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Then died, with Lazarus by, for aught I know,
what I said nor choose repeat,
Thy pardon for this long and tedious case,
Till when, once more thy pardon and farewell! 281. Blue-flowering borage. A plant valued for its stimulating medical properties. The ancients deemed this plant one of the four 'cordial flowers,' for cheering the spirits, the others being the rose, violet, and alkanet.” Aleppo. A city of Syria.
289-303. Karshish apologizes for dwelling at length on the case of this recovered epileptic Jew, and promises to write at leisure from Jerusalem on matters of more
The very God! think, Abib; dost thou think?
Meeting at Night *
The gray sea and the long black land;
Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
Parting at Morning
And the need of a world of men for me. 304-312. Art and science are thrust aside : the man's very soul cries out for God,--the God of this despised "madman.”
*Meeting at Night and Parting at Morning were published in 1845 in the seventh number of Bells and Pomegranates. The speaker is a man who at night goes gladly home to peace and love, and at morning as gladly back to the world and work.
FEAR death?-to feel the fog in my throat,
The mist in my face,
I am nearing the place,
The post of the foe;
Yet the strong man must go:
And the barriers fall,
The reward of it all.
The best and the last!
16 No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers
The heroes of old,
20 For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave,
The black minute's at end,
Shall dwindle, shall blend,
* Prospice (look forward), written the fall after Mrs. Browning's death, was published in Dramatis Personæ in 1864. It expresses the poet's scorn of the idle and cowardly fear of death, and his faith in personal immortality. “ Death,” said Browning when its shadow was over him, “is life, just as our daily, our momentarily, dying body is none the less alive and ever recruiting new forces of existence. Without death, which is our crape-like churchyardy word for change, for growth, there could be no prolongation of that which we call life. For myself, I deny death as an end of anything. Never say of me that I am dead."
7. Arch Fear. Death.
11. Guerdon (LL. widerdonum. A half translation of the OHG. widarlon, widar, back again + lon, reward). Recompense.
19. Brunt (Ice. brenna, burn). “The 'brunt of the battle is the 'heat' of the battle where it burns most fiercely."— Trench.
Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain,
Then a light, then thy breast,
And with God be the rest!
Epilogue to “ Asolando."*
When you set your fancies free,
5 Oh to love so, be so loved, yet so mistaken!
What had I on earth to do
Never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, tho' right were worsted, wrong would
triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, Sleep to wake.
15 No, at noonday in the bustle of man's work-time
Greet the unseen with a cheer!
There as here!”
A beautiful allusion to his wife. The Epilogue to A solando, 1889, is “the last word spoken by Browning to the world. It is an epilogue not only to Asolando but to the whole of his life . reminds us of Browning's bracing, tonic effect upon all of us, and the hopefulness and support he has afforded many in hours of gloom or trouble. Standing apart from criticism, the poem is brave, energetic, stimulant."--F. M. Wilson.
Compare with this Tennyson's swan song, Crossing the Bar. Reread also Browning's Prospice, which it suggests.
8. Mawkish (Ice. madhkr, maggot). Sickening, insipid. 13. Worsted. Defeated ; have the worst of it. 19. Fare (AS. faran, travel), Go on; often used impersonally.
Evelyn Hope BEAUTIFUL Evelyn Hope is dead !
Sit and watch by her side an hour. That is her book-shelf, this her bed;
She plucked that piece of geranium-flower, Beginning to die too, in the glass;
Little has yet been changed, I think; The shutters are shut, no light may pass
Save two long rays through the hinge's chink. Sixteen years old when she died !
Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name; It was not her time to love; beside,
Her life had many a hope and aim,
And now was quiet, now astir,
And the sweet white brow is all of her.
Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope ?
What, your soul was pure and true, The good stars met in your horoscope,
Made you of spirit, fire and dewAnd, just because I was thrice as old
And our paths in the world diverged so wide, Each was naught to each, must I be told ?
We were fellow mortals, naught beside ?
No, indeed! for God above
Is great to grant, as mighty to make, And creates the love to reward the love:
I claim you still, for my own love's sake! Delayed it may be for more lives yet,
Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few: Much is to learn, much to forget
Ere the time be come for taking you.