The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Volume 2Browning, Elizabeth Barrett
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The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Volume 2
Browning, Elizabeth Barrett
English poetry -- 19th century; Poetry, Modern -- 19th century
_Second Angel._
Stand off! She sleeps, and did not pray.
_First Angel._
Did none pray for her?
_Second Angel._
Ay, a child,--
Who never, praying, wept before:
While, in a mother undefiled,
Prayer goeth on in sleep, as true
And pauseless as the pulses do.
_First Angel._
Then I approach.
_Second Angel._
It is not WILLED.
_First Angel._
One word: is she redeemed?
_Second Angel._
No more!
The place is filled. [Angels _vanish_
_Evil Spirit (in a Nun's garb by the bed)._
Forbear that dream--forbear that dream! too near to heaven it leaned.
_Onora (in sleep)._
Nay, leave me this--but only this! 't is but a dream, sweet fiend!
_Evil Spirit._
It is a _thought_.
_Onora (in sleep)._
A sleeping thought--most innocent of good:
It doth the Devil no harm, sweet fiend! it cannot if it would.
I say in it no holy hymn, I do no holy work,
I scarcely hear the sabbath-bell that chimeth from the kirk.
_Evil Spirit._
Forbear that dream--forbear that dream!
_Onora (in sleep)._
Nay, let me dream at least.
That far-off bell, it may be took for viol at a feast:
I only walk among the fields, beneath the autumn-sun,
With my dead father, hand in hand, as I have often done.
_Evil Spirit._
Forbear that dream--forbear that dream!
_Onora (in sleep)._
Nay, sweet fiend, let me go:
I never more can walk with _him_, oh, never more but so!
For they have tied my father's feet beneath the kirk-yard stone,
Oh, deep and straight! oh, very straight! they move at nights alone:
And then he calleth through my dreams, he calleth tenderly,
"Come forth, my daughter, my beloved, and walk the fields with me!"
_Evil Spirit._
Forbear that dream, or else disprove its pureness by a sign.
_Onora (in sleep)._
Speak on, thou shalt be satisfied, my word shall answer thine.
I heard a bird which used to sing when I a child was praying,
I see the poppies in the corn I used to sport away in:
What shall I do--tread down the dew and pull the blossoms blowing?
Or clap my wicked hands to fright the finches from the rowan?
_Evil Spirit._
Thou shalt do something harder still. Stand up where thou dost stand
Among the fields of Dreamland with thy father hand in hand,
And clear and slow repeat the vow, declare its cause and kind,
Which not to break, in sleep or wake thou bearest on thy mind.
_Onora (in sleep)._
I bear a vow of sinful kind, a vow for mournful cause;
I vowed it deep, I vowed it strong, the spirits laughed applause:
The spirits trailed along the pines low laughter like a breeze,
While, high atween their swinging tops, the stars appeared to freeze.
_Evil Spirit._
More calm and free, speak out to me why such a vow was made.
_Onora (in sleep)._
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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