Selections from the Poems and Plays of Robert Browning. Robert Browning

Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right,10

       Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit,

       Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

      'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near

       Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear;

       At Boom a great yellow star came out to see;15

       At Düffeld 'twas morning as plain as could be;

       And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime,

       So Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time!"

      At Aershot up leaped of a sudden the sun,

       And against him the cattle stood black every one,20

       To stare through the mist at us galloping past,

       And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last,

       With resolute shoulders, each butting away

       The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray;

      And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back25

       For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;

       And one eye's black intelligence—ever that glance

       O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance!

       And the thick, heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon

       His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.30

      By Hasselt Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur!

       Your Roos galloped bravely—the fault's not in her;

       We'll remember at Aix"—for one heard the quick wheeze

       Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees,

       And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,35

       As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

       So we were left galloping, Joris and I,

       Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;

       The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh,

       'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff;40

       Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white,

       And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!"

      "How they'll greet us!"—and all in a moment his roan

       Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone;

       And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight45

       Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate,

       With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim,

       And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim.

      Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall,

       Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,50

       Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,

       Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer;

       Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good,

       Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

      And all I remember is—friends flocking round55

       As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground;

       And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,

       As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine,

       Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)

       Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent.60

GARDEN FANCIES

       Table of Contents

THE FLOWER'S NAME

       Table of Contents

      Here's the garden she walked across,

       Arm in my arm, such a short while since;

       Hark, now I push its wicket, the moss

       Hinders the hinges and makes them wince!

       She must have reached this shrub ere she turned,5

       As back with that murmur the wicket swung;

       For she laid the poor snail, my chance foot spurned,

       To feed and forget it the leaves among.

      Down this side of the gravel-walk

       She went while her robe's edge brushed the box;10

       And here she paused in her gracious talk

       To point me a moth on the milk-white phlox.

       Roses, ranged in valiant row,

       I will never think that she passed you by!

       She loves you, noble roses, I know;15

       But yonder, see, where the rock-plants lie!

      This flower she stopped at, finger on lip,

       Stooped over, in doubt, as settling its claim;

       Till she gave me, with pride to make no slip,

       Its soft meandering Spanish name.20

       What a name! Was it love or praise?

       Speech half-asleep or song half-awake?

       I must learn Spanish, one of these days,

       Only for that slow sweet name's sake.

      Roses, if I live and do well,25

       I may bring her, one of these days,

       To fix you fast with as fine a spell,

       Fit you each with his Spanish phrase;

       But do not detain me now; for she lingers

       There, like sunshine over the ground,30

       And ever I see her soft white fingers

       Searching after the bud she found.

      Flower, you Spaniard, look that you grow not;

       Stay as you are and be loved forever!

       Bud, if I kiss you 'tis that you blow not;35

       Mind, the shut pink month opens never!

       For while it pouts, her fingers wrestle,

       Twinkling the audacious leaves between,

       Till round they turn and down they nestle—

       Is not the dear mark still to be seen?40

      Where I find her not, beauties vanish;

       Whither I follow her, beauties flee;

       Is there no method to tell her in Spanish

       June's twice June since she breathed it with me?

       Come, bud, show me the least of her traces,45

       Treasure my lady's lightest footfall!

       —Ah, you may flout and turn up your faces—

       Roses, you are not so fair after all!

MEETING AT NIGHT

       Table of Contents

      The gray sea and the long black land;

       And the yellow half-moon large and low;