HOME-THOUGHTS FROM ABROAD

ROBERT BROWNING

H to be in England

Now that April's there,

And whoever wakes in England

Sees, some morning, unaware,

That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,

While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England

- now.

And after April, when May follows,

And the white-throat builds, and all the swallows -
Hark! where my blossomed pear tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover

Blossoms and dewdrops at the bent spray's edge —
That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture

The first fine careless rapture!

And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower,

- Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower,

BOOT AND SADDLE

ROBERT BROWNING

BOOT, saddle, to horse, and away!

Rescue my castle, before the hot day Brightens to blue from its silver gray,

(Cho.) Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!

Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say;
Many's the friend there will listen and pray
"God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay,
(Cho.) Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"

Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay,

Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundheads' array: Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay, (Cho.) Boot, saddle, to horse, and away"?

Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay, Laughs when you talk of surrendering, "Nay! I've better counsellors; what counsel they?

(Cho.) 'Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!'"

SONG

From PIPPA PASSES

ROBERT BROWNING

HE year's at the Spring, And day's at the Morn; Morning's at seven ;

The hill-side's dew-pearled : The lark's on the wing;

The snail's on the thorn;

God's in his heaven ·

All's right with the world!

INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP

OU

ROBERT BROWNING

You know, we French stormed Ratisbon :

A mile or so away

On a little mound, Napoleon

Stood on our storming-day;
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,
Legs wide, arms locked behind,
As if to balance the prone brow
Oppressive with its mind.

Just as perhaps he mused, "My plans
That soar, to earth may fall,
Let once my army leader Lannes
Waver at yonder wall," -

Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew
A rider, bound on bound
Full-galloping; nor bridle drew

Until he reached the mound.

Then off there flung in smiling joy,

And held himself erect

By just his horse's mane, a boy:

You hardly could suspect,

(So tight he kept his lips compressed,
Scarce any blood came thro')

You looked twice ere you saw his breast
Was all but shot in two.

"Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace

We've got you Ratisbon !
The marshal's in the market-place,

And you'll be there anon

To see your flag-bird flap his vans
Where I, to heart's desire,

Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans

Soared up again like fire.

The chief's eye flashed; but presently

Softened itself as sheathes

A film the Mother eagle's eye

When her bruised eaglet breathes:

"You're wounded!" "Nay," his soldier's pride

Touched to the quick, he said:

"I'm killed, sire!" And, his chief beside, Smiling the boy fell dead.