Elizabeth Barrett Browning

“ For what remains of anguish; let it wait
The teaching of thy lips.
Prometheus. ⁠It doth behoove
That thou, maid Io, should vouchsafe to these
The grace they pray; and more, because they are called
Thy father's sisters; since to open out
And mourn out grief, where it is possible
To draw a tear from the audience, is a work
That pays its own price well.
Io. ⁠I cannot choose
But trust you, nymphs, and tell you all ye ask,
In clear words—though I sob amid my speech
In speaking of the storm-curse sent from Zeus,
And of my beauty, from which height it took
Its swoop on me, poor wretch! ”

“ Chorus. How art thou not afraid to speak such words?
Prometheus. What should I fear, who cannot die?
Chorus. ⁠But he
Can visit thee with dreader woe than death's.
Prometheus. Why let him do it!—I am here, prepared
For all things and their pangs.
Chorus. ⁠The wise are they
Who reverence Adrasteia.
Prometheus. ⁠Reverence thou,
Adore thou, flatter thou, whomever reigns,
Whenever reigning—but for me, your Zeus
Is less than nothing! Let him act and reign
His brief hour out according to his will—
He will not, therefore, rule the gods too long!—
But lo! ”

“ Since I wail for Adonis, who died to me . . died to me . .
⁠—Then, I fear thee!—Art thou dead, my Adored?
Passion ends like a dream in the sleep that's denied to me.—
⁠Cypris is widowed; the Loves seek their lord
All the house through in vain! Charm of cestus has ceased
⁠With thy clasp!—O too bold in the hunt, past preventing;
Ay, mad: thou so fair . . . to have strife with a beast!"—
⁠Thus did Cypris wail on—and the Loves are lamenting.
VI.
Ah, ah, Cytherea! Adonis is dead,—
She wept tear after tear, with the blood which was shed ”

“ Listen in silence for the word said next,
(What word will men say?) here where Giotto planted
His campanile, like an unperplexed
Question to Heaven, concerning the things granted
To a great people, who, being greatly vexed
In act, in aspiration keep undaunted!
(What word says God?) The sculptor's Night and Day,
And Dawn and Twilight, wait in marble scorn,
Like dogs couched on a dunghill, on the clay
From whence the Medicean stamp's outworn,—
The final putting off of all such sway
By all such hands, and freeing of the unborn
In Florence, and the world outside his Florence. ”

“ Nor hinder his perdition when he falls
To shame, and lower than patience,—such a foe,
He doth himself prepare against himself,
A wonder of unconquerable Hate,
A new deviser of a nobler fire
Than shines in lightnings, and of grander sound
Than aught the thunder rolls,—outthundering it,—
Of power to shatter in Poseidon's fist
The trident-spear, which, while it plagues the sea,
Doth shake the shores around it. Ay, and Zeus,
By this destruction, lost, shall mete at length
The gulf which severs rule from servitude.
Chorus. Thou makest threats for Zeus of thy desires.
Prometheus. ”

“ The brown skulls grin at death in churchyards bleak,
We do not cry, "This Yorick is too light,"—
For death grows deathlier with that mouth he makes.
So with my mocking. Bitter things I write,
Because my soul is bitter for your sakes,
O freedom! O my Florence!
IX.
Men who might
Do greatly in a universe that breaks
And burns, must ever know before they do.
Courage and patience are but sacrifice;
A sacrifice is offered for and to
Something conceived of. Each man pays a price
For what himself counts precious, whether true
Or false the appreciation it implies. ”

“ And do not thou spend labor on the air
To bootless uses.
Hephæstus. ⁠Cursed handicraft!
I curse and hate thee, O my craft!
Strength. ⁠Why hate
Thy craft, most plainly innocent of all
These pending ills?
Hephæstus. ⁠I would some other hand
Were here to work it!
Strength. ⁠All work hath its pain,
Except to rule the gods. There is none free
Except King Zeus.
Hephæstus. ⁠I know it very well:
I argue not against it.
Strength. ⁠Why not, then,
Make haste, and bind the fetters over him,
Lest Zeus behold thee lagging.
Hephæstus. ⁠Here be chains—
Zeus may behold these.
Strength. ”

“ Nor Dante, from gate Gallo—still we know,
Despite the razing of the blazonries,
Remains the consecration of the shield,
The dead heroic faces will start out
On all these gates, if foes should take the field,
And blend sublimely, at the earliest shout,
With our live fighters, who will scorn to yield
A hair's-breadth ev'n, when, gazing round about,
They find in what a glorious company
They fight the foes of Florence! Who will grudge
His one poor life, when that great man we see,
Has given five hundred years, the world being judge,
To help the glory of his Italy? ”

“ Long live the people! How they lived! and boiled
And bubbled in the cauldron of the street!
How the young blustered, nor the old recoiled,
And what a thunderous stir of tongues and feet
Trod flat the palpitating bells, and foiled
The joy-guns of their echo, shattering it!
How they pulled down the Duke's arms every where!
How they set up new café-signs, to show
Where patriots might sip ices in pure air—
(Yet the fresh paint smelt somewhat.) To and fro
How marched the civic guard, and stopped to stare
When boys broke windows in a civic glow. ”

“ An heirdom of man's burdens on their backs!
I joined to chariots, steeds, that love the bit
They champ at—the chief pomp of golden ease!
And no one else but I, achieved, beside,
The seaman's chariots, wandering on the brine
With linen wings! And I—oh, miserable!—
Who did devise for mortals all these arts,
Have no device left now to save myself
From the woe I suffer!
Chorus. ⁠Very shameful woe,
Thou sufferest, and dost stagger from the sense,
Bewildered! Like a bad leech falling sick,
Thou'rt faint at heart, and canst not find the drugs
Required to save thyself.
Prometheus. ”

“ To win for thee deliverance from thy pangs,
As a free gift from Zeus.
Prometheus. ⁠Why there, again,
I give thee gratulation and applause!
Thou lackest no good-will. But, as for deeds,
Do naught! 'twere all done vainly! helping naught,
Whatever thou wouldst do. Rather take rest,
And keep thyself from evil. If I grieve,
I do not therefore wish to multiply
The griefs of others. Verily, not so!
For still my brother's doom doth vex my soul,—
My brother Atlas, standing in the west,
Shouldering the column of the heaven and earth,
Mete burden for a giant! ”

“ In a curse from the gods, by that strength of his own
⁠Which he evermore wears,
The weight of the heaven on his shoulder alone,
⁠While he sighs up the stars!
And the ocean-tides bellow, in bursting their bars,—
⁠Murmurs stir the profound,—
And black Hades roars up through the chasm of the ground,—
And the founts of the pure-running rivers moan low
⁠In the pathos of woe.
Prometheus. Beseech you, think not I am silent thus
Through pride or scorn! I only gnaw my heart
With meditation, seeing myself so wronged! ”

“ Prometheus, I behold,—and I would fain
Exhort thee, though already subtle enough,—
To a better wisdom. Titan, know thyself,
And take new softness to thy manners, since
A new king rules the gods. If words like these,
Harsh words and sharp ones, thou wilt fling abroad,
Zeus haply, though he sit so far and high,
May hear thee do it; and, so, this wrath of his
Which now affects thee fiercely, shall appear
A mere child's sport at vengeance! Wretched god,
Rather dismiss the passion which thou hast,
And seek a change from grief. ”

“ And slow, slow, as the winter snow,
⁠The tears have drifted to mine eyes;
And my poor cheeks, five months ago,
Set blushing at thy praises so,
⁠Put paleness on for a disguise.
Ah, sweet, be free to praise and go!
⁠For if my face is turned to pale,
⁠It was thine oath that first did fail,—
⁠It was thy love proved false and frail!
⁠And why, since these be changed, enow,
⁠Should I change less than thou?
This work was published before January 1, 1928, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago. ”

“ The head, erect as Jove's, being palsied first,
The eyelids flattened, the full brow turned blank,-
When the right hand, upraised as if it cursed,
Dropped, a mere snowball, and the people sank
Their voices, though a louder laughter burst
From the window,—Michel, then, thy soul could thank
God and the prince, for promise and presage,
And laugh the laugh back, I think, verily,
Thine eyes being purged by tears of righteous rage,
To read a wrong into a prophecy,
And measure a true great man's heritage
Against a mere Grand-duke's posterity. ”

“ From love of man!—for in that thou, a god,
Didst brave the wrath of gods, and give away
Undue respect to mortals; for that crime
Thou art adjudged to guard this joyless rock,
Erect, unslumbering, bending not the knee,
And many a cry and unavailing moan
To utter on the air! For Zeus is stern,
And new-made kings are cruel.
Strength. ⁠Be it so.
Why loiter in vain pity? Why not hate
A god the gods hate?—one too who betrayed
Thy glory unto men? ”

“ Hephæstus. Thy speech is savage as thy shape.
Strength. ⁠Be thou
Gentle and tender! but revile not me
For the firm will and the untruckling hate.
Hephæstus. Let us go! He is netted round with chains.
Strength. Here, now, taunt on! and having spoiled the gods
Of honors, crown withal thy mortal men
Who live a whole day out! Why how could they
Draw off from thee one single of thy griefs?
Methinks the Demons gave thee a wrong name,
Prometheus, which means Providence,—because
Thou dost thyself require a providence,
To escape the crushing of this rolling Doom.
Prometheus alone. ”

“ A LAMENT FOR ADONIS.
A LAMENT FOR ADONIS.
FROM THE GREEK OF BION.
I.
I MOURN for Adonis—Adonis is dead!
⁠Fair Adonis is dead, and the Loves are lamenting.
Sleep, Cypris, no more, on thy purple strewed bed;
⁠Arise, wretch stoled in black,—beat thy breast unrelenting,
And shriek to the worlds, "Fair Adonis is dead."
II.
I mourn for Adonis—the Loves are lamenting.
⁠He lies on the hills, in his beauty and death,—
The white tusk of a boar has transpierced his white thigh ”

“ And stand up strong as Zeus.
Prometheus. ⁠This ends not thus,
The oracular Fate ordains. I must be bowed
By infinite woes and pangs, to escape this chain.
Necessity is stronger than mine art.
Chorus. Who holds the helm of that Necessity?
Prometheus. The threefold Fates and the unforgetting Furies.
Chorus. Is Zeus less absolute than these are?
Prometheus. ⁠Yes,
And therefore cannot fly what is ordained.
Chorus. What is ordained for Zeus, except to be
A king for ever?
Prometheus. ⁠'Tis too early yet
For thee to learn it: ask no more.
Chorus. ⁠Perhaps
Thy secret may be holy? ”

“ Stretches its hand like God. If any should,
Because of some stiff draperies and loose joints,
Gaze scorn down from the heights of Raffaelhood,
On Cimabue's picture,—Heaven anoints
The head of no such critic, and his blood
The poet's curse strikes full on, and appoints
To ague and cold spasms for evermore.
A noble picture! worthy of the shout
Wherewith along the streets the people bore
Its cherub faces, which the sun threw out
Until they stooped and entered the church door! ”

“ Oh, calm as the place is, vow-breaker, be thou!
I leave the flower growing—the bird, unreproved;—
Would I trouble thee, rather than them, my beloved,
⁠And my lover that day?
IV.
Go! be sure of my love—by that treason forgiven;
Of my prayers—by the blessings they win thee from Heaven;
Of my grief— (guess the length of the sword by the sheath's)
By the silence of life, more pathetic than death's! ”

“ Typhon the fierce, who did resist the gods,
And, hissing slaughter from his dreadful jaws,
Did flash out from his eyes a glory askance,
As if to storm the throne of Zeus! But so,
The sleepless arrow of Zeus flew straight to him,—
The headlong bolt of thunder breathing flame,
And struck him downward from his eminence
Of boastful exaltation! Through the soul,
It struck him mainly; and his strength was shrunk
To ashes, thunder-blasted. Now, he lies
A helpless trunk supinely, at full length,
Beside the strait of ocean ”

“ Viewed from one level;—earth's reapers at the sheaves,
Not plainer than Heaven's angels marshalling!
HUGH STUART BOYD.
HIS DEATH, 1848.
BELOVED friend, who living many years
⁠With sightless eyes raised vainly to the sun,
Didst learn to keep thy patient soul in tune
To visible nature's elemental cheers!
God has not caught thee to new hemispheres
Because thou wast aweary of this one:—
I think thine angel's patience first was done,
And that he spake out with celestial tears,
"Is it enough, dear God? then lighten so
This soul that smiles in darkness!" ”

“ As much as little field-mice stir the sheaves.
Not upon chain-bolts! though the slave's despair
Has dulled his helpless, miserable brain,
And left him blank beneath the freeman's whip,
To sing and laugh out idiocies of pain.
Nor yet on starving homes! where many a lip
Has sobbed itself asleep through curses vain!
I love no peace which is not fellowship,
And which includes not mercy. I would have
Rather, the raking of the guns across
The world, and shrieks against Heaven's architrave. ”

“ So good! but what we want's a perfect man,
Complete and all alive: half travertine
Half suits our need, and ill subserves our plan.
Feet, knees, nerves, sinews, energies divine
Were never yet too much for men who ran
In such exalted ways as this of thine,
Deliverer whom we seek, whoe'er thou art,
Pope, prince, or peasant! If, indeed, the first,
The noblest, therefore! since the heroic heart
Within thee must be great enough to burst
Those trammels buckling to the baser part
Thy saintly peers in Rome, who crossed and cursed
With the same finger. ”

“ Are good, and full of promise, we must say,
When multitudes thank kings for granting prayers,
And kings concede their people's right to pray,
Both in the sunshine! Griefs are not despairs,
So uttered; nor can royal claims dismay,
When men, from humble homes and ducal chairs,
Hate wrong together. It was well to view
Those banners ruffled in a Grand-duke's face,
Inscribed, "Live freedom, union, and all true
Brave patriots who are aided by God's grace!" ”

“ Beneath such pangs against such skiey rocks,—
Doomed to this drear hill and no neighboring
Of any life!—but mourn not ye for griefs
I bear to-day!—drop rather to the plain,
And hear how other woes creep on to me,
And learn the consummation of my doom.
Beseech you, nymphs, beseech you!—grieve for me,
Who now am grieving!—for grief walks the earth,
And sits down at the foot of each by turns.
Chorus. We hear the deep dash of thy words,
⁠Prometheus, and obey! ”

“ It is no peace. 'Tis treason, stiff with doom,
'Tis gagged despair, and inarticulate wrong,
Annihilated Poland, stifled Rome,
Dazed Naples, Hungary fainting 'neath the thong,
And Austria wearing a smooth olive-leaf
On her brute forehead, while her hoofs outpress
The life from these Italian souls, in brief.
O Lord of Peace, who art Lord of Righteousness,
Constrain the anguished worlds from sin and grief,
Pierce them with conscience, purge them with redress,
And give us peace which is no counterfeit! ”