Pits for his pastime, Christians against Jews. Burningly it came on me all at once, This was the place! those two hills on the right, And more than that-a furlong on-why, there! What bad use was that engine for, that wheel, 140 Or brake, not wheel-that harrow fit to reel Or brought to sharpen its rusty teeth of steel. Then came a bit of stubbed ground, once a wood, Next a marsh, it would seem, and now mere earth Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn While to the left, a tall scalped mountain . Dotard, a-dozing at the very nonce,4 After a life spent training for the sight! 180 What in the midst lay but the Tower itself? The round squat turret, blind as the fool's heart, Built of brown stone, without a counterpart Desperate and done with: (so a fool finds In the whole world. The tempest's mocking elf mirth, Makes a thing and then mars it, till his mood 150 Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf Not see? because of night perhaps?-why, day "Now stab and end the creature to the critical moment 5 Not properly the name of a horn, if the word is a corruption of "slogan." It was thus misused by Chatterton frequently, and Browning may have obtained it from that source. There was a certain Rabbi, Ben Ezra (or Abenezra, or Ibn Ezra), who was a great scholar and theologian of the twelfth century. Ile was born at Toledo and traveled widely, dwelling at Rome, London, Palestine, and elsewhere. Browning here makes him the mouthpiece of a noble philosophy. Eyes, ears took in their dole, Brain treasured up the whole; Mine be some figured flame which blends, Of power each side, perfection every turn: transcends them all!" Not for such hopes and fears† Annulling youth's brief years, Do I remonstrate: folly wide the mark! Rather I prize the doubt‡ Low kinds exist without, 50 Should not the heart beat once "How good to live and learn"? Not once beat "Praise be thine! I see the whole design, Finished and finite clods, untroubled by a spark. I, who saw power, see now Love perfect too; Poor vaunt of life indeed, Were man but formed to feed On joy, to solely seek and find and feast: Such feasting ended, then As sure an end to men: Perfect I call thy plan: Thanks that I was a man! 20 Maker, remake, complete,-I trust what thou shalt do!" For pleasant is this flesh; Irks care1 the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the Our soul, in its rose-mesh maw-crammed beast? Rejoice we are allied To that which doth provide And not partake, effect and not receive! A spark disturbs our clod; Nearer we hold of God 60 Pulled ever to the earth, still yearns for rest: To match those manifold Possessions of the brute,-gain most, as we did best! Let us not always say, Who gives, than of his tribes that take, I mustSpite of this flesh to-day Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go! Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than Be our joys three-parts pain! A brute I might have been, but would not sink And I shall thereupon But all, the world's coarse thumb And finger failed to plumb, That acquiescence vain: The Future I may face now I have proved the So passed in making up the main account; Past." For more is not reserved To man, with soul just nerved To act to-morrow what he learns to-day: Here, work enough to watch The Master work, and catch All instincts immature, All purposes unsure, 140 That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man's amount: Thoughts hardly to be packed Into a narrow act, Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the tool's Fancies that broke through language and true play. escaped; This Present, thou, forsooth, would fain arrest: Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be Machinery just meant To give thy soul its bent, gained, The reward of it all. Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently I was ever a fighter, so—one fight more, Grow out, in graver mood, obey the sterner Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's stress? Look not thou down but up! To uses of a cup, The festal board, lamp's flash and trumpet's peal, The new wine's foaming flow, The Master's lips aglow! arrears Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what needst Shall change, shall become first a peace out of Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible Twenty-two good ships in all; 10 The victory of La Hogue was won off the north coast of Normandy by the British and Dutch Allies against Louis XIV. Hervé Riel, a Breton sailor from the village of Croisic, saved many of the fleeing French vessels by piloting them through the shallows at the mouth of the river Rance to the roadstead at St. Malo. Get us guidance, give us harbour, take us | On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every quick-or, quicker still, Here's the English can and will!'' III swell, "Twixt the offing here and Grève where the river disembogues? Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and Are you bought by English gold? Is it love leapt on board; "Not a minute more to wait! Let the Captains all and each 30 the lying's for? Morn and eve, night and day, Have I piloted your bay, 50 Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor. Not a minute more to wait. "Steer us in, then, small and great! Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!'' cried its chief. Captains, give the sailor place! He is Admiral, in brief. Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels Still the north-wind, by God's grace! See the noble fellow's face 70 And "What mockery or malice have we here?" So, the storm subsides to calm: cries Hervé Riel: "Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or rogues? Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tell They see the green trees wave On the heights o'erlooking Grève. Hearts that bled are stanched with balm. "Just our rapture to enhance, Let the English rake the bay, |