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Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more,
One task more declined, one more footpath untrod,
One more devils'-triumph and sorrow for angels,

One wrong more to man, one more insult to God!
Life's night begins: let him never come back to us!
There would be doubt, hesitation and pain,
Forced praise on our part-the glimmer of twilight,
Never glad confident morning again!

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Best fight on well, for we taught him-strike gallantly,
Menace our heart ere we master his own;
Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us,
Pardoned in heaven, the first by the throne!

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MY LAST DUCHESS

THAT's my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call

That piece a wonder, now; Frà Pandolf's hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Will 't please you sit and look at her? I said
"Frà Pandolf" by design, for never read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
But to myself they turned (since none puts by
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
How such a glance came there; so, not the first
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 't was not
Her husband's presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps
Frà Pandolf chanced to say "Her mantle laps
Over my lady's wrist too much," or "Paint
Must never hope to reproduce the faint

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Half-flush that dies along her throat": such stuff
Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
For calling up that spot of joy. She had

A heart - how shall I say? -too soon made glad,
Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.
Sir, 't was all one! My favor at her breast,
The dropping of the daylight in the West,
The bough of cherries some officious fool
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule

She rode with round the terrace-all and each

Would draw from her alike the approving speech,

Or blush, at least. She thanked men, good! but

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My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name

as if she ranked

With anybody's gift.

Who'd stoop to blame

This sort of trifling?

Even had you skill

In speech (which I have not) — to make your will
Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this
Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,

Or there exceed the mark”— and if she let

Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set

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Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,

E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose

Never to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt,

Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without

Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands; 45 Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands.

As if alive. Will 't please you rise? We'll meet

The company below, then. I repeat,

The Count your master's known munificence
Is ample warrant that no just pretence

Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;

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Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed
At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go
Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,
Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,

Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!

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INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP

I

You know, we French stormed Ratisbon:

A mile or so away,

On a little 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 its mind.

II

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.

III

Then off there flung in smiling joy,

And held himself erect

By just his horse's mane, a boy:

You hardly could suspect --

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(So tight he kept his lips compressed,
Scarce any blood came through)

You looked twice ere you saw his breast
Was all but shot in two.

IV

"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.

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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," the soldier's pride

Touched to the quick, he said:

"I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside

Smiling the boy fell dead.

BOOT AND SADDLE

BOOT, saddle, to horse, and away!
Rescue my castle before the hot day

Brightens to blue from its silvery grey,

CHORUS. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!

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Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say;
Many 's the friend there, will listen and pray
"God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay
CHORUS. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"

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Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay,
Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundheads' array:
Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay,
CHORUS.Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"

Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay,
Laughs when you talk of surrendering, "Nay!
I've better counsellors; what counsel they?
CHORUS.Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"

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From

PIPPA PASSES

THE YEAR'S AT THE SPRING

THE year's at the spring
And day's at the morn;
Morning 's at seven;
The hillside 's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn:

God's in his heaven

All's right with the world!

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