The Complete Poems of Robert Browning - 22 Poetry Collections in One Edition. Robert Browning
`In the world’s corner — but too late no doubt,
“For the brave time he sought to bring about.
“ — Not know Crescentius Nomentanus?” Then
He cast about for terms to tell him, when
Sordello disavowed it, how they used
Whenever their Superior introduced
A novice to the Brotherhood — (“for I
“Was just a brown-sleeve brother, merrily
“Appointed too,” quoth he, “till Innocent
“Bade me relinquish, to my small content,
“My wife or my brown sleeves”) — some brother spoke
Ere nocturns of Crescentius, to revoke
The edict issued, after his demise,
Which blotted fame alike and effigies,
All out except a floating power, a name
Including, tending to produce the same
Great act. Rome, dead, forgotten, lived at least
Within that brain, though to a vulgar priest
And a vile stranger, — two not worth a slave
Of Rome’s, Pope John, King Otho, — fortune gave
The rule there: so, Crescentius, haply dressed
In white, called Roman Consul for a jest,
Taking the people at their word, forth stepped
As upon Brutus’ heel, nor ever kept
Rome waiting, — stood erect, and from his brain
Gave Rome out on its ancient place again,
Ay, bade proceed with Brutus’ Rome, Kings styled
Themselves mere citizens of, and, beguiled
Into great thoughts thereby, would choose the gem
Out of a lapfull, spoil their diadem
— The Senate’s cypher was so hard to scratch
He flashes like a phanal, all men catch
The flame, Rome ‘s just accomplished! when returned
Otho, with John, the Consul’s step had spurned,
And Hugo Lord of Este, to redress
The wrongs of each. Crescentius in the stress
Of adverse fortune bent. “They crucified
“Their Consul in the Forum; and abide
“E’er since such slaves at Rome, that I — (for I
“Was once a brown-sleeve brother, merrily
“Appointed) — I had option to keep wife
“Or keep brown sleeves, and managed in the strife
“Lose both. A song of Rome!”
And Rome, indeed,
Robed at Goito in fantastic weed,
The Mother-City of his Mantuan days,
Looked an established point of light whence rays
Traversed the world; for, all the clustered homes
Beside of men, seemed bent on being Romes
In their degree; the question was, how each
Should most resemble Rome, clean out of reach.
Nor, of the Two, did either principle
Struggle to change, but to possess Rome, — still
Guelf Rome or Ghibellin Rome.
Let Rome advance!
Rome, as she struck Sordello’s ignorance —
How could he doubt one moment? Rome ‘s the Cause!
Rome of the Pandects, all the world’s new laws —
Of the Capitol, of Castle Angelo;
New structures, that inordinately glow,
Subdued, brought back to harmony, made ripe
By many a relic of the archetype
Extant for wonder; every upstart church
That hoped to leave old temples in the lurch,
Corrected by the Theatre forlorn
That, — as a mundane shell, its world late born, —
Lay and o’ershadowed it. These hints combined,
Rome typifies the scheme to put mankind
Once more in full possession of their rights.
“Let us have Rome again! On me it lights
“To build up Rome — on me, the first and last:
“For such a future was endured the past!”
And thus, in the grey twilight, forth he sprung
To give his thought consistency among
The very People — let their facts avail
Finish the dream grown from the archer’s tale.
SORDELLO BOOK THE FIFTH.
Is it the same Sordello in the dusk
As at the dawn? — merely a perished husk
Now, that arose a power fit to build
Up Rome again? The proud conception chilled
So soon? Ay, watch that latest dream of thine
— A Rome indebted to no Palatine —
Drop arch by arch, Sordello! Art possessed
Of thy wish now, rewarded for thy quest
To-day among Ferrara’s squalid sons?
Are this and this and this the shining ones
Meet for the Shining City? Sooth to say,
Your favoured tenantry pursue their way
After a fashion! This companion slips
On the smooth causey, t’ other blinkard trips
At his mooned sandal. “Leave to lead the brawls
“Here i’ the atria?” No, friend! He that sprawls
On aught but a stibadium… what his dues
Who puts the lustral vase to such an use?
Oh, huddle up the day’s disasters! March,
Ye runagates, and drop thou, arch by arch,
Rome!
Yet before they quite disband — a whim —
Study mere shelter, now, for him, and him,
Nay, even the worst, — just house them! Any cave
Suffices: throw out earth! A loophole? Brave!
They ask to feel the sun shine, see the grass
Grow, hear the larks sing? Dead art thou, alas,
And I am dead! But here’s our son excels
At hurdle-weaving any Scythian, fells
Oak and devises rafters, dreams and shapes
His dream into a doorpost, just escapes
The mystery of hinges. Lie we both
Perdue another age. The goodly growth
Of brick and stone! Our building-pelt was rough,
But that descendant’s