The Complete Poems of Robert Browning - 22 Poetry Collections in One Edition. Robert Browning

The Complete Poems of Robert Browning - 22 Poetry Collections in One Edition - Robert  Browning


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completing Rome to the tip-top —

       “See if, for that, your other half will stop

       “A tear, begin a smile! The rabble’s woes,

       “Ludicrous in their patience as they chose

       “To sit about their town and quietly

       “Be slaughtered, — the poor reckless soldiery,

       “With their ignoble rhymes on Richard, how

       “‘Polt-foot,’ sang they, ‘was in a pitfall now,’

       “Cheering each other from the engine-mounts, —

       “That crippled spawling idiot who recounts

       “How, lopped of limbs, he lay, stupid as stone,

       “Till the pains crept from out him one by one,

       “And wriggles round the archers on his head

       “To earn a morsel of their chestnut bread, —

       “And Cino, always in the selfsame place

       “Weeping; beside that other wretch’s case,

       “Eyepits to ear, one gangrene since he plied

       “The engine in his coat of raw sheep’s hide

       “A double watch in the noon sun; and see

       “Lucchino, beauty, with the favours free,

       “Trim hacqueton, spruce beard and scented hair,

       “Campaigning it for the first time — cut there

       “In two already, boy enough to crawl

       “For latter orpine round the southern wall,

       “Tomà, where Richard ‘s kept, because that whore

       “Marfisa, the fool never saw before,

       “Sickened for flowers this wearisomest siege:

       “And Tiso’s wife — men liked their pretty liege,

       “Cared for her least of whims once, — Berta, wed

       “A twelvemonth gone, and, now poor Tiso’s dead,

       “Delivering herself of his first child

       “On that chance heap of wet filth, reconciled

       “To fifty gazers!” — (Here a wind below

       Made moody music augural of woe

       From the pine barrier) — ”What if, now the scene

       “Draws to a close, yourself have really been

       “ — You, plucking purples in Goito’s moss

       “Like edges of a trabea (not to cross

       “Your consul-humour) or dry aloe-shafts

       “For fasces, at Ferrara — he, fate wafts,

       “This very age, her whole inheritance

       `Of opportunities? Yet you advance

       “Upon the last! Since talking is your trade,

       “There ‘s Salinguerra left you to persuade:

       “Fail! then” —

      ”No — no — which latest chance secure!”

       Leaped up and cried Sordello: “this made sure,

       “The past were yet redeemable; its work

       “Was — help the Guelfs, whom I, howe’er it irk,

       “Thus help!” He shook the foolish aloe-haulm

       Out of his doublet, paused, proceeded calm

       To the appointed presence. The large head

       Turned on its socket; “And your spokesman,” said

       The large voice, “is Elcorte’s happy sprout?

       “Few such” — (so finishing a speech no doubt

       Addressed to Palma, silent at his side)

       “ — My sober councils have diversified.

       “Elcorte’s son! good: forward as you may,

       “Our lady’s minstrel with so much to say!”

       The hesitating sunset floated back,

       Rosily traversed in the wonted track

       The chamber, from the lattice o’er the girth

       Of pines, to the huge eagle blacked in earth

       Opposite, — outlined sudden, spur to crest,

       That solid Salinguerra, and caressed

       Palma’s contour; ‘t was day looped back night’s pall;

       Sordello had a chance left spite of all.

      And much he made of the convincing speech

       Meant to compensate for the past and reach

       Through his youth’s daybreak of unprofit, quite

       To his noon’s labour, so proceed till night

       Leisurely! The great argument to bind

       Taurello with the Guelf Cause, body and mind,

       — Came the consummate rhetoric to that?

       Yet most Sordello’s argument dropped flat

       Through his accustomed fault of breaking yoke,

       Disjoining him who felt from him who spoke.

       Was ‘t not a touching incident — so prompt

       A rendering the world its just accompt,

       Once proved its debtor? Who ‘d suppose, before

       This proof, that he, Goito’s god of yore,

       At duty’s instance could demean himself

       So memorably, dwindle to a Guelf?

       Be sure, in such delicious flattery steeped,

       His inmost self at the out-portion peeped,

       Thus occupied; then stole a glance at those

       Appealed to, curious if her colour rose

       Or his lip moved, while he discreetly urged

       The need of Lombardy becoming purged

       At soonest of her barons; the poor part

       Abandoned thus, missing the blood at heart

       And spirit in brain, unseasonably off

       Elsewhere! But, though his speech was worthy scoff,

       Goodhumoured Salinguerra, famed for tact

       And tongue, who, careless of his phrase, ne’er lacked

       The right phrase, and harangued Honorius dumb

       At his accession, — looked as all fell plumb

       To purpose and himself found interest

       In every point his new instructor pressed

       — Left playing with the rescript’s white wax seal

       To scrutinize Sordello head and heel.

       He means to yield assent sure? No, alas!

       All he replied was, “What, it comes to pass

       “That poesy, sooner than politics,

       “Makes fade young hair?” To think such speech could fix

       Taurello!

      Then a flash of bitter truth:

       So fantasies could break and fritter youth

       That he had long ago lost earnestness,

       Lost will to work, lost power to even express

       The need of working! Earth was turned a grave:

       No more occasions now, though


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