Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. IV. The Nineteenth Century: Wordsworth to Rossetti

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806–1861)

Extract from Casa Guidi Windows

THEN, gazing, I beheld the long-drawn street

Live out, from end to end, full in the sun,

With Austria’s thousand; sword and bayonet,

Horse, foot, artillery,—cannons rolling on

Like blind slow storm-clouds gestant with the heat

Of undeveloped lightnings, each bestrode

By a single man, dust-white from head to heel,

Indifferent as the dreadful thing he rode,

Like sculptured Fate serene and terrible.

As some smooth river which has overflowed,

Will slow and silent down its current wheel

A loosened forest, all the pines erect,

So swept, in mute significance of storm,

The marshalled thousands; not an eye deflects

To left or right, to catch a novel form

Of Florence city adorned by architect

And carver, or of Beauties live and warm

Scared at the casements,—all, straightforward eyes

And faces, held as steadfast as their swords,

And cognizant of acts, not imageries.

The key, O Tuscans, too well fits the wards!

Ye asked for mimes,—these bring you tragedies:

For purple,—these shall wear it as your lords.

Ye played like children,—die like innocents.

Ye mimicked lightnings with a torch,—the crack

Of the actual bolt, your pastime circumvents.

Ye called up ghosts, believing they were slack

To follow any voice from Gilboa’s tents,…

Here ’s Samuel!—and, so, Grand-dukes come back!