Up above see the rock's naked face, where the record shall go

In great characters cut by the scribe,— Such was Saul, so he did;

With the sages directing the work, by the populace chid,

For not half, they'll affirm, is comprised there! Which fault to amend,

In the grove with his kind grows the cedar, whereon they shall spend

(See, in tablets 't is level before them) their praise, and record

With the gold of the graver, Saul's story, – the statesman's great word

Side by side with the poet's sweet comment. The river's a-wave

With smooth paper-reeds grazing each other when prophet-winds rave:

For I wake in the gray dewy covert, while Hebron upheaves

The dawn struggling with night on his shoulder, and Kidron retrieves Slow the damage of yesterday's sunshine.

XV

So the pen gives unborn generations their due and their part

Saul, ye remember in glory,―ere error had bent

190

The

In that act where my soul was thy servant, thy word was my word,

Still be with me, who then at the summit of human endeavor

And scaling the highest, man's thought could, gazed hopeless as ever

On the new stretch of heaven above me till, mighty to save,

Just one lift of thy hand cleared that distance-God's throne from man's grave!

broad brow from the daily com munion; and still, though much spent

Be the life and the bearing that front you, the same, God did choose,

To receive what a man may waste, desecrate, never quite lose.

So sank he along by the tent-prop till, stayed by the pile

Of his armor and war-cloak and garments, he leaned there awhile,

And sat out my singing,-one arm round the tent-prop, to raise

His bent head, and the other hung slack— till I touched on the praise

I foresaw from all men in all time, to the man patient there;

And thus ended, the harp falling forward. Then first I was 'ware

That he sat, as I say, with my head just above his vast knees

Which were thrust out on each side around me, like oak roots which please

looked up to know

If the best I could do had brought solace:

he spoke not, but slow

Lifted up the hand slack at his side, till be

laid it with care

Soft and grave, but in mild settled will, on

my brow: through my hair

As by each new obeisance in spirit, I climb to his feet.

Yet with all this abounding experience, this deity known,

I shall dare to discover some province, some gift of my own.

There's a faculty pleasant to exercise, hard to hoodwink,

I am fain to keep still in abeyance, (I laugh as I think)

Lest, insisting to claim and parade in it, wot ye, I worst

260

E'en the Giver in one gift. - Behold, I could love if I durst!

But I sink the pretension as fearing a man may o'ertake

God's own speed in the one way of love: I abstain for love's sake.

What, my soul? see thus far and no farther? when doors great and small,

Nine-and-ninety flew ope at our touch, should the hundredth appall?

In the least things have faith, yet distrust in the greatest of all?

Do I find love so full in my nature, God's ultimate gift,

That I doubt his own love can compete with it? Here, the parts shift?

Here, the creature surpass the Creator, the end, what Began?

Would I fain in my impotent yearning do all for this man,

270

And dare doubt he alone shall not help him, who yet alone can?

Would it ever have entered my mind, the bare will, much less power, To bestow on this Saul what I sang of, the marvellous dower

Of the life he was gifted and filled with? to make such a soul,

Such a body, and then such an earth for insphering the whole ?

And doth it not enter my mind (as my warm tears attest)

These good things being given, to go on, and give one more, the best? Ay, to save and redeem and restore him, maintain at the height

This perfection, succeed with life's dayspring, death's minute of night? Interpose at the difficult minute, snatch Saul the mistake,

Saul the failure, the ruin he seems now, and bid him awake

280

300

I know that my service is perfect. Oh, speak through me now! Would I suffer for him that I love? So wouldst thou so wilt thou!

So shall crown thee the topmost, ineffablest, uttermost crown

And thy love fill infinitude wholly, nor leave up nor down

One spot for the creature to stand in! It is by no breath,

Turn of eye, wave of hand, that salvation joins issue with death!

As thy Love is discovered almighty, almighty be proved

Thy power, that exists with and for it, of being Beloved!

He who did most, shall bear most; the strongest shall stand the most weak. 'Tis the weakness in strength, that I cry for! my flesh, that I seek

In the Godhead! I seek and I find it. 0 Saul, it shall be 310

A Face like my face that receives thee; a Man like to me,

Thou shalt love and be loved by, forever: a Hand like this hand

Shall throw open the gates of new life to thee! See the Christ stand!”

Out in fire the strong pain of pent knowl edge: but I fainted not,

For the Hand still impelled me at once and supported, suppressed

All the tumult, and quenched it with quiet, and holy behest,

Till the rapture was shut in itself, and the earth sank to rest.

Anon at the dawn, all that trouble had withered from earth

Not so much, but I saw it die out in the day's tender birth;

In the gathered intensity brought to the gray of the hills;

In the shuddering forests' held breath; in the sudden wind-thrills;

In the startled wild beasts that bore off, each with eye sidling still Though averted with wonder and dread; in the birds stiff and chill That rose heavily, as I approached them, made stupid with awe:

330

E'en the serpent that slid away silent, — he felt the new law.

The same stared in the white humid faces

upturned by the flowers;

Is ample warrant that no just pretence
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed
At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go
Together down, sir. Notice Neptune,
though,

Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!

THE ITALIAN IN ENGLAND

This poem was written after Browning's visit to Italy in 1844.

THAT second time they hunted me
From hill to plain, from shore to sea,
And Austria, hounding far and wide
Her blood-hounds through the country-side,
Breathed hot and instant on my trace, —
I made six days a hiding-place

Of that dry green old aqueduct
Where I and Charles, when boys, have
plucked

The fire-flies from the roof above, Bright creeping through the moss they love:

- How long it seems since Charles was lost!

Six days the soldiers crossed and crossed
The country in my very sight;
And when that peril ceased at night,
The sky broke out in red dismay
With signal fires; well, there I lay
Close covered o'er in my recess,
Up to the neck in ferns and cress,
Thinking on Metternich our friend,
And Charles's miserable end,
And much beside, two days; the third,
Hunger o'ercame me when I heard
The peasants from the village go
To work among the maize; you know,
With us in Lombardy, they bring
Provisions packed on mules, a string
With little bells that cheer their task,
And casks, and boughs on every cask
To keep the sun's heat from the wine;
These I let pass in jingling line,
And, close on them, dear noisy crew,
The peasants from the village, too;
For at the very rear would troop

Their wives and sisters in a group
To help, I knew. When these had passed.
I threw my glove to strike the last,
Taking the chance: she did not start-