The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning Volume I Part 28

Out came a speaker from that crowd To speak for all, in sleek and proud Exordial periods, while he bowed

His knee before the angel--"Thus, O angel who hast called for us, We bring thee service emulous,

"Fit service from sufficient soul, Hand-service to receive world's dole, Lip-service in world's ear to roll

"Adjusted concords soft enow To hear the wine-cups pa.s.sing, through, And not too grave to spoil the show:

"Thou, certes, when thou askest more, O sapient angel, leanest o'er The window-sill of metaphor.

"To give our hearts up? fie! that rage Barbaric antedates the age; It is not done on any stage.

"Because your scald or gleeman went With seven or nine-stringed instrument Upon his back,--must ours be bent?

"We are not pilgrims, by your leave; No, nor yet martyrs; if we grieve, It is to rhyme to--summer eve:

"And if we labour, it shall be As suiteth best with our degree, In after-dinner reverie."

More yet that speaker would have said, Poising between his smiles fair-fed Each separate phrase till finished;

But all the foreheads of those born And dead true poets flashed with scorn Betwixt the bay leaves round them worn,

Ay, jetted such brave fire that they, The new-come, shrank and paled away Like leaden ashes when the day

Strikes on the hearth. A spirit-blast, A presence known by power, at last Took them up mutely: they had pa.s.sed.

And he our pilgrim-poet saw Only their places, in deep awe, What time the angel's smile did draw

His gazing upward. Smiling on, The angel in the angel shone, Revealing glory in benison;

Till, ripened in the light which shut The poet in, his spirit mute Dropped sudden as a perfect fruit;

He fell before the angel's feet, Saying, "If what is true is sweet, In something I may compa.s.s it:

"For, where my worthiness is poor, My will stands richly at the door To pay shortcomings evermore.

"Accept me therefore: not for price And not for pride my sacrifice Is tendered, for my soul is nice

"And will beat down those dusty seeds Of bearded corn if she succeeds In soaring while the covey feeds.

"I soar, I am drawn up like the lark To its white cloud--so high my mark, Albeit my wing is small and dark.

"I ask no wages, seek no fame: Sew me, for shroud round face and name, G.o.d's banner of the oriflamme.

"I only would have leave to loose (In tears and blood if so He choose) Mine inward music out to use:

"I only would be spent--in pain And loss, perchance, but not in vain-- Upon the sweetness of that strain;

"Only project beyond the bound Of mine own life, so lost and found, My voice, and live on in its sound;

"Only embrace and be embraced By fiery ends, whereby to waste, And light G.o.d's future with my past."

The angel's smile grew more divine, The mortal speaking; ay, its s.h.i.+ne Swelled fuller, like a choir-note fine,

Till the broad glory round his brow Did vibrate with the light below; But what he said I do not know.

Nor know I if the man who prayed, Rose up accepted, unforbade, From the church-floor where he was laid,--

Nor if a listening life did run Through the king-poets, one by one Rejoicing in a worthy son:

My soul, which might have seen, grew blind By what it looked on: I can find No certain count of things behind.

I saw alone, dim, white and grand As in a dream, the angel's hand Stretched forth in gesture of command

Straight through the haze. And so, as erst, A strain more n.o.ble than the first Mused in the organ, and outburst:

With giant march from floor to roof Rose the full notes, now parted off In pauses ma.s.sively aloof

Like measured thunders, now rejoined In concords of mysterious kind Which fused together sense and mind,

Now flas.h.i.+ng sharp on sharp along Exultant in a mounting throng, Now dying off to a low song

Fed upon minors, wavelike sounds Re-eddying into silver rounds, Enlarging liberty with bounds:

And every rhythm that seemed to close Survived in confluent underflows Symphonious with the next that rose.

Thus the whole strain being multiplied And greatened, with its glorified Wings shot abroad from side to side,

Waved backward (as a wind might wave A Brocken mist and with as brave Wild roaring) arch and architrave,

Aisle, transept, column, marble wall,-- Then swelling outward, prodigal Of aspiration beyond thrall,

Soared, and drew up with it the whole Of this said vision, as a soul Is raised by a thought. And as a scroll

Of bright devices is unrolled Still upward with a gradual gold, So rose the vision manifold,

Angel and organ, and the round Of spirits, solemnized and crowned; While the freed clouds of incense wound

Ascending, following in their track, And glimmering faintly like the rack O' the moon in her own light cast back.

And as that solemn dream withdrew, The lady's kiss did fall anew Cold on the poet's brow as dew.

And that same kiss which bound him first Beyond the senses, now reversed Its own law and most subtly pierced

His spirit with the sense of things Sensual and present. Vanis.h.i.+ngs Of glory with aeolian wings

Struck him and pa.s.sed: the lady's face Did melt back in the chrysopras Of the orient morning sky that was

Yet clear of lark and there and so She melted as a star might do, Still smiling as she melted slow: