Ever your eyes were as a lizard's quick, They glitter like your mother's for my soul,

frieze,

Or ye would heighten my impoverished [vase Piece out its starved design, and fill my With grapes, and add a visor and a Term, And to the tripod ye would tie a lynx That in his struggle throws the thyrsus down,

To comfort me on my entablature Whereon I am to lie till I must ask "Do I live, am I dead?" There, leave me, there!

For ye have stabbed me with ingratitude To death-ye wish it--God, ye wish it! Stone-

Gritstone, a-crumble! Clammy squares which sweat [through

As if the corpse they keep were oozing And no more lapis to delight the world! Well, go! I bless ye. Fewer tapers there, But in a row: and, going, turn your backs -Ay, like departing altar-ministrants, And leave me in my church, the church for peace,

That I may watch at leisure if he leers-Old Gandolf-at me, from his onionstone,

As still he envied me, so fair she was!1 1845.

SAUL I

SAID Abner, "At last thou art come! Ere I tell, ere thou speak, Kiss my cheek, wish me well!" Then I wished it, and did kiss his cheek. And he: "Since the King, O my friend, for thy countenance sent, Neither drunken nor eaten have we; nor until from his tent

1 "I know no other piece of modern English, prose or poetry, in which there is so much told, as in these lines, of the Renaissance spirit,-its worldliness, inconsistency, pride, hypocrisy, ig norance of itself, love of art, of luxury, and of good Latin. It is nearly all that I said of the central Renaissance in thirty pages of the Stones of Venice, put into as many lines, Browning's being also the antecedent work. The worst of it is that this kind of concentrated writing needs so much solution before the reader can fairly get the good of it, that people's patience fails them, and they give the thing up as insoluble; though, truly, it ought to be to the current of common thought like Saladin's talisman, dipped in clear water, not soluble altogether, but inaking the element medicinal.” (Ruskin.) Other aspects of the Renaissance spirit, finer but equally true, are expressed, with similar concentration, in Old Pictures in Florence, Pictor Ignotus, Andrea del Sarto, The Grammarian's Funeral, etc. etc.

Thou return with the joyful assurance the King liveth yet,

Shall our lip with the honey be bright, with the water be wet.

For out of the black mid-tent's silence, a space of three days,

Not a sound hath escaped to thy servants, of prayer nor of praise,

To betoken that Saul and the Spirit have ended their strife,

And that, faint in his triumph, the mon arch sinks back upon life.

II

"Yet now my heart leaps, O beloved! God's child with his dew

On thy gracious gold hair, and those lilies still living and blue

Just broken to twine round thy harpstrings, as if no wild heat

Were now raging to torture the desert!"

III

Then I, as was meet, Knelt down to the God of my fathers, and rose on my feet,

And ran o'er the sand burnt to powder. The tent was unlooped;

I pulled up the spear that obstructed, and under I stooped;

Hands and knees on the slippery grasspatch, all withered and gone,

That extends to the second enclosure, I groped my way on

Till I felt where the foldskirts fly open. Then once more I prayed,

And opened the foldskirts and entered, and was not afraid

But spoke, "Here is David, thy servant!" And no voice replied.

At the first I saw naught but the blackness: but soon I descried

A something more black than the blackness-the vast, the upright

Main prop which sustains the pavilion: and slow into sight

Grew a figure against it, gigantic and blackest of all.

Then a sunbeam, that burst through the tent-roof, showed Saul.

IV

He stood as erect as that tent-prop, both arms stretched out wide

On the great cross-support in the centre, that goes to each side;

He relaxed not a muscle, but hung there as, caught in his pangs

And waiting his change, the king-serpent all heavily hangs,

Far away from his kind, in the pine, till deliverance come

With the spring-time, so agonized Saul, drear and stark, blind and dumb.

Then I tuned my harp,-took off the lilies we twine round its chords Lest they snap 'neath the stress of the noontide-those sunbeams like swords! And I first played the tune all our sheep know, as, one after one,

So docile they come to the pen-door till folding be done.

They are white and untorn by the bushes, for lo, they have fed Where the long grasses stifle the water within the stream's bed;

And now one after one seeks its lodging, as star follows star

Into eve and the blue far above us,-so blue and so far!

VI

-Then the tune for which quails on the cornland will each leave his mate To fly after the player; then, what makes the crickets elate

Till for boldness they fight one another; and then, what has weight

To set the quick jerboa a-musing outside his sand house

There are none such as he for a wonder, half bird and half mouse!

God made all the creatures and gave them our love and our fear, To give sign, we and they are his children, one family here.

VII

Then I played the help-tune of our reapers, their wine-song, when hand Grasps at hand, eye lights eye in good friendship, and great hearts expand And grow one in the sense of this world's life. And then, the last song When the dead man is praised on his journey-" Bear, bear him along, With his few faults shut up like dead flowerets! Are balm seeds not here To console us? The land has none left such as he on the bier.

Oh, would we might keep thee, my brother!"--And then, the glad chant Of the marriage,-first go the young maidens, next, she whom we vaunt

"Oh, our manhood's prime vigor! No spirit feels waste,

Not a muscle is stopped in its playing nor sinew unbraced.

Oh, the wild joys of living! the leaping from rock up to rock,

The strong rending of boughs from the fir-tree, the cool silver shock

Of the plunge in a pool's living water, the hunt of the bear,

And the sultriness showing the lion is couched in his lair.

And the meal, the rich dates yellowed over with gold dust divine, And the locust-flesh steeped in the pitcher, the full draught of wine, And the sleep in the dried river-channel where bulrushes tell

That the water was wont to go warbling so softly and well.

How good is man's life, the mere living! how fit to employ

All the heart and the soul and the senses forever in joy!

Hast thou loved the white locks of thy father, whose sword thou didst guard When he trusted thee forth with the armies, for glorious reward? Didst thou see the thin hands of thy mother, held up as men sung The low song of the nearly-departed, and hear her faint tongue

Joining in while it could to the witness, "Let one more attest,

I have lived, seen God's hand through a lifetime, and all was for best? " Then they sung through their tears in strong triumph, not much, but the rest. And thy brothers, the help and the contest, the working whence grew Such result as, from seething grapebundles, the spirit strained true: And the friends of thy boyhood--that boyhood of wonder and hope, Present promise and wealth of the future beyond the eye's scope,

Till lo, thou art grown to a monarch; a people is thine;

And all gifts, which the world offers singly, on one head combine ! On one head, all the beauty and strength, love and rage (like the throe That, a-work in the rock, helps its labor and lets the gold go)

High ambition and deeds which surpass it, fame crowning them,-all Brought to blaze on the head of one creature-King Saul!"

X

And lo, with that leap of my spirit,heart, hand, harp and voice, Each lifting Saul's name out of sorrow, each bidding rejoice

Saul's fame in the light it was made for -as when, dare I say,

The Lord's army, in rapture of service, strains through its array,

And upsoareth the cherubim-chariot"Saul!" cried I, and stopped, And waited the thing that should follow. Then Saul, who hung propped By the tent's cross-support in the centre, was struck by his name. Have ye seen when Spring's arrowy summons goes right to the aim, And some mountain, the last to withstand her, that held (he alone, While the vale laughed in freedom and flowers) on a broad bust of stone A year's snow bound about for a breastplate,-leaves grasp of the sheet? Fold on fold all at once it crowds thunderously down to his feet.

And there fronts you, stark, black, but alive yet, your mountain of old, With his rents, the successive bequeathing of ages untold

Yea, each harm got in fighting your battles, each furrow and scar

Of his head thrust 'twixt you and the tempest-all hail, there they are! -Now again to be softened with verdure, again hold the nest

Of the dove, tempt the goat and its
young to the green on his crest
For their food in the ardors of summer.
One long shudder thrilled

All the tent till the very air tingled, then sank and was stilled

At the King's self left standing before me, released and aware.

What was gone, what remained? All to traverse 'twixt hope and despair, Death was past, life not come so he waited. Awhile his right hand Held the brow, helped the eyes left too vacant forthwith to remand

To their place what new objects should enter: 't was Saul as before.

I looked up and dared gaze at those eyes, nor was hurt any more

Than by slow pallid sunsets in autumn, ye watch from the shore,

At their sad level gaze o'er the oceana sun's slow decline

Over hills which, resolved in stern silence, o'erlap and entwine

Base with base to knit strength more intensely so, arm folded arm

O'er the chest whose slow heavings subsided.

XI

What spell or what charm, (For awhile there was trouble within me), what next should I urge To sustain him where song had restored him?-Song filled to the verge

His cup with the wine of this life, pressing all that it yields

Of mere fruitage, the strength and the beauty beyond, on what fields, Glean a vintage more potent and perfect to brighten the eye

And bring blood to the lip, and commend them the cup they put by? He saith, "It is good;" still he drinks not: he lets me praise life,

Gives assent, yet would die for his own part.

XII

Then fancies grew rife Which had come long ago on the pasture, when round me the sheep Fed in silence-above, the one eagle wheeled slow as in sleep;

And I lay in my hollow and mused n the world that might lie

'Neath his ken, though I saw but the strip 'twixt the hill and the sky: And I laughed-Since my days are ordained to be passed with my flocks, Let me people at least, with my fancies, the plains and the rocks,

Dream the life I am never to mix with, and image the show

Of mankind as they live in those fashions I hardly shall know! Schemes of life, its best rules and right uses, the courage that gains, And the prudence that keeps what men strive for." And now these old trains Of vague thought came again; I grew surer; so, once more the string Of my harp made response to my spirit, as thus

XIII

"Yea, my King,"

1 began-" thou dost well in rejecting mere comforts that spring From the mere mortal life held in common by man and by brute:

In our flesh grows the branch of this life, in our soul it bears fruit. Thou hast marked the slow rise of the tree, how its stem trembled first Till it passed the kid's lip, the stag's antler; then safely outburst The fan-branches all round; and thou mindest when these too, in turn, Broke a-bloom and the palm-tree seemed perfect: yet more was to learn, E'en the good that comes in with the palm-fruit. Our dates shall we slight, When their juice brings a cure for all sorrow? or care for the plight

Of the palm's self whose slow growth produced them? Not so! stem and branch

Shall decay, nor be known in their place, while the palm-wine shall stanch Every wound of man's spirit in winter. I pour thee such wine,

Leave the flesh to the fate it was fit for! the spirit be thine!

By the spirit, when age shall o'ercome thee, thou still shalt enjoy

More indeed, than at first when inconscious, the life of a boy.

Crush that life, and behold its wine running! Each deed thou hast done Dies, revives, goes to work in the world! until e'en as the sun

Looking down on the earth, though clouds spoil him, though tempests efface,

Can find nothing his own deed produced not, must every where trace The results of his past summer-prime,so, each ray of thy will,

Every flash of thy passion and prowess, long over, shall thrill

Thy whole people, the countless, with ardor, till they too give forth

A like cheer to their sons, who in turn, fill the South and the North With the radiance thy deed was the germ of. Carouse in the past!

But the license of age has its limit; thou diest at last:

As the lion when age dims his eyeball, the rose at her height,

So with man-so his power and his beauty forever take flight.

No! Again a long draught of my soulwine! Look forth o'er the years! Thou hast done now with eyes for the actual; begin with the seer's!

Is Saul dead? In the depth of the vale make his tomb-bid arise

A gray mountain of marble heaped four-
square, till, built to the skies,
Let it mark where the great First King
slumbers: whose fame would ve know?
Up above see the rock's naked face,
where the record shall go

In great characters cut by the scribe,-
Such was Saul, so he did;
With the sages directing the work, by
the populace chid,-

For not half, they'll affirm, is comprised
there! Which fault to amend,
In the grove with his kind grows the
cedar, whereon they shall spend
(See, in tablets 't is level before them)
their praise, and record

With the gold of the graver, Saul's story, -the stateman's great word

Side by side with the poet's sweet coinment. The river 's a-wave With smooth paper-reeds grazing each other when prophet-winds rave: So the pen gives unborn generations their due and their part

In thy being! Then, first of the mighty, thank God that thou art!"

In that act where my soul was thy servant, thy word was my word,Still be with me, who then at the summit of human endeavor And scaling the highest, man's thought could, gazed hopeless as ever

On the new stretch of heaven above me -till, mighty to save,

Just one lift of thy hand cleared that distance-God's throne from man's grave!

Let me tell out my tale to its ending-my voice to my heart

Which can scarce dare believe in what marvels last night I took part,

As this morning I gather the fragments, alone with my sheep,

And still fear lest the terrible glory evanish like sleep!

For I wake in the gray dewy covert, while Hebron upheaves

The dawn struggling with night on his shoulder, and Kidron retrieves Slow the damage of yesterday's sunshine,

XV

I say then, my song While I sang thus, assuring the monarch, and ever more strong Made a proffer of good to console himhe slowly resumed

His old motions and habitudes kingly. The right hand replumed

His black locks to their wonted composure, adjusted the swathes

Of his turban, and see-the huge sweat that his countenance bathes.

He wipes off with the robe; and he girds now his loins as of yore,

And feels slow for the armlets of price, with the clasp set before.

He is Saul, ye remember in glory,--ere error had bent

The broad brow from the daily communion; and still, though much spent Be the life and the bearing that frout you, the same, God did choose,

To receive what a man may waste, desecrate, never quite lose.

So sank he along by the tent-prop till, stayed by the pile

Of his armor and war-cloak and garments, he leaned there awhile,

And sat out my singing,-one arm round the tent-prop, to raise

His bent head, and the other hung slack -till I touched on the praise

I foresaw from all men in all time, to the man patient there;

And thus ended, the harp falling for ward. Then first I was 'ware

That he sat, as I say, with my head just above his vast knees

Which were thrust out on each side around me, like oak roots which please To encircle a lamb when it slumbers. I looked up to know

If the best I could do had brought solace; he spoke not, but slow

Lifted up the hand slack at his side, till he laid it with care

Soft and grave, but in mild settled will, on my brow: through my hair The large fingers were pushed, and he bent back my head, with kind powerAll my face back, intent to peruse it, as men do a flower.

Thus held he me there with his great eyes that scrutinized mine-

And oh, all my heart how it loved him! but where was the sign?

I

yearned-"Could I help thee, my father, inventing a bliss,

I would add, to that life of the past, both the future and this;

I would give thee new life altogether, as good, ages hence,

As this moment,-had love but the warrant, love's heart to dispense!"

"I have gone the whole round of creation: I saw and I spoke :

I, a work of God's hand for that purpose, received in my brain

And pronounced on the rest of his handwork-returned him again

His creation's approval or censure: I spoke as I saw:

I report, as a man may of God's work-all's love, yet all's law.

Now I lay down the judgeship he lent me. Each faculty tasked

To perceive him, has gained an abyss, where a dewdrop was asked. Have I knowledge? confounded shrivels at Wisdom laid bare.

it

Have I forethought? how purblind, how blank to the Infinite Care!

Do I task any faculty highest, to image success?

I but open my eyes,-and perfection, no more and no less,