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<title>Childe Roland</title>
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<h1>"Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came"</h1><h5>Robert Browning</h5>
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<dd>
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<dd>
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<dd>I.</dd>
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<dd>My first thought was, he lied in every word,
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<dd>That hoary cripple, with malicious eye</dd>
<dd>Askance to watch the working of his lie</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford</dd>
<dd>Suppression of the glee that pursed and scored
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<dd>Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby.</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>
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<dd>II.</dd>
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</dd>
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<dd>What else should he be set for, with his staff?
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<dd>What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare</dd>
<dd>All travellers who might find him posted there,</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh</dd>
<dd>Would break, what crutch 'gin write my epitaph
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<dd>For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare,</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>III.</dd>
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</dd>
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<dd>If at his counsel I should turn aside
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<dd>Into that ominous tract which, all agree,</dd>
<dd>Hides the Dark Tower. Yet acquiescingly</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>I did turn as he pointed: neither pride</dd>
<dd>Nor hope rekindling at the end descried,
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<dd>So much as gladness that some end might be.</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>IV.</dd>
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</dd>
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<dd>For, what with my whole world-wide wandering,
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<dd>What with my search drawn out thro' years, my hope</dd>
<dd>Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>With that obstreperous joy success would bring,</dd>
<dd>I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring
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<dd>My heart made, finding failure in its scope.</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>V.</dd>
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</dd>
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<dd>As when a sick man very near to death
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<dd>Seems dead indeed, and feels begin and end</dd>
<dd>The tears and takes the farewell of each friend,</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>And hears one bid the other go, draw breath</dd>
<dd>Freelier outside ("since all is o'er," he saith,
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<dd>"And the blow fallen no grieving can amend;")</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>
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<dd>VI.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>While some discuss if near the other graves
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<dd>Be room enough for this, and when a day</dd>
<dd>Suits best for carrying the corpse away,</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>With care about the banners, scarves and staves:</dd>
<dd>And still the man hears all, and only craves
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<dd>He may not shame such tender love and stay.</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>VII.</dd>
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</dd>
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<dd>Thus, I had so long suffered in this quest,
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<dd>Heard failure prophesied so oft, been writ</dd>
<dd>So many times among "The Band" - to wit,</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed</dd>
<dd>Their steps - that just to fail as they, seemed best,
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<dd>And all the doubt was now—should I be fit?</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>
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<dd>VIII.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>So, quiet as despair, I turned from him,
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<dd>That hateful cripple, out of his highway</dd>
<dd>Into the path he pointed. All the day</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>Had been a dreary one at best, and dim</dd>
<dd>Was settling to its close, yet shot one grim
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<dd>Red leer to see the plain catch its estray.</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>
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<dd>IX.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>For mark! no sooner was I fairly found
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<dd>Pledged to the plain, after a pace or two,</dd>
<dd>Than, pausing to throw backward a last view</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>O'er the safe road, 'twas gone; grey plain all round:</dd>
<dd>Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound.
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<dd>I might go on; nought else remained to do.</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>
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<dd>X.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>So, on I went. I think I never saw
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<dd>Such starved ignoble nature; nothing throve:</dd>
<dd>For flowers - as well expect a cedar grove!</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>But cockle, spurge, according to their law</dd>
<dd>Might propagate their kind, with none to awe,
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<dd>You'd think; a burr had been a treasure trove.</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>
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<dd>XI.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>No! penury, inertness and grimace,
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<dd>In some strange sort, were the land's portion. "See</dd>
<dd>Or shut your eyes," said Nature peevishly,</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>"It nothing skills: I cannot help my case:</dd>
<dd>'Tis the Last Judgment's fire must cure this place,
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<dd>Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free."</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>
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<dd>XII.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>If there pushed any ragged thistle-stalk
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<dd>Above its mates, the head was chopped; the bents</dd>
<dd>Were jealous else. What made those holes and rents</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>In the dock's harsh swarth leaves, bruised as to baulk</dd>
<dd>All hope of greenness? 'tis a brute must walk
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<dd>Pashing their life out, with a brute's intents.</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>XIII.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>As for the grass, it grew as scant as hair
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<dd>In leprosy; thin dry blades pricked the mud</dd>
<dd>Which underneath looked kneaded up with blood.</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>One stiff blind horse, his every bone a-stare,</dd>
<dd>Stood stupefied, however he came there:
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<dd>Thrust out past service from the devil's stud!</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>
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<dd>XIV.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>Alive? he might be dead for aught I know,
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<dd>With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain,</dd>
<dd>And shut eyes underneath the rusty mane;</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe;</dd>
<dd>I never saw a brute I hated so;
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<dd>He must be wicked to deserve such pain.</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>XV.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart.
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<dd>As a man calls for wine before he fights,</dd>
<dd>I asked one draught of earlier, happier sights,</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>Ere fitly I could hope to play my part.</dd>
<dd>Think first, fight afterwards - the soldier's art:
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<dd>One taste of the old time sets all to rights.</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>XVI.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>Not it! I fancied Cuthbert's reddening face
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<dd>Beneath its garniture of curly gold,</dd>
<dd>Dear fellow, till I almost felt him fold</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>An arm in mine to fix me to the place</dd>
<dd>That way he used. Alas, one night's disgrace!
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<dd>Out went my heart's new fire and left it cold.</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>
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<dd>XVII.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>Giles then, the soul of honour - there he stands
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<dd>Frank as ten years ago when knighted first.</dd>
<dd>What honest men should dare (he said) he durst.</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>Good - but the scene shifts - faugh! what hangman hands</dd>
<dd>Pin to his breast a parchment? His own bands
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<dd>Read it. Poor traitor, spit upon and curst!</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>XVIII.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>Better this present than a past like that;
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<dd>Back therefore to my darkening path again!</dd>
<dd>No sound, no sight as far as eye could strain.</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>Will the night send a howlet or a bat?</dd>
<dd>I asked: when something on the dismal flat
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<dd>Came to arrest my thoughts and change their train.</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>XIX.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>A sudden little river crossed my path
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<dd>As unexpected as a serpent comes.</dd>
<dd>No sluggish tide congenial to the glooms;</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>This, as it frothed by, might have been a bath</dd>
<dd>For the fiend's glowing hoof - to see the wrath
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<dd>Of its black eddy bespate with flakes and spumes.</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>XX.</dd>
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</dd>
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<dd>So petty yet so spiteful! All along
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<dd>Low scrubby alders kneeled down over it;</dd>
<dd>Drenched willows flung them headlong in a fit</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>Of mute despair, a suicidal throng:</dd>
<dd>The river which had done them all the wrong,
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<dd>Whate'er that was, rolled by, deterred no whit.</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>XXI.</dd>
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</dd>
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<dd>Which, while I forded, - good saints, how I feared
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<dd>To set my foot upon a dead man's cheek,</dd>
<dd>Each step, or feel the spear I thrust to seek</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>For hollows, tangled in his hair or beard!</dd>
<dd>—It may have been a water-rat I speared,
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<dd>But, ugh! it sounded like a baby's shriek.</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>
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<dd>XXII.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>Glad was I when I reached the other bank.
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<dd>Now for a better country. Vain presage!</dd>
<dd>Who were the strugglers, what war did they wage,</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank</dd>
<dd>Soil to a plash? Toads in a poisoned tank,
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<dd>Or wild cats in a red-hot iron cage—</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>
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<dd>XXIII.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>The fight must so have seemed in that fell cirque.
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<dd>What penned them there, with all the plain to choose?</dd>
<dd>No foot-print leading to that horrid mews,</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>None out of it. Mad brewage set to work</dd>
<dd>Their brains, no doubt, like galley-slaves the Turk
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<dd>Pits for his pastime, Christians against Jews.</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>
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<dd>XXIV.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>And more than that - a furlong on - why, there!
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<dd>What bad use was that engine for, that wheel,</dd>
<dd>Or brake, not wheel - that harrow fit to reel</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>Men's bodies out like silk? with all the air</dd>
<dd>Of Tophet's tool, on earth left unaware,
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<dd>Or brought to sharpen its rusty teeth of steel.</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>
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<dd>XXV.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>Then came a bit of stubbed ground, once a wood,
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<dd>Next a marsh, it would seem, and now mere earth</dd>
<dd>Desperate and done with; (so a fool finds mirth,</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>Makes a thing and then mars it, till his mood</dd>
<dd>Changes and off he goes!) within a rood—
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<dd>Bog, clay and rubble, sand and stark black dearth.</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>
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<dd>XXVI.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>Now blotches rankling, coloured gay and grim,
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<dd>Now patches where some leanness of the soil's</dd>
<dd>Broke into moss or substances like boils;</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>Then came some palsied oak, a cleft in him</dd>
<dd>Like a distorted mouth that splits its rim
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<dd>Gaping at death, and dies while it recoils.</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>
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<dd>XXVII.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>And just as far as ever from the end!
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<dd>Nought in the distance but the evening, nought</dd>
<dd>To point my footstep further! At the thought,</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>A great black bird, Apollyon's bosom-friend,</dd>
<dd>Sailed past, nor beat his wide wing dragon-penned
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<dd>That brushed my cap—perchance the guide I sought.</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>
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<dd>XXVIII.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>For, looking up, aware I somehow grew,
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<dd>'Spite of the dusk, the plain had given place</dd>
<dd>All round to mountains - with such name to grace</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>Mere ugly heights and heaps now stolen in view.</dd>
<dd>How thus they had surprised me, - solve it, you!
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<dd>How to get from them was no clearer case.</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>
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<dd>XXIX.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>Yet half I seemed to recognise some trick
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<dd>Of mischief happened to me, God knows when—</dd>
<dd>In a bad dream perhaps. Here ended, then,</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>Progress this way. When, in the very nick</dd>
<dd>Of giving up, one time more, came a click
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<dd>As when a trap shuts - you're inside the den!</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>
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<dd>XXX.</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>Burningly it came on me all at once,
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<dd>This was the place! those two hills on the right,</dd>
<dd>Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn in fight;</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>While to the left, a tall scalped mountain... Dunce,</dd>
<dd>Dotard, a-dozing at the very nonce,
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<dd>After a life spent training for the sight!</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>
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<dd>XXXI.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>What in the midst lay but the Tower itself?
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<dd>The round squat turret, blind as the fool's heart</dd>
<dd>Built of brown stone, without a counterpart</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>In the whole world. The tempest's mocking elf</dd>
<dd>Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf
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<dd>He strikes on, only when the timbers start.</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
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<dd>
<dl>
<dd>XXXII.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>Not see? because of night perhaps? - why, day
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<dd>Came back again for that! before it left,</dd>
<dd>The dying sunset kindled through a cleft:</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>The hills, like giants at a hunting, lay</dd>
<dd>Chin upon hand, to see the game at bay,—
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<dd>"Now stab and end the creature - to the heft!"</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
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<dd>
<dl>
<dd>
<dl>
<dd>XXXIII.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>Not hear? when noise was everywhere! it tolled
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<dd>Increasing like a bell. Names in my ears</dd>
<dd>Of all the lost adventurers my peers,—</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>How such a one was strong, and such was bold,</dd>
<dd>And such was fortunate, yet each of old
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<dd>Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.</dd>
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</dd>
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<p><br /></p>
<dl>
<dd>
<dl>
<dd>
<dl>
<dd>XXXIV.</dd>
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</dd>
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</dd>
<dd>There they stood, ranged along the hillsides, met
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<dd>To view the last of me, a living frame</dd>
<dd>For one more picture! in a sheet of flame</dd>
</dl>
</dd>
<dd>I saw them and I knew them all. And yet</dd>
<dd>Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set,
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<dd>And blew "<i>Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came.</i>"</dd>
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</dd>
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