V

So, I gave her eyes my own eyes to take, My hand sought hers as in earnest need, And round she turned for my n.o.ble sake, And gave me herself indeed. 20

VI

The eagle am I, with my fame in the world, The wren is he, with his maiden face.

You look away and your lip is curled?

Patience, a moment's s.p.a.ce!

VII

For see, my friend goes shaking and white; He eyes me as the basilisk: I have turned, it appears, his day to night, Eclipsing his sun's disk.

VIII

And I did it, he thinks, as a very thief: "Though I love her--that, he comprehends-- 30 One should master one's pa.s.sions (love, in chief) And be loyal to one's friends!"

IX

And she,--she lies in my hand as tame As a pear late basking over a wall; Just a touch to try and off it came; 'Tis mine,--can I let it fall?

X

With no mind to eat it, that's the worst!

Were it thrown in the road, would the case a.s.sist?

'Twas quenching a dozen blue-flies' thirst When I gave its stalk a twist. 40

XI

And I,--what I seem to my friend, you see: What I soon shall seem to his love, you guess: What I seem to myself, do you ask of me?

No hero, I confess.

XII

'Tis an awkward thing to play with souls, And matter enough to save one's own: Yet think of my friend, and the burning coals He played with for bits of stone!

XIII

One likes to show the truth for the truth; That the woman was light is very true: 50 But suppose she says,--Never mind that youth!

What wrong have I done to you?

XIV

Well, any how, here the story stays, So far at least as I understand; And, Robert Browning, you writer of plays, Here's a subject made to your hand!

NOTES: "A Light Woman" is the story of a dramatic situation brought about by the speaker's intermeddling to save his less sophisticated friend from a light woman's toils. He deflects her interest and wins her heart, and this is the ironical outcome: his friendly, dispa.s.sionate act makes him seem to his friend a disloyal pa.s.sion's slave; his scorn of the light woman teaches him her genuineness, and proves himself lighter than she; his futile a.s.sumption of the G.o.d manoeuvring souls makes the whole story dramatically imply, in a way dear to Browning's heart, the sacredness and worth of each individuality.

[I cannot agree with Porter and Clarke's estimate of the speaker's act as "friendly, dispa.s.sionate." They fail to take into account his supercilious att.i.tude toward the man he calls his friend, and he proves to be more self-serving-- and more self-deceiving--than they are willing to admit.

That is why it is a subject made to Browning's hand.-- [Transcriber of the PG text]

THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER

I

I said--Then, dearest, since 'tis so, Since now at length my fate I know, Since nothing all my love avails, Since all, my life seemed meant for, fails, Since this was written and needs must be-- My whole heart rises up to bless Your name in pride and thankfulness!

Take back the hope you gave--I claim Only a memory of the same, --And this beside, if you will not blame, 10 Your leave for one more last ride with me.

II

My mistress bent that brow of hers; Those deep dark eyes where pride demurs When pity would be softening through, Fixed me a breathing-while or two With life or death in the balance: right!

The blood replenished me again; My last thought was at least not vain: I and my mistress, side by side Shall be together, breathe and ride, 20 So, one day more am I deified.

Who knows but the world may end tonight?

III

Hush! if you saw some western cloud All billowy-bosomed, over-bowed By many benedictions--sun's And moon's and evening-star's at once-- And so, you, looking and loving best, Conscious grew, your pa.s.sion drew Cloud, sunset, moonrise, star-shine too, Down on you, near and yet more near, 30 Till flesh must fade for heaven was here!-- Thus leant she and lingered--joy and fear!

Thus lay she a moment on my breast.

IV

Then we began to ride. My soul Smoothed itself out, a long-cramped scroll Freshening and fluttering in the wind.

Past hopes already lay behind.

What need to strive with a life awry?

Had I said that, had I done this, So might I gain, so might I miss. 40 Might she have loved me? just as well She might have hated, who can tell!

Where had I been now if the worst befell?

And here we are riding, she and I.

V

Fail I alone, in words and deeds?

Why, all men strive and who succeeds?

We rode; it seemed my spirit flew, Saw other regions, cities new As the world rushed by on either side.

I thought,--All labour, yet no less 50 Bear up beneath their unsuccess Look at the end of work, contrast The petty done, the undone vast, This present of theirs with the hopeful past!

I hoped she would love me; here we ride.

VI

What hand and brain went ever paired?

What heart alike conceived and dared?

What act proved all its thought had been?

What will but felt the fleshly screen? 60 We ride and I see her bosom heave.

There's many a crown for who can reach.

Ten lines, a statesman's life in each!

The flag stuck on a heap of bones, A soldier's doing! what atones?

They scratch his name on the Abbey-stones.

My riding is better, by their leave.