That low man seeks a little thing to do.

Sees it and does it: This high man, with a great thing to pursue, Dies ere he knows it.

That low man goes on adding one to one, His hundred's soon hit: This high man, aiming at a million, Misses an unit. {120} That, has the world here--should he need the next, Let the world mind him!

This, throws himself on G.o.d, and unperplexed Seeking shall find him.

So, with the throttling hands of death at strife, Ground he at grammar; Still, through the rattle, parts of speech were rife: While he could stammer He settled HOTI's business--let it be!-- Properly based OUN-- {130} Gave us the doctrine of the enc.l.i.tic 'De', Dead from the waist down.

Well, here's the platform, here's the proper place: Hail to your purlieus, All ye highfliers of the feathered race, Swallows and curlews!

Here's the top-peak; the mult.i.tude below Live, for they can, there: This man decided not to Live but Know-- Bury this man there? {140} Here--here's his place, where meteors shoot, clouds form, Lightnings are loosened, Stars come and go! Let joy break with the storm, Peace let the dew send!

Lofty designs must close in like effects: Loftily lying, Leave him--still loftier than the world suspects, Living and dying.

-- 18. overcome: pa.s.s over, overhang, overshadow; used as in Macbeth III. IV. 3, "overcome us like a summer's cloud".

39, 40. New measures, . . .finished?: do you say? not at all.

42. All in parentheses, throughout the poem, is addressed by the speaker directly to his companions.

57. Actual life comes next: do you say? No. I have more to do first.

86. Calculus: the stone.

88. Tussis: a cough.

95. hydroptic: hydropic, dropsical.

129. Hoti: the Greek particle '/Oti, conj. that, etc.

130. Oun: Greek particle Ou^'n, then, now then, etc.

131. the enc.l.i.tic De: Greek De {Delta epsilon}; in regard to this, the following letter by Browning appeared in the London 'Daily News'

of Nov. 21, 1874: "To the Editor of 'The Daily News'. Sir,-- In a clever article this morning you speak of 'the doctrine of the enc.l.i.tic De'--'which, with all deference to Mr. Browning, in point of fact does not exist.' No, not to Mr. Browning: but pray defer to Herr b.u.t.tmann, whose fifth list of 'enc.l.i.tics'

ends 'with the inseparable De'--or to Curtius, whose fifth list ends also with 'De (meaning 'towards'

and as a demonstrative appendage)'. That this is not to be confounded with the accentuated 'De, meaning BUT', was the 'doctrine'

which the Grammarian bequeathed to those capable of receiving it.-- I am, sir, yours obediently, R. B."--'Browning Soc. Papers', Part I., p. 56.

An Epistle containing the Strange Medical Experience of Karshish, the Arab Physician.

Karshish, the picker-up of learning's crumbs, The not-incurious in G.o.d's handiwork (This man's-flesh he hath admirably made, Blown like a bubble, kneaded like a paste, To coop up and keep down on earth a s.p.a.ce That puff of vapor from his mouth, man's soul) --To Abib, all-sagacious in our art, Breeder in me of what poor skill I boast, Like me inquisitive how p.r.i.c.ks and cracks Befall the flesh through too much stress and strain, {10} Whereby the wily vapor fain would slip Back and rejoin its source before the term,-- And aptest in contrivance (under G.o.d) To baffle it by deftly stopping such:-- The vagrant Scholar to his Sage at home Sends greeting (health and knowledge, fame with peace) Three samples of true snake-stone--rarer still, One of the other sort, the melon-shaped (But fitter, pounded fine, for charms than drugs), And writeth now the twenty-second time. {20}

My journeyings were brought to Jericho: Thus I resume. Who, studious in our art, Shall count a little labor unrepaid?

I have shed sweat enough, left flesh and bone On many a flinty furlong of this land.

Also, the country-side is all on fire With rumors of a marching hitherward: Some say Vespasian cometh, some, his son.

A black lynx snarled and p.r.i.c.ked a tufted ear; l.u.s.t of my blood inflamed his yellow b.a.l.l.s: {30} I cried and threw my staff, and he was gone.

Twice have the robbers stripped and beaten me, And once a town declared me for a spy; But at the end, I reach Jerusalem, Since this poor covert where I pa.s.s the night, This Bethany, lies scarce the distance thence A man with plague-sores at the third degree Runs till he drops down dead. Thou laughest here!

'Sooth, it elates me, thus reposed and safe, To void the stuffing of my travel-scrip, {40} And share with thee whatever Jewry yields.

A viscid choler is observable In tertians, I was nearly bold to say; And falling-sickness hath a happier cure Than our school wots of: there's a spider here Weaves no web, watches on the ledge of tombs, Sprinkled with mottles on an ash-gray back; Take five and drop them. . .but who knows his mind, The Syrian runagate I trust this to?

His service payeth me a sublimate {50} Blown up his nose to help the ailing eye.

Best wait: I reach Jerusalem at morn, There set in order my experiences, Gather what most deserves, and give thee all-- Or I might add, Judaea's gum-tragacanth Scales off in purer flakes, shines clearer-grained, Cracks 'twixt the pestle and the porphyry, In fine exceeds our produce. Scalp-disease Confounds me, crossing so with leprosy: Thou hadst admired one sort I gained at Zoar-- {60} But zeal outruns discretion. Here I end.

Yet stay! my Syrian blinketh gratefully, Protesteth his devotion is my price-- Suppose I write what harms not, though he steal?

I half resolve to tell thee, yet I blush, What set me off a-writing first of all.

An itch I had, a sting to write, a tang!

For, be it this town's barrenness,--or else The Man had something in the look of him,-- His case has struck me far more than 'tis worth. {70} So, pardon if--(lest presently I lose, In the great press of novelty at hand, The care and pains this somehow stole from me) I bid thee take the thing while fresh in mind, Almost in sight--for, wilt thou have the truth?

The very man is gone from me but now, Whose ailment is the subject of discourse.

Thus then, and let thy better wit help all!

'Tis but a case of mania: subinduced By epilepsy, at the turning-point {80} Of trance prolonged unduly some three days; When, by the exhibition of some drug Or spell, exorcization, stroke of art Unknown to me and which 'twere well to know, The evil thing, out-breaking, all at once, Left the man whole and sound of body indeed,-- But, flinging (so to speak) life's gates too wide, Making a clear house of it too suddenly, The first conceit that entered might inscribe Whatever it was minded on the wall {90} So plainly at that vantage, as it were (First come, first served), that nothing subsequent Attaineth to erase those fancy-scrawls The just-returned and new-established soul Hath gotten now so thoroughly by heart That henceforth she will read or these or none.

And first--the man's own firm conviction rests That he was dead (in fact they buried him) --That he was dead and then restored to life By a Nazarene physician of his tribe: {100} --'Sayeth, the same bade "Rise", and he did rise.

"Such cases are diurnal", thou wilt cry.

Not so this figment!--not, that such a fume, Instead of giving way to time and health, Should eat itself into the life of life, As saffron tingeth flesh, blood, bones, and all!

For see, how he takes up the after-life.

The man--it is one Lazarus a Jew, Sanguine, proportioned, fifty years of age, The body's habit wholly laudable, {110} As much, indeed, beyond the common health As he were made and put aside to show.

Think, could we penetrate by any drug And bathe the wearied soul and worried flesh, And bring it clear and fair, by three days' sleep!

Whence has the man the balm that brightens all?

This grown man eyes the world now like a child.

Some elders of his tribe, I should premise, Led in their friend, obedient as a sheep, To bear my inquisition. While they spoke, {120} Now sharply, now with sorrow,--told the case,-- He listened not except I spoke to him, But folded his two hands and let them talk, Watching the flies that buzzed: and yet no fool.

And that's a sample how his years must go.

Look if a beggar, in fixed middle-life, Should find a treasure,--can he use the same With straitened habits and with tastes starved small, And take at once to his impoverished brain The sudden element that changes things, {130} That sets the undreamed-of rapture at his hand, And puts the cheap old joy in the scorned dust?

Is he not such an one as moves to mirth-- Warily parsimonious, when no need, Wasteful as drunkenness at undue times?

All prudent counsel as to what befits The golden mean, is lost on such an one: The man's fantastic will is the man's law.

So here--we call the treasure knowledge, say, Increased beyond the fleshly faculty-- {140} Heaven opened to a soul while yet on earth, Earth forced on a soul's use while seeing heaven: The man is witless of the size, the sum, The value in proportion of all things, Or whether it be little or be much.

Discourse to him of prodigious armaments a.s.sembled to besiege his city now, And of the pa.s.sing of a mule with gourds-- 'Tis one! Then take it on the other side, Speak of some trifling fact,--he will gaze rapt {150} With stupor at its very littleness (Far as I see), as if in that indeed He caught prodigious import, whole results; And so will turn to us the by-standers In ever the same stupor (note this point), That we, too, see not with his opened eyes.

Wonder and doubt come wrongly into play, Preposterously, at cross purposes.

Should his child sicken unto death,--why, look For scarce abatement of his cheerfulness, {160} Or pretermission of the daily craft!

While a word, gesture, glance from that same child At play or in the school or laid asleep, Will startle him to an agony of fear, Exasperation, just as like. Demand The reason why--"'tis but a word," object-- "A gesture"--he regards thee as our lord Who lived there in the pyramid alone, Looked at us (does thou mind?) when, being young, We both would unadvisedly recite {170} Some charm's beginning, from that book of his, Able to bid the sun throb wide and burst All into stars, as suns grown old are wont.

Thou and the child have each a veil alike Thrown o'er your heads, from under which ye both Stretch your blind hands and trifle with a match Over a mine of Greek fire, did ye know!

He holds on firmly to some thread of life-- (It is the life to lead perforcedly) Which runs across some vast, distracting orb {180} Of glory on either side that meagre thread, Which, conscious of, he must not enter yet-- The spiritual life around the earthly life: The law of that is known to him as this, His heart and brain move there, his feet stay here.

So is the man perplext with impulses Sudden to start off crosswise, not straight on, Proclaiming what is right and wrong across, And not along, this black thread through the blaze-- "It should be" balked by "here it cannot be". {190} And oft the man's soul springs into his face As if he saw again and heard again His sage that bade him "Rise", and he did rise.

Something, a word, a tick o' the blood within Admonishes: then back he sinks at once To ashes, who was very fire before, In sedulous recurrence to his trade Whereby he earneth him the daily bread; And studiously the humbler for that pride, Professedly the faultier that he knows {200} G.o.d's secret, while he holds the thread of life.

Indeed the especial marking of the man Is p.r.o.ne submission to the heavenly will-- Seeing it, what it is, and why it is.

'Sayeth, he will wait patient to the last For that same death which must restore his being To equilibrium, body loosening soul Divorced even now by premature full growth: He will live, nay, it pleaseth him to live So long as G.o.d please, and just how G.o.d please. {210} He even seeketh not to please G.o.d more (Which meaneth, otherwise) than as G.o.d please.

Hence, I perceive not he affects to preach The doctrine of his sect whate'er it be, Make proselytes as madmen thirst to do: How can he give his neighbor the real ground, His own conviction? Ardent as he is-- Call his great truth a lie, why, still the old "Be it as G.o.d please" re-a.s.sureth him.

I probed the sore as thy disciple should: {220} "How, beast," said I, "this stolid carelessness Sufficeth thee, when Rome is on her march To stamp out like a little spark thy town, Thy tribe, thy crazy tale and thee at once?"

He merely looked with his large eyes on me.

The man is apathetic, you deduce?

Contrariwise, he loves both old and young, Able and weak, affects the very brutes And birds--how say I? flowers of the field-- As a wise workman recognizes tools {230} In a master's workshop, loving what they make.

Thus is the man as harmless as a lamb: Only impatient, let him do his best, At ignorance and carelessness and sin-- An indignation which is promptly curbed: As when in certain travel I have feigned To be an ignoramus in our art According to some preconceived design, And happed to hear the land's pract.i.tioners Steeped in conceit sublimed by ignorance, {240} Prattle fantastically on disease, Its cause and cure--and I must hold my peace!

Thou wilt object--Why have I not ere this Sought out the sage himself, the Nazarene Who wrought this cure, inquiring at the source, Conferring with the frankness that befits?

Alas! it grieveth me, the learned leech Perished in a tumult many years ago, Accused,--our learning's fate,--of wizardry, Rebellion, to the setting up a rule {250} And creed prodigious as described to me.

His death, which happened when the earthquake fell (Prefiguring, as soon appeared, the loss To occult learning in our lord the sage Who lived there in the pyramid alone), Was wrought by the mad people--that's their wont!

On vain recourse, as I conjecture it, To his tried virtue, for miraculous help-- How could he stop the earthquake? That's their way!

The other imputations must be lies: {260} But take one, though I loath to give it thee, In mere respect for any good man's fame.

(And after all, our patient Lazarus Is stark mad; should we count on what he says?

Perhaps not: though in writing to a leech 'Tis well to keep back nothing of a case.) This man so cured regards the curer, then, As--G.o.d forgive me! who but G.o.d himself, Creator and sustainer of the world, That came and dwelt in flesh on it a while! {270} --'Sayeth that such an one was born and lived, Taught, healed the sick, broke bread at his own house, Then died, with Lazarus by, for aught I know, And yet was. . .what I said nor choose repeat, And must have so avouched himself, in fact, In hearing of this very Lazarus Who saith--but why all this of what he saith?

Why write of trivial matters, things of price Calling at every moment for remark?

I noticed on the margin of a pool {280} Blue-flowering borage, the Aleppo sort, Aboundeth, very nitrous. It is strange!