Life and Letters of Robert Browning [107]
little known to justify its reproduction.
==
Who hears of Helen's Tower may dream perchance
How the Greek Beauty from the Scaean Gate
Gazed on old friends unanimous in hate,
Death-doom'd because of her fair countenance.
Hearts would leap otherwise at thy advance,
Lady, to whom this Tower is consecrate!
Like hers, thy face once made all eyes elate,
Yet, unlike hers, was bless'd by every glance.
The Tower of Hate is outworn, far and strange;
A transitory shame of long ago;
It dies into the sand from which it sprang;
But thine, Love's rock-built Tower, shall fear no change.
God's self laid stable earth's foundations so,
When all the morning-stars together sang.
April 26, 1870.
==
Lord Dufferin is a warm admirer of Mr. Browning's genius.
He also held him in strong personal regard.
In the summer of 1869 the poet, with his sister and son,
changed the manner of his holiday, by joining Mr. Story and his family
in a tour in Scotland, and a visit to Louisa, Lady Ashburton,
at Loch Luichart Lodge; but in the August of 1870 he was again
in the primitive atmosphere of a French fishing village,
though one which had little to recommend it but the society of a friend;
it was M. Milsand's St.-Aubin. He had written, February 24,
to Miss Blagden, under the one inspiration which naturally recurred
in his correspondence with her.
==
`. . . So you, too, think of Naples for an eventual resting-place!
Yes, that is the proper basking-ground for "bright and aged snakes."
Florence would be irritating, and, on the whole, insufferable --
Yet I never hear of any one going thither but my heart is twitched.
There is a good, charming, little singing German lady, Miss Regan,
who told me the other day that she was just about revisiting her aunt,
Madame Sabatier, whom you may know, or know of -- and I felt as if
I should immensely like to glide, for a long summer-day
through the streets and between the old stone-walls, --
unseen come and unheard go -- perhaps by some miracle, I shall do so --
and look up at Villa Brichieri as Arnold's Gypsy-Scholar
gave one wistful look at "the line of festal light in Christ Church Hall,"
before he went to sleep in some forgotten grange. . . .
I am so glad I can be comfortable in your comfort. I fancy exactly
how you feel and see how you live: it IS the Villa Geddes of old days,
I find. I well remember the fine view from the upper room --
that looking down the steep hill, by the side of which runs
the road you describe -- that path was always my preferred walk,
for its shortness (abruptness) and the fine old wall to your left
(from the Villa) which is overgrown with weeds and wild flowers --
violets and ground-ivy, I remember. Oh, me! to find myself
some late sunshiny Sunday afternoon, with my face turned to Florence --
"ten minutes to the gate, ten minutes HOME!" I think I should
fairly end it all on the spot. . . .'
==
He writes again from St.-Aubin, August 19, 1870:
==
`Dearest Isa, -- Your letter came prosperously to this little wild place,
where we have been, Sarianna and myself, just a week.
Milsand lives in a cottage with a nice bit of garden, two steps off,
and we occupy another of the most primitive kind on the sea-shore --
which shore is a good sandy stretch for miles and miles on either side.
I don't think we were ever quite so thoroughly washed by the sea-air
from all quarters as here -- the weather is fine, and we do well enough.
The sadness of the war and its consequences go far to paralyse
all our pleasure, however. . . .
`Well, you are at Siena -- one of the places I love best to remember.
You are returned -- or I would ask you to tell me how the Villa Alberti wears,
and if the fig-tree behind the house is green and strong yet.
I have a pen-and-ink drawing of it, dated and signed the last day
Ba was ever there -- "my fig tree --" she used to sit under it,
reading and writing. Nine years, or ten rather, since then!
Poor old Landor's oak, too, and his cottage, ought not to be forgotten.
Exactly opposite
==
Who hears of Helen's Tower may dream perchance
How the Greek Beauty from the Scaean Gate
Gazed on old friends unanimous in hate,
Death-doom'd because of her fair countenance.
Hearts would leap otherwise at thy advance,
Lady, to whom this Tower is consecrate!
Like hers, thy face once made all eyes elate,
Yet, unlike hers, was bless'd by every glance.
The Tower of Hate is outworn, far and strange;
A transitory shame of long ago;
It dies into the sand from which it sprang;
But thine, Love's rock-built Tower, shall fear no change.
God's self laid stable earth's foundations so,
When all the morning-stars together sang.
April 26, 1870.
==
Lord Dufferin is a warm admirer of Mr. Browning's genius.
He also held him in strong personal regard.
In the summer of 1869 the poet, with his sister and son,
changed the manner of his holiday, by joining Mr. Story and his family
in a tour in Scotland, and a visit to Louisa, Lady Ashburton,
at Loch Luichart Lodge; but in the August of 1870 he was again
in the primitive atmosphere of a French fishing village,
though one which had little to recommend it but the society of a friend;
it was M. Milsand's St.-Aubin. He had written, February 24,
to Miss Blagden, under the one inspiration which naturally recurred
in his correspondence with her.
==
`. . . So you, too, think of Naples for an eventual resting-place!
Yes, that is the proper basking-ground for "bright and aged snakes."
Florence would be irritating, and, on the whole, insufferable --
Yet I never hear of any one going thither but my heart is twitched.
There is a good, charming, little singing German lady, Miss Regan,
who told me the other day that she was just about revisiting her aunt,
Madame Sabatier, whom you may know, or know of -- and I felt as if
I should immensely like to glide, for a long summer-day
through the streets and between the old stone-walls, --
unseen come and unheard go -- perhaps by some miracle, I shall do so --
and look up at Villa Brichieri as Arnold's Gypsy-Scholar
gave one wistful look at "the line of festal light in Christ Church Hall,"
before he went to sleep in some forgotten grange. . . .
I am so glad I can be comfortable in your comfort. I fancy exactly
how you feel and see how you live: it IS the Villa Geddes of old days,
I find. I well remember the fine view from the upper room --
that looking down the steep hill, by the side of which runs
the road you describe -- that path was always my preferred walk,
for its shortness (abruptness) and the fine old wall to your left
(from the Villa) which is overgrown with weeds and wild flowers --
violets and ground-ivy, I remember. Oh, me! to find myself
some late sunshiny Sunday afternoon, with my face turned to Florence --
"ten minutes to the gate, ten minutes HOME!" I think I should
fairly end it all on the spot. . . .'
==
He writes again from St.-Aubin, August 19, 1870:
==
`Dearest Isa, -- Your letter came prosperously to this little wild place,
where we have been, Sarianna and myself, just a week.
Milsand lives in a cottage with a nice bit of garden, two steps off,
and we occupy another of the most primitive kind on the sea-shore --
which shore is a good sandy stretch for miles and miles on either side.
I don't think we were ever quite so thoroughly washed by the sea-air
from all quarters as here -- the weather is fine, and we do well enough.
The sadness of the war and its consequences go far to paralyse
all our pleasure, however. . . .
`Well, you are at Siena -- one of the places I love best to remember.
You are returned -- or I would ask you to tell me how the Villa Alberti wears,
and if the fig-tree behind the house is green and strong yet.
I have a pen-and-ink drawing of it, dated and signed the last day
Ba was ever there -- "my fig tree --" she used to sit under it,
reading and writing. Nine years, or ten rather, since then!
Poor old Landor's oak, too, and his cottage, ought not to be forgotten.
Exactly opposite