cup where dissension is drowned,

  Defeat
proves triumphant and slavery crowned.

  Infancy? What if the rose-streak of morning

  Pale and depart in a passion of tears?

  Once to have hoped is no matter for scorning!

  Love once — e’en love’s disappointment endears!

  A minute’s success pays the failure of years.

  Manhood — the actual? Nay, praise the potential!

  (Bound upon bound, foot it around!)

  What is ? No, what may be — sing! that’s Man’s essential!

  (Ramp, tramp, stamp and compound

  Fancy with fact — the lost secret is found!)

  Age? Why, fear ends there: the contest concluded,

  Man did live his life, did escape from the fray:

  Not scratchless but unscathed, he somehow eluded

  Each blow fortune dealt him, and conquers to-day:

  To-morrow — new chance and fresh strength, — might we say?

  Laud then Man’s life — no defeat but a triumph!

  [Explosion from the earth’s centre.

  CLOTHO.

  Ha, loose hands! LACHESIS.

  I reel in a swound. ATROPOS.

  Horror yawns under me, while from on high — humph!

  Lightnings astound, thunders resound,

  Vault-roof reverberates, groans the ground!

  [Silence.

  APOLLO.

  I acknowledge. THE FATES.

  Hence, trickster! Straight sobered are we!

  The portent assures ‘t was our tongue spoke the truth,

  Not thine. While the vapour encompassed us three

  We conceived and bore knowledge — a bantling uncouth,

  Old brains shudder back from: so — take it, rash youth!

  Lick the lump into shape till a cry comes! APOLLO.

  I hear. THE FATES.

  Dumb music, dead eloquence! Say it, or sing!

  What was quickened in us and thee also? APOLLO.

  I fear. THE FATES.

  Half female, half male — go, ambiguous thing!

  While we speak — perchance sputter — pick up what we fling!

  Known yet ignored, nor divined nor unguessed,

  Such is Man’s law of life. Do we strive to declare

  What is ill, what is good in our spinning? Worst, best,

  Change hues of a sudden: now here and now there

  Flits the sign which decides: all about yet nowhere.

  ‘T is willed so, — that Man’s life be lived, first to last,

  Up and down, through and through, — not in portions, forsooth,

  To pick and to choose from. Our shuttles fly fast,

  Weave living, not life sole and whole: as age — youth,

  So death completes living, shows life in its truth.

  Man learningly lives: till death helps him — no lore!

  It is doom and must be. Dost submit? APOLLO.

  I assent —

  Concede but Admetus! So much if no more

  Of my prayer grant as peace-pledge! Be gracious though, blent,

  Good and ill, love and hate streak your life-gift! THE FATES.

  Content!

  Such boon we accord in due measure. Life’s term

  We lengthen should any be moved for love’s sake

  To forego life’s fulfilment, renounce in the germ

  Fruit mature — bliss or woe — either infinite. Take

  Or leave thy friend’s lot: on his head be the stake!

  APOLLO.

  On mine, griesly gammers! Admetus, I know thee!

  Thou prizest the right these unwittingly give

  Thy subjects to rush, pay obedience they owe thee!

  Importunate one with another they strive

  For the glory to die that their king may survive.

  Friends rush: and who first in all Pheræ appears

  But thy father to serve as thy substitute? CLOTHO.

  Bah! APOLLO.

  Ye wince? Then his mother, well-stricken in years,

  Advances her claim — or his wife — LACHESIS.

  Tra-la-la! APOLLO.

  But he spurns the exchange, rather dies! ATROPOS.

  Ha, ha, ha!

  [Apollo ascends. Darkness.

  WITH BERNARD DE MANDEVILLE.

  I.

  Ay , this same midnight, by this chair of mine,

  Come and review thy counsels: art thou still

  Staunch to their teaching? — not as fools opine

  Its purport might be, but as subtler skill

  Could, through turbidity, the loaded line

  Of logic casting, sound deep, deeper, till

  It touched a quietude and reached a shrine

  And recognized harmoniously combine

  Evil with good, and hailed truth’s triumph — thine,

  Sage dead long since, Bernard de Mandeville!

  II.

  Only, ‘t is no fresh knowledge that I crave,

  Fuller truth yet, new gainings from the grave;

  Here we alive must needs deal fairly, turn

  To what account Man may Man’s portion, learn

  Man’s proper play with truth in part, before

  Entrusted with the whole. I ask no more

  Than smiling witness that I do my best

  With doubtful doctrine: afterward the rest!

  So, silent face me while I think and speak!

  A full disclosure? Such would outrage law.

  Law deals the same with soul and body: seek

  Full truth my soul may, when some babe, I saw

  A new-born weakling, starts up strong — not weak —

  Man every whit, absolved from earning awe,

  Pride, rapture, if the soul attains to wreak

  Its will on flesh, at last can thrust, lift, draw,

  As mind bids muscle — mind which long has striven,

  Painfully urging body’s impotence

  To effort whereby — once law’s barrier riven,

  Life’s rule abolished — body might dispense

  With infancy’s probation, straight be given

  — Not by foiled darings, fond attempts back-driven,

  Fine faults of growth, brave sins which saint when shriven —

  To stand full-statured in magnificence.

  III.

  No: as with body so deals law with soul

  That’s stung to strength through weakness, strives for good

  Through evil, — earth its race-ground, heaven its goal,

  Presumably: so far I understood

  Thy teaching long ago. But what means this

  — Objected by a mouth which yesterday

  Was magisterial in antithesis

  To half the truths we hold, or trust we may,

  Though tremblingly the while? “No sign” — groaned he —

  “No stirring of God’s finger to denote

  He wills that right should have supremacy

  On earth, not wrong! How helpful could we quote

  But one poor instance when he interposed

  Promptly and surely and beyond mistake

  Between oppression and its victim, closed

  Accounts with sin for once, and bade us wake

  From our long dream that justice bears no sword,

  Or else forgets whereto its sharpness serves!

  So might we safely mock at what unnerves

  Faith now, be spared the sapping fear’s increase

  That haply evil’s strife with good shall cease

  Never on earth. Nay, after earth, comes peace

  Born out of life-long battle? Man’s lip curves

  With scorn: there, also, what if justice swerves

  From dealing doom, sets free by no swift stroke

  Right fettered here by wrong, but leaves life’s yoke —

  Death should loose man from — fresh laid, past release?”

  IV.

  Bernard de Mandeville, confute for me

  This parlous friend who captured or set free


  Thunderbolts at his pleasure, yet would draw

  Back, panic-stricken by some puny straw

  Thy gold-rimmed amber-headed cane had whisked

  Out of his pathway if the object risked

  Encounter, ‘scaped thy kick from buckled shoe!

  As when folk heard thee in old days pooh-pooh

  Addison’s tye-wig preachment, grant this friend —

  (Whose groan I hear, with guffaw at the end

  Disposing of mock-melancholy) — grant

  His bilious mood one potion, ministrant

  Of homely wisdom, healthy wit! For, hear!

  “With power and will, let preference appear

  By intervention ever and aye, help good

  When evil’s mastery is understood

  In some plain outrage, and triumphant wrong

  Tramples weak right to nothingness: nay, long

  Ere such sad consummation brings despair

  To right’s adherents, ah, what help it were

  If wrong lay strangled in the birth — each head

  Of the hatched monster promptly crushed, instead

  Of spared to gather venom! We require

  No great experience that the inch-long worm,

  Free of our heel, would grow to vomit fire,

  And one day plague the world in dragon form.

  So should wrong merely peep abroad to meet

  Wrong’s due quietus, leave our world’s way safe

  For honest walking.”

  V.

  Sage, once more repeat

  Instruction! ‘T is a sore to soothe not chafe.

  Ah, Fabulist, what luck, could I contrive

  To coax from thee another “Grumbling Hive”!

  My friend himself wrote fables short and sweet:

  Ask him — ”Suppose the Gardener of Man’s ground

  Plants for a purpose, side by side with good,

  Evil — (and that he does so — look around!

  What does the field show?) — were it understood

  That purposely the noxious plant was found

  Vexing the virtuous, poison close to food,

  If, at first stealing-forth of life in stalk

  And leaflet-promise, quick his spud should baulk

  Evil from budding foliage, bearing fruit?

  Such timely treatment of the offending root

  Might strike the simple as wise husbandry,

  But swift sure extirpation scarce would suit

  Shrewder observers. Seed once sown thrives: why

  Frustrate its product, miss the quality

  Which sower binds himself to count upon?

  Had seed fulfilled the destined purpose, gone

  Unhindered up to harvest — what know I

  But proof were gained that every growth of good

  Sprang consequent on evil’s neighbourhood?”

  So said your shrewdness: true — so did not say

  That other sort of theorists who held