We shall see thee when the light divine And the resurrection morning ALFRED DOMETT. 1811-1887 THE NATIVITY It was the calm and silent night! And now was queen of land and sea. No sound was heard of clashing oars— Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain : Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars Held undisturbed their ancient reign 'Twas in the calm and silent night! His breast with thoughts of boundless sway; What recked the Roman what befell A paltry province far away, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago? Within that province far away, Went plodding home a weary boor; A streak of light before him lay, Fallen through a half-shut stable door Across his path. He passed-for naught Told what was going on within ; How keen the stars, his only thoughtThe air how calm, and cold, and thin, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago! Oh, strange indifference! low and high Drowsed over common joys and cares; The earth was still-but knew not why The world was listening, unawares. How calm a moment may precede One that shall thrill the world for ever ! To that still moment none would heed, Man's doom was linked no more to sever In the solemn midnight Centuries ago! It is the calm and solemn night! A thousand bells ring out, and throw Their joyous peals abroad, and smite The darkness-charmed and holy now!' The night that erst no name had worn, To it a happy name is given ; For in that stable lay, new-born, The peaceful Prince of earth and heaven, Centuries ago! ROBERT BROWNING. 1812-1889 MY LAST DUCHESS That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive. I call That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's hands Worked busily a day, and there she stands. Will 't please you sit and look at her? I said "Frà Pandolf "by design for never read Strangers like you that pictured counten ance, : The depth and passion of its earnest glance, But to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, How such a glance came there; so, not the first Arc you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not Her husband's presence only, called that spot Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps Frà Pandolf chanced to say "Her mantle laps Over my lady's wrist too much," or " Paint Must never hope to reproduce the faint Half-flush that dies along her throat : such stuff Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough For calling up that spot of joy. She had A heart-how shall I say?-too soon made glad, Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. Sir, 'twas all one! My favour at her breast, The dropping of the daylight in the West, The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule She rode with round the terrace-all and each Would draw from her alike the approving speech, Or blush, at least. She thanked men, good! but thanked Somehow I know not how as if she ranked My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame This sort of trifling? Even had you skill In speech-(which I have not)—to make your will Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, Or there exceed the mark "-and if she let cuse, -E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose Never to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt, Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without Much the same smile? This grew ; I commands; gave Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands As if alive. Will 't please you rise? We'll meet The Company below, then. I repeat, The Count, your master's, known munifi cence Is ample warrant that no just pretence At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though, Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me! |