Chapter CXIV: Epilogue (4)

_Fust._ "Plough with my heifer,
Ye find out my riddle," quoth Samson, and pat
He speaks to the purpose. Grapes squeezed in the vat

Yield to sight and to taste what is simple--a liquid
Mere urchins may sip: but give time, let ferment--
You 've wine, manhood's master! Well, "_rectius si quid_
_Novistis im-per-ti-te!_" Wait the event,
Then weigh the result! But, whate'er Thy intent,

O Thou, the one force in the whole variation
Of visible nature,--at work--do I doubt?--
From Thy first to our last, in perpetual creation--
A film hides us from Thee--'twixt inside and out,
A film, on this earth where Thou bringest about

New marvels, new forms of the glorious, the gracious,
We bow to, we bless for: no star bursts heaven's dome
But Thy finger impels it, no weed peeps audacious
Earth's clay-floor from out, but Thy finger makes room
For one world's-want the more in Thy Cosmos: presume

Shall Man, Microcosmos, to claim the conception
Of grandeur, of beauty, in thought, word or deed?
I toiled, but Thy light on my dubiousest step shone:
If I reach the glad goal, is it I who succeed
Who stumbled at starting tripped up by a reed,

Or Thou? Knowledge only and absolute, glory
As utter be Thine who concedest a spark
Of Thy spheric perfection to earth's transitory
Existences! Nothing that lives, but Thy mark
Gives law to--life's light: what is doomed to the dark?

Where 's ignorance? Answer, creation! What height,
What depth has escaped Thy commandment --to Know?
What birth in the ore-bed but answers aright
Thy sting at its heart which impels--bids "E'en so,
Not otherwise more or be motionless,--grow,

"Decline, disappear!" Is the plant in default
How to bud, when to branch forth? The bird and the beast
--Do they doubt if their safety be found in assault
Or escape? Worm or fly, of what atoms the least
But follows light's guidance,--will famish, not feast?

In such various degree, fly and worm, ore and plant,
All know, none is witless: around each, a wall
Encloses the portion, or ample or scant,
Of Knowledge: beyond which one hair's breadth, for all
Lies blank--not so much as a blackness--a pall

Some sense unimagined must penetrate: plain
Is only old license to stand, walk or sit,
Move so far and so wide in the narrow domain
Allotted each nature for life's use: past it
How immensity spreads does he guess? Not a whit.

Does he care? Just as little. Without? No, within
Concerns him? he Knows. Man Ignores--thanks to Thee
Who madest him know, but--in knowing--begin
To know still new vastness of knowledge must be
Outside him--to enter, to traverse, in fee

Have and hold! "Oh, Man's ignorance!" hear the fool whine!
How were it, for better or worse, didst thou grunt
Contented with sapience--the lot of the swine
Who knows he was born for just truffles to hunt?--
Monks' Paradise--"_Semper sint res uti sunt!_"

No, Man's the prerogative--knowledge once gained--
To ignore,--find new knowledge to press for, to swerve
In pursuit of, no, not for a moment: attained--
Why, onward through ignorance! Dare and deserve!
As still to its asymptote speedeth the curve,

So approximates Man--Thee, who, reachable not,
Hast formed him to yearningly follow Thy whole
Sole and single omniscience!
Such, friends, is my lot:
I am back with the world: one more step to the goal
Thanks for reaching I render--Fust's help to Man's soul!

Mere mechanical help? So the hand gives a toss
To the falcon,--aloft once, spread pinions and fly,
Beat air far and wide, up and down and across!
My Press strains a-tremhle: whose masterful eye
Will be first, in new regions, new truth to descry?

Give chase, soul! Be sure each new capture consigned
To my Types will go forth to the world, like God's bread
--Miraculous food not for body but mind,
Truth's manna! How say you? Put case that, instead
Of old leasing and lies, we superiorly fed

These Heretics, Hussites ...

_First Friend._ First answer my query!
If saved, art thou happy?

_Fust._ I was and I am.

_First Friend._ Thy visage confirms it: how comes, then,
that--weary
And woe-begone late--was it show, was it sham?--
We found thee sunk thiswise?

_Second Friend._ --In need of the dram

From the flask which a provident neighbor might carry!

_Fust._ Ah, friends, the fresh triumph soon flickers, fast fades!
I hailed Word's dispersion: could heartleaps but tarry!
Through me does Print furnish Truth wings? The same aids
Cause Falsehood to range just as widely. What raids

On a region undreamed of does Printing enable
Truth's foe to effect! Printed leasing and lies
May speed to the world's farthest corner-- gross fable
No less than pure fact--to impede, neutralize,
Abolish God's gift and Man's gain!

_First Friend._ Dost surmise

What struck me at first blush? Our Beghards, Waldenses,
Jeronimites, Hussites--does one show his head,
Spout heresy now? Not a priest in his senses
Deigns answer mere speech, but piles fagots instead,
Refines as by fire, and, him silenced, all 's said.

Whereas if in future I pen an opuscule
Defying retort, as of old when rash tongues
Were easy to tame,--straight some knave of the Huss-School
Prints answer forsooth! Stop invisible lungs?
The barrel of blasphemy broached once, who bungs?

* * * * *

_Second Friend._ Does my sermon, next Easter, meet fitting
acceptance?
Each captious disputative boy has his quirk
"_An cuique credendum sit?_" Well, the Church kept "_ans_"
In order till Fust set his engine at work!
What trash will come flying from Jew, Moor, and Turk

When, goosequill, thy reign o'er the world is abolished!
Goose--ominous name! With a goose woe began:
Quoth Huss--which means "goose" in his idiom unpolished--
"Ye burn now a Goose: there succeeds me a Swan
Ye shall find quench your fire!"

_Fust._ I foresee such a man.

ASOLANDO

TO MRS. ARTHUR BRONSON

To whom but you, dear Friend, should I dedicate verses--some few written, all of them supervised, in the comfort of your presence, and with yet another experience of the gracious hospitality now bestowed on me since so many a year,--adding a charm even to my residences at Venice, and leaving me little regret for the surprise and delight at my visits to Asolo in bygone days?

I unite, you will see, the disconnected poems by a title-name popularly ascribed to the inventiveness of the ancient secretary of Queen Cornaro whose palace-tower still overlooks us: _Asolare_--"to disport in the open air, amuse one's self at random." The objection that such a word nowhere occurs in the works of the Cardinal is hardly important--Bembo was too thorough a purist to conserve in print a term which in talk he might possibly toy with: but the word is more likely derived from a Spanish source. I use it for love of the place, and in requital of your pleasant assurance that an early poem of mine first attracted you thither--where and elsewhere, at La Mura as Cà Alvisi, may all happiness attend you!

Gratefully and affectionately yours,
R. B.
ASOLO: _October_ 15, 1889.

* * * * *

The greater part of _Asolando_ was written in 1888-89, though in one instance at least an early poem was included in the collection. The title of the volume is explained in the dedication. The book, by a strange coincidence, was published on the day of Browning's death.