The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning Volume II Part 16

Thrice he wrung her hands in twain, but they closed and clung again-- _Toll slowly._ While she clung, as one, withstood, clasps a Christ upon the rood, In a spasm of deathly pain.

Lx.x.xVII.

She clung wild and she clung mute with her shuddering lips half-shut.

_Toll slowly._ Her head fallen as half in swound, hair and knee swept on the ground, She clung wild to stirrup and foot.

Lx.x.xVIII.

Back he reined his steed back-thrown on the slippery coping-stone: _Toll slowly._ Back the iron hoofs did grind on the battlement behind Whence a hundred feet went down:

Lx.x.xIX.

And his heel did press and goad on the quivering flank bestrode-- _Toll slowly._ "Friends and brothers, save my wife! Pardon, sweet, in change for life,-- But I ride alone to G.o.d."

XC.

Straight as if the Holy name had upbreathed her like a flame-- _Toll slowly._ She upsprang, she rose upright, in his selle she sate in sight, By her love she overcame.

XCI.

And her head was on his breast where she smiled as one at rest-- _Toll slowly._ "Ring," she cried, "O vesper-bell in the beechwood's old chapelle-- But the pa.s.sing-bell rings best!"

XCII.

They have caught out at the rein which Sir Guy threw loose--in vain-- _Toll slowly._ For the horse in stark despair, with his front hoofs poised in air, On the last verge rears amain.

XCIII.

Now he hangs, he rocks between, and his nostrils curdle in-- _Toll slowly._ Now he s.h.i.+vers head and hoof and the flakes of foam fall off, And his face grows fierce and thin:

XCIV.

And a look of human woe from his staring eyes did go: _Toll slowly._ And a sharp cry uttered he, in a foretold agony Of the headlong death below,--

XCV.

And, "Ring, ring, thou pa.s.sing-bell," still she cried, "i' the old chapelle!"

_Toll slowly._ Then, back-toppling, cras.h.i.+ng back--a dead weight flung out to wrack, Horse and riders overfell.

Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west-- _Toll slowly._ And I read this ancient Rhyme, in the churchyard, while the chime Slowly tolled for one at rest.

II.

The abeles moved in the sun, and the river smooth did run-- _Toll slowly._ And the ancient Rhyme rang strange, with its pa.s.sion and its change, Here, where all done lay undone.

III.

And beneath a willow tree I a little grave did see-- _Toll slowly_-- Where was graved--HERE, UNDEFILED, LIETH MAUD, A THREE-YEAR CHILD, EIGHTEEN HUNDRED FORTY-THREE.

IV.

Then O spirits, did I say, ye who rode so fast that day-- _Toll slowly._ Did star-wheels and angel wings with their holy winnowings Keep beside you all the way?

V.

Though in pa.s.sion ye would dash, with a blind and heavy crash-- _Toll slowly_-- Up against the thick-bossed s.h.i.+eld of G.o.d's judgment in the field,-- Though your heart and brain were rash,--

VI.

Now, your will is all unwilled; now, your pulses are all stilled: _Toll slowly._ Now, ye lie as meek and mild (whereso laid) as Maud the child Whose small grave was lately filled.

VII.

Beating heart and burning brow, ye are very patient now-- _Toll slowly._ And the children might be bold to pluck the kingcups from your mould Ere a month had let them grow.

VIII.

And you let the goldfinch sing in the alder near in spring-- _Toll slowly._ Let her build her nest and sit all the three weeks out on it, Murmuring not at anything.

IX.

In your patience ye are strong, cold and heat ye take not wrong-- _Toll slowly._ When the trumpet of the angel blows eternity's evangel, Time will seem to you not long.

X.

Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west-- _Toll slowly._ And I said in underbreath,--All our life is mixed with death, And who knoweth which is best?

XI.

Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west-- _Toll slowly._ And I smiled to think G.o.d's greatness flowed around our incompleteness,-- Round our restlessness, His rest.

_THE ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEST._

So the dreams depart, So the fading phantoms flee, And the sharp reality Now must act its part.

WESTWOOD'S _Beads from a Rosary_

I.

Little Ellie sits alone 'Mid the beeches of a meadow, By a stream-side on the gra.s.s, And the trees are showering down Doubles of their leaves in shadow On her s.h.i.+ning hair and face.

II.