R421220A. Dramatic Lyrics.
The Morning Herald, 20 December 1842, p. 5.
As reprinted in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 6, 391–392.
The author of “Paracelsus” and “Sordello,” to whom also in those truly sibylline effusions of “Bells and Pomegranates” we are indebted for the singular poetic fantasia of “Pippa Passes,” and the drama of “King Victor and King Charles,” has now, in this, his third number, flung forth some score leaves of lyrics, all marked by a strongly original tone and a vivid vein of imaginativeness. Amongst these the “Cavalier Tunes” have a wild dash of the reckless chivalry which distinguished so many of Prince Rupert’s gallant followers. The “Artemis Prologuizes” breathes the very spirit of classic song, and in the “Mad-house Cells” there is what may well be styled a Medusa character of lyric, in which the beautiful and the appalling are marvellously combined. The concluding “Child’s Story” of “The Pied Piper of Hamelin,” in a very different vein, is an amusing German legend, told with a quiet, effective humour. Among Mr. Browning’s shorter pieces the following may fairly tell how masterly a hand he throws across his lyre:—
THE CAMP.—(French.)
You know we French stormed Ratisbon:
A mile or so away
On a lit[t]le mound, Napoleon
Stood on our storming day;
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,
Legs wide, arms locked behind,
As if to balance the prone brow
Oppressive with his mind.
Just as perhaps he mused “My plans
That soar, to earth may fall
Let once my army-leader Lannes
Waver at yonder wall,”
Out ’twixt the battery-smokes there flew
A rider, bound on bound
Full-galloping; nor bridle drew
Until he reached the mound.
Then off there flung in smiling joy,
And held himself erect
By just his horse’s mane, a boy:
You hardly could suspect—
(So tight he kept his lips compressed
Scarce any blood came thro’)
You looked twice ere you saw his breast
Was all but shot in two.
“Well,” cried he, “Emperor, by God’s grace
We’ve got you Ratisbon!
The Marshal’s in the market-place,
And you’ll be there anon
To see your flag-bird flap his vans
Where I, to heart’s desire,
Perched him!” The Chief’s eye flashed; his plans
Soared up again like fire.
The Chief’s eye flashed; but presently
Softened itself, as sheathes
A film the mother eagle’s eye
When her bruised eaglet breathes:
“You’re wounded!” “Nay,” his soldier’s pride
Touched to the quick, he said:
“I’m killed, sire!” And, his Chief beside,
Smiling the boy fell dead.
Reviewed:
Bells & Pomegranates. No. III. Dramatic Lyrics (RB), London: Edward Moxon, 1842.
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