The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning Volume II Part 2

The wind in intermission stops Down in the beechen forest, Then cries aloud As one at the sorest, Self-stung, self-driven, And rises up to its very tops, Stiffening erect the branches bowed, Dilating with a tempest-soul The trees that with their dark hands break Through their own outline, and heavy roll Shadows as ma.s.sive as clouds in heaven Across the castle lake And more and more smiled Isobel To see the baby sleep so well; She knew not that she smiled; She knew not that the storm was wild; Through the uproar drear she could not hear The castle clock which struck anear-- She heard the low, light breathing of her child.

V.

O sight for wondering look!

While the external nature broke Into such abandonment, While the very mist, heart-rent By the lightning, seemed to eddy Against nature, with a din,-- A sense of silence and of steady Natural calm appeared to come From things without, and enter in The human creature's room.

VI.

So motionless she sate, The babe asleep upon her knees, You might have dreamed their souls had gone Away to things inanimate, In such to live, in such to moan; And that their bodies had ta'en back, In mystic change, all silences That cross the sky in cloudy rack, Or dwell beneath the reedy ground In waters safe from their own sound: Only she wore The deepening smile I named before, And _that_ a deepening love expressed; And who at once can love and rest?

VII.

In sooth the smile that then was keeping Watch upon the baby sleeping, Floated with its tender light Downward, from the drooping eyes, Upward, from the lips apart, Over cheeks which had grown white With an eight-day weeping: All smiles come in such a wise Where tears shall fall or have of old-- Like northern lights that fill the heart Of heaven in sign of cold.

VIII.

Motionless she sate.

Her hair had fallen by its weight On each side of her smile and lay Very blackly on the arm Where the baby nestled warm, Pale as baby carved in stone Seen by glimpses of the moon Up a dark cathedral aisle: But, through the storm, no moonbeam fell Upon the child of Isobel-- Perhaps you saw it by the ray Alone of her still smile.

IX.

A solemn thing it is to me To look upon a babe that sleeps Wearing in its spirit-deeps The undeveloped mystery Of our Adam's taint and woe, Which, when they developed be, Will not let it slumber so; Lying new in life beneath The shadow of the coming death, With that soft, low, quiet breath, As if it felt the sun; Knowing all things by their blooms, Not their roots, yea, sun and sky Only by the warmth that comes Out of each, earth only by The pleasant hues that o'er it run, And human love by drops of sweet White nourishment still hanging round The little mouth so slumber-bound: All which broken sentiency And conclusion incomplete, Will gather and unite and climb To an immortality Good or evil, each sublime, Through life and death to life again.

O little lids, now folded fast, Must ye learn to drop at last Our large and burning tears?

O warm quick body, must thou lie, When the time comes round to die, Still from all the whirl of years, Bare of all the joy and pain?

O small frail being, wilt thou stand At G.o.d's right hand, Lifting up those sleeping eyes Dilated by great destinies, To an endless waking? thrones and seraphim.

Through the long ranks of their solemnities, Sunning thee with calm looks of Heaven's surprise, But thine alone on Him?

Or else, self-willed, to tread the G.o.dless place, (G.o.d keep thy will!) feel thine own energies Cold, strong, objectless, like a dead man's clasp, The sleepless deathless life within thee grasp,-- While myriad faces, like one changeless face, With woe _not love's_, shall gla.s.s thee everywhere And overcome thee with thine own despair?

X.

More soft, less solemn images Drifted o'er the lady's heart Silently as snow.

She had seen eight days depart Hour by hour, on bended knees, With pale-wrung hands and prayings low And broken, through which came the sound Of tears that fell against the ground, Making sad stops.--"Dear Lord, dear Lord!"

She still had prayed, (the heavenly word Broken by an earthly sigh) --"Thou who didst not erst deny The mother-joy to Mary mild, Blessed in the blessed child Which hearkened in meek babyhood Her cradle-hymn, albeit used To all that music interfused In b.r.e.a.s.t.s of angels high and good!

Oh, take not, Lord, my babe away-- Oh, take not to thy songful heaven The pretty baby thou hast given, Or ere that I have seen him play Around his father's knees and known That _he_ knew how my love has gone From all the world to him.

Think, G.o.d among the cherubim, How I shall s.h.i.+ver every day In thy June suns.h.i.+ne, knowing where The grave-gra.s.s keeps it from his fair Still cheeks: and feel, at every tread, His little body, which is dead And hidden in thy turfy fold, Doth make thy whole warm earth a-cold!

O G.o.d, I am so young, so young-- I am not used to tears at nights Instead of slumber--not to prayer With sobbing lips and hands out-wrung!

Thou knowest all my prayings were 'I bless thee, G.o.d, for past delights-- Thank G.o.d!' I am not used to bear Hard thoughts of death; the earth doth cover No face from me of friend or lover: And must the first who teaches me The form of shrouds and funerals, be Mine own first-born beloved? he Who taught me first this mother-love?

Dear Lord who spreadest out above Thy loving, transpierced hands to meet All lifted hearts with blessing sweet,-- Pierce not my heart, my tender heart Thou madest tender! Thou who art So happy in thy heaven alway, Take not mine only bliss away!"

XI.

She so had prayed: and G.o.d, who hears Through seraph-songs the sound of tears From that beloved babe had ta'en The fever and the beating pain.

And more and more smiled Isobel To see the baby sleep so well, (She knew not that she smiled, I wis) Until the pleasant gradual thought Which near her heart the smile enwrought, Now soft and slow, itself did seem To float along a happy dream, Beyond it into speech like this.

XII.

"I prayed for thee, my little child, And G.o.d has heard my prayer!

And when thy babyhood is gone, We two together undefiled By men's repinings, will kneel down Upon His earth which will be fair (Not covering thee, sweet!) to us twain, And give Him thankful praise."

XIII.

Dully and wildly drives the rain: Against the lattices drives the rain.

XIV.

"I thank Him now, that I can think Of those same future days, Nor from the harmless image shrink Of what I there might see-- Strange babies on their mothers' knee, Whose innocent soft faces might From off mine eyelids strike the light, With looks not meant for me!"

XV.

Gustily blows the wind through the rain, As against the lattices drives the rain.

XVI.

"But now, O baby mine, together, We turn this hope of ours again To many an hour of summer weather, When we shall sit and intertwine Our spirits, and instruct each other In the pure loves of child and mother!

Two human loves make one divine."

XVII.

The thunder tears through the wind and the rain, As full on the lattices drives the rain.

XVIII.

"My little child, what wilt thou choose?

Now let me look at thee and ponder.

What gladness, from the gladnesses Futurity is spreading under Thy gladsome sight? Beneath the trees Wilt thou lean all day, and lose Thy spirit with the river seen Intermittently between The winding beechen alleys,-- Half in labour, half repose, Like a shepherd keeping sheep, Thou, with only thoughts to keep Which never a bound will overpa.s.s, And which are innocent as those That feed among Arcadian valleys Upon the dewy gra.s.s?"

XIX.

The large white owl that with age is blind, That hath sate for years in the old tree hollow, Is carried away in a gust of wind; His wings could beat him not as fast As he goeth now the lattice past; He is borne by the winds, the rains do follow His white wings to the blast outflowing, He hooteth in going, And still, in the lightnings, coldly glitter His round unblinking eyes

XX.

"Or, baby, wilt thou think it fitter To be eloquent and wise, One upon whose lips the air Turns to solemn verities For men to breathe anew, and win A deeper-seated life within?

Wilt be a philosopher, By whose voice the earth and skies Shall speak to the unborn?

Or a poet, broadly spreading The golden immortalities Of thy soul on natures lorn And poor of such, them all to guard From their decay,--beneath thy treading, Earth's flowers recovering hues of Eden,-- And stars, drawn downward by thy looks, To s.h.i.+ne ascendant in thy books?"

XXI.

The tame hawk in the castle-yard, How it screams to the lightning, with its wet Jagged plumes overhanging the parapet!

And at the lady's door the hound Scratches with a crying sound.

XXII.

"But, O my babe, thy lids are laid Close, fast upon thy cheek, And not a dream of power and sheen Can make a pa.s.sage up between; Thy heart is of thy mother's made, Thy looks are very meek, And it will be their chosen place To rest on some beloved face, As these on thine, and let the noise Of the whole world go on nor drown The tender silence of thy joys: Or when that silence shall have grown Too tender for itself, the same Yearning for sound,--to look above And utter its one meaning, LOVE, That _He_ may hear His name."

XXIII.

No wind, no rain, no thunder!

The waters had trickled not slowly, The thunder was not spent Nor the wind near finis.h.i.+ng; Who would have said that the storm was diminis.h.i.+ng?