But in secret, unbeheld,
Not before the eyes of all.
Now I see, I judged astray
Where the Folk’s salvation lay.
Not by high heroic charges
Can you make the People whole;
That which faculty enlarges
Does not heal the fissured soul.
It is _Will_ alone that matters
Will alone that mars or makes,
Will, that no distraction scatters,
And that no resistance breaks.—
[_Turns towards the hamlet, where the shades of
night are beginning to fall._]
Come then, Men, who downcast roam
The pent valley of my home;—
Close conversing we will try
Our own souls to purify,
Slackness curb and falsehood kill,
Rouse the lion’s cub of Will!
Manly, as the hands that smite,
Are the hands that hold the hoe;
There’s _one_ end for all,—to grow
Tablets whereon God may write.
[_He is going. EINAR confronts him._
EINAR.
Stand, and what you took restore!
BRAND.
Is it she? You see her there.
EINAR.
[_To AGNES_]
Choose between the sunny shore
And this savage den of care.
AGNES.
There I have no choice to make.
EINAR.
Agnes, Agnes, hear me yet!
The old saying you forget,
Light to lift and hard to bear.
AGNES.
Go with God, thou tempter fair;
I shall bear until I break.
EINAR.
For thy mother’s, sisters’ sake!
AGNES.
Bring my greetings to my Home;
I will write—if words should come.
EINAR.
Over ocean’s gleaming breast
White sails hurry from the strand;—
Like the sighs of dreaming brows,
Lofty, diamond-beaded prows
Speed them to their haven-rest
In a far-off vision’d land.
AGNES.
Sail to westward, sail to east;—
Think of me as one deceased.
EINAR.
As a sister come with me.
AGNES.
[_Shaking her head._]
’Twixt us rolls a boundless sea.
EINAR.
O, then homeward to thy mother!
AGNES.
[_Softly._]
Not from Master, Friend, and Brother.
BRAND.
[_Coming a step nearer._]
Youthful maiden, weigh it well.
In this mountain-prison pent,
Oversoar’d by crag and fell,
In this dim and yawning rent,
Life henceforward shall be gray
As an ebbing autumn-day.
AGNES.
Gloom appals no more; afar
Through the cloud-wrack gleams a star.
BRAND.
Know, that I am stern to crave,
_All_ or _Nothing_ I will have;
If that call you disobey,
You have flung your life away.
No abatement in distress,
And for sin no tenderness,—
If life’s service God refuse,
Life you joyfully must lose.
EINAR.
Fly this wild insensate play!
Spurn the sullen Doomer’s sway;
Live the life you know you may!
BRAND.
At the crossway standst thou:—choose.
[_Goes._
EINAR.
Choose the stillness or the strife!
For the choice to _go_ or _stay_
Is a choice of calm or fray,
Is a choice of Night or Day,
Is a choice of Death or Life!
AGNES.
[_Rises, and then says slowly_:]
On through Death. On into Night.—
Dawn beyond glows rosy-bright.
[_She follows, where BRAND has gone. EINAR gazes a
moment in bewilderment after her, then bows his
head, and goes back to the fjord._
ACT THIRD.
_Three years later. A little garden by the Parsonage. A
great precipice above, a stone wall round. The fjord,
narrow and pent in, appears in the background. The
house-door opens upon the garden. Afternoon._
_BRAND is standing on the steps outside the house. AGNES is
sitting on the step at his feet._
AGNES.
My dearest husband, still your eye
Over the fjord roves anxiously—
BRAND.
I wait a summons.
AGNES.
With brows bent!
BRAND.
My Mother’s summons. This three years
I’ve waited between hopes and fears
The summons that was never sent.
To-day ’twas told me, past a doubt,
That her life’s span is almost out.
AGNES.
[_Softly and tenderly._]
Brand, _without_ summons you should go?
BRAND.
[_Shakes his head._]
Till she of her offence repent
I have no comfort to bestow.
AGNES.
She is your mother.
BRAND.
It were sin
To worship idols in my kin.
AGNES.
Brand, you are stern!
BRAND.
To you?
AGNES.
Oh no
BRAND.
I warn’d you that the way was steep.
AGNES.
[_Smiling._]
It was not true; you did not keep
Your word.
BRAND.
Yes, here the ice-wind rives;
Your cheek has lost its youthful glow,
Your tender heart is touch’d with snow.
Our home is built where nothing thrives,
Amid a barren waste of stone.
AGNES.
It lies the safer, then! So prone
Beetles yon jutting mountain-wall,
That, when the leafy spring is near,
The brimming avalanche vaults sheer
Over our heads, and we lie clear
As in the hollow of a fall.
BRAND.
The sun we never see at all.
AGNES.
Oh, yet he dances warm and bright
Atop yon mountain that we face.
BRAND.
For three weeks, true,—at summer’s height,—
But never struggles to its base!
AGNES.
[_Looks fixedly at him, rises and says_:]
Brand, there’s _one_ thought at which you shrink.
BRAND.
No, _you_!
AGNES.
No, you!
BRAND.
Within you bear
A secret terror.
AGNES.
Which you share!
BRAND.
You reel as from a dizzy brink!
Out with it! speak it out!
AGNES.
’Tis true
I’ve trembled, whiles——
[_Hesitates_
BRAND.
Trembled! At what!
AGNES.
For Alf.
BRAND.
For Alf?
AGNES.
And so have you!
BRAND.
At times. But no, God takes him not!
God’s merciful! My child shall grow
To be a strong man yet, I know.
Where is he now?
AGNES.
He’s sleeping.
BRAND.
[_Looks in through the door._]
See;
Of pain and grief he dreams not, he;
The little hand is plump and round——
AGNES.
Yet pale.
BRAND.
But that will pass.
AGNES.
How deep,
Restful and quickening is his sleep.
BRAND.
God bless thee; in thy sleep grow sound!
[_Shuts the door._]
To all my labours you and he
Have brought light and tranquillity;
Each irksome task, each mournful care,
’Twas easy, in your midst, to bear;
You near, I never felt dismay,
Grew braver by his baby-play.
A martyrdom I held my Call,
But something has transform’d it all,—
Success still follows my footfall.
AGNES.
Yes, Brand; but you _deserve_ success.
Oh, you have battled, in storm and stress;—
Toil’d on through woe and weariness;—
But tears of blood you wept, apart——
BRAND.
And yet it seem’d so light a thing;
With you, love stole upon my heart
Like a glad sunny day in Spring.
In me Love never had been lit;
No parents’ hand had kindled it,
Rather they quench’d the fitful flashes
That gleam’d at moments in the ashes.
It was as though the tender Soul
That mute and darkling in me slept,
Had, closely garner’d, all been kept
To be my sweet Wife’s aureole.
AGNES.
Not mine alone: but whosoe’er
In our great Household has a share,
Each sorrowing son, each needy brother,
Each weeping child, each mourning mother,
Of quickening nurture have their part,
At the rich banquet of thy heart.
BRAND.
Only through you two. By your hand
That heavenly bridge of love was spann’d;
No single soul can all contain
Except it first have yearn’d for _one_.
I had to long and yearn in vain,
So my heart harden’d into stone.
AGNES.
And yet—your love is merciless;
You chasten whom you would caress.
BRAND.
You, Agnes?
AGNES.
_Me?_ O nay, dear, nay!
On me a lightsome load you lay.
But many falter at the call
To offer _Nothing_ or else _all_.
BRAND.
What the world calls by that name “Love,”
I know not and I reck not of.
God’s love _I_ recognise alone,
Which melts not at the piteous plaint,
Which is not moved by dying groan,
And its caress _is_ chastisement.
What answer’d through the olive-trees
God, when the Son in anguish lay,
Praying, “O take this cup away!”
Did He then take it? Nay, child, nay:
He made him drink it to the lees.
AGNES.
By such a measure meted, all
The souls of earth are forfeited.
BRAND.
None knows on whom the doom shall fall;
But God in flaming speech hath said:
“Be faithful through the hour of strife:
Haggling wins not the crown of life!”
Anguish’d repentance scales not heaven,
The martyr’s doom you must fulfil.
That you lack’d _strength_ may be forgiven,—
But never that you wanted _will_.
AGNES.
Yes, it shall be as you have said;
O lift me to those heights you tread;
To your high heaven lead me forth,
My spirit is strong, my flesh is frail;
Oft, anguish-struck, I faint, I fail,—
My clogg’d foot drags upon the earth.
BRAND.
See, child; of all men God makes one
Demand: No coward compromise!
Whose work’s half done or falsely done,
Condemn’d with God his whole word lies.
We must give sanction to this teaching
By _living_ it and not by preaching.
AGNES.
[_Throws herself on his neck._]
Lead where you will; I follow you!
BRAND.
No precipice is too steep for _two_.
_Enter the DOCTOR; he has come down the road, and stops
outside the garden fence._
THE DOCTOR.
Ha! loving doves at their caresses
In these dark craggy wildernesses?
AGNES.
My dear old Doctor, here at last!
Come in, come in!
[_Runs down and opens the garden gate._
THE DOCTOR.
Ho, not so fast!
We’ve first to settle an old score.—
What! Tie yourself to this wild moor,
Where piercing winds of winter tear
Like ice, soul, body to the core——
BRAND.
Not soul.
THE DOCTOR.
Not? Well, I must admit,
That seems about the truth of it.
Your hasty compact has an air
Of standing firm, unmoved, erect,
Though otherwise, one might expect,
By ancient usage, soon to fade
That which so suddenly was made.
AGNES.
A sunbeam’s kiss, a bell’s note, may
Awaken for a summer’s day.
THE DOCTOR.
A patient waits for me. Farewell.
BRAND.
_My_ mother?
THE DOCTOR.
Yes. You also go?
BRAND.
Not now.
THE DOCTOR.
_Have_ been, I daresay?
BRAND.
No.
THE DOCTOR.
Priest, you are hard. Through mist and snow
I’ve trudged across the desolate fell,
Well knowing that she is of those
Who pay like paupers.
BRAND.
May God bless
Your skill and your unweariedness!
Ease, if you can, her bitter throes.
THE DOCTOR.
Bless my goodwill! I tarried not
A moment when I heard her state.
BRAND.
You she has summon’d: I’m forgot,—
And sick at heart, I wait, I wait.
THE DOCTOR.
Come without summons!
BRAND.
Till she calls,
I have no place within those walls.
THE DOCTOR.
[_To_ AGNES.]
You hapless blossom, laid within
The pitiless grasp of such a lord!
BRAND.
I am not pitiless.
AGNES.
He had pour’d
His blood, to wash her soul from sin.
BRAND.
Unask’d, upon myself I took
The clearance of her debit-book.
THE DOCTOR.
Clear off your own!
BRAND.
_One_ man may get
Hundreds acquitted, in God’s eyes.
THE DOCTOR.
Ay; not a Beggar though, who lies
Himself o’er head and ears in debt.
BRAND.
Beggar or rich,—with all my soul
I _will_;—and that one thing’s the _whole_
THE DOCTOR.
Yes, in your ledger, truly, Will
Has enough entries and to spare:
But, priest, your _Love_-account is still
A virgin-chapter, blank and bare.
[_Goes._
BRAND.
[_Follows him awhile with his eyes._]
Never did word so sorely prove
The smirch of lies, as this word _Love_:
With devilish craft, where will is frail,
Men lay _Love_ over, as a veil,
And cunningly conceal thereby
That all their life is coquetry.
Whose path’s the steep and perilous slope,
Let him but _love_,—and he may shirk it;
If he prefer Sin’s easy circuit,
Let him but _love_,—he still may hope;
If God he seeks, but fears the fray,
Let him but _love_,—’tis straight his prey;
If with wide-open eyes he err,
Let him but _love_,—there’s safety there!
AGNES.
Yes, it is false: yet still I fall
Questioning: Is it, after all?
BRAND.
_One_ point’s omitted: First the Will
Law’s thirst for righteousness must still.
You must _first_ will! Not only things
Attainable, in more or less,
Nor only where the action brings
Some hardship and some weariness;
No, you must will with flashing eyes
Your way through all earth’s agonies.
It is not martyrdom to toss
In anguish on the deadly cross:
But to have _will’d_ to perish so,
To _will_ it through each bodily throe,
To will it with still-tortured mind,
This, only this, redeems mankind.
AGNES.
[_Clinging closely to him._]
If at the terrible call I cower,
Speak, strong-soul’d husband, in that hour!
BRAND.
If Will has conquer’d in that strife,
_Then_ comes at length the hour of Love;
Then it descends like a white dove,
Bearing the olive-leaf of life:
But in this nerveless, slothful state,
The true, the sovereign Love is—Hate!
[_In horror._]
Hate! Hate! O Titan’s toil, to will
That one brief easy syllable!
[_Goes hurriedly into the house._
AGNES.
[_Looking through the open door._]
He kneels beside his little son,
And heaves as if with bursts of tears;
He clutches close the bed, like one
That knows no refuge from his fears.—
O what a wealth of tender ruth
Lies hidden in this breast of steel!
Alf he _dares_ love: the baby-heel
Has not yet felt Earth’s serpent-tooth.
[_Cries out in terror._]
Ha! he leaps up with ashy brow!
Wringing his hands! what sees he now.
BRAND.
[_Coming out._]
A summons came?
AGNES.
No summons, no.
BRAND.
[_Looking back into the house._]
His parch’d skin burns in fever-glow;
His temples throb, his pulses race——!
Oh fear not, Agnes!
AGNES.
God of grace——
BRAND.
Nay, have no fear——
[_Calls out over the road._]
The summons, see.
A MAN.
[_Through the garden-gate._]
You must come _now_, priest!
BRAND.
Instantly!
What message?
THE MAN.
A mysterious one.
Sitting in bed she forward bent,
And said: “Get the priest here: begone!
My half-goods for the sacrament.”
BRAND.
[_Starts back._]
Her _half_-goods! No! Say no!
THE MAN.
[_Shakes his head._]
My word
Would then not utter what I heard.
BRAND.
_Half! Half!_ It was the _whole_ she meant!
THE MAN.
Maybe; but she spoke loud and high;
And I don’t easily forget.
BRAND.
[_Seizes his arm._]
Before God’s Judgment, will you yet
Dare to attest she spoke it?
THE MAN.
Ay.
BRAND.
[_Firmly._]
Go, tell her, this reply was sent:
“Nor priest shall come, nor sacrament.”
THE MAN.
[_Looking at him doubtfully._]
You surely have not understood
It is your Mother that appeals.
BRAND.
I know no law that sternlier deals
With strangers than with kindred blood.
THE MAN.
A hard word, that.
BRAND.
She knows the call,—
To offer _Nothing_, or else all.
THE MAN.
Priest!
BRAND.
Dock the gold-calf as she will,
Say, it remains an idol still.
THE MAN.
The scourge you send her I will lay
As gently on her as I may.
She has this comfort left her, too:
God is not quite so hard as you!
[_Goes._
BRAND.
Yes, with that comfort’s carrion-breath
The world still sickens unto death;
Prompt, in its need, with shriek and song
To lubricate the Judge’s tongue.
Of course! The reasonable plan!
For from of old they know their man;—
Since all his works the assurance breathe:
“Yon gray-beard may be haggled with!”
[_THE MAN has met another man on the road; they come
back together._
BRAND.
A second message!
FIRST MAN.
Yes.
BRAND.
[_To the SECOND MAN._]
Consent!
SECOND MAN.
Nine-tenths of it is now the word.
BRAND.
Not _all_?
SECOND MAN.
Not all.
BRAND.
As you have heard:—
Nor priest shall come, nor sacrament.
SECOND MAN.
She begg’d it, bitterly distress’d——
FIRST MAN.
Priest, once she bore you on her breast.
BRAND.
[_Clenching his hands._]
I may not by two measures weigh
My kinsman and my enemy.
SECOND MAN.
Sore is her state and dire her need;
Come, or else send her a God-speed.
BRAND.
[_To_ FIRST MAN.]
Go; tell her still: God’s wine and bread
Must on a spotless board be spread.
[_The Men go._
AGNES.
I tremble Brand. You seem a Sword
Swung flaming by a wrathful Lord!
BRAND.
[_With tears in his voice._]
Does not the world face me no less
With swordless sheath upon its thigh?
Am I not torn and baffled by
Its dull defiant stubbornness?
AGNES.
A hard condition you demand.
BRAND.
Dare you impose a lighter?
AGNES.
Lay
That stern demand on whom you may,
And see who, tested so, will stand.
BRAND.
Nay, you have reason for that fear.
So base, distorted, barren, sere,
The aspiring soul in men is grown.
’Tis thought a marvel,—by bequest
To give away one’s wealth unknown.
And be anonymously bless’d.
The hero, bid him blot his name,
Content him with the service wrought,
Kings, Kaisers, bid him do the same—
And see how many fields are fought!
The poet, bid him unbeholden
Loose his bright fledglings from the cage,
So that none dream he gave that golden
Plumage, and he that vocal rage;
Try the green bough, or try the bare,
_Sacrifice_ is not anywhere.
Earth has enslaved all earthly things;—
Over Life’s precipices cast,
Each to its mouldering branches clings,
And, if they crumble, clutches fast
With tooth and nail to straws and bast
AGNES.
And, while they helpless, hopeless fall,
You cry: Give _nothing_ or give all!
BRAND.
He who would conquer still must fight,
Rise, fallen to the highest height.
[_A brief silence: his voice changes._]
And yet, when with that stern demand
Before some living soul I stand,
I seem like one that floats afar
Storm-shatter’d on a broken spar.
With solitary anguish wrung
I’ve bitten this chastising tongue,
And thirsted, as I aim’d the blow,
To clasp the bosom of my foe.
Go, Agnes, watch the sleeping boy.
And sing him into dreams of joy.
An infant’s soul is like the sleep
Of still clear tarns in summer-light.
A mother over it may sweep
And hover, like the bird, whose flight
Is mirror’d in the deepest deep.
AGNES.
What does it mean, Brand? Wheresoe’er
You aim your thought-shafts—they fly _there_!
BRAND.
Oh, nothing. Softly watch the child.
AGNES.
Give me a watchword.
BRAND.
Stern?
AGNES.
No, mild.
BRAND.
[_Clasping her._]
The blameless shall not taste the grave.
AGNES.
[_Looking brightly up at him._]
Then _one_ is ours God may not crave!
[_Goes into the house._
BRAND.
[_Looking fixedly before him._]
But if he _might_? What “Isaac’s Fear”
Once ventured, He may venture here.
[_Shakes off the thought._]
No, no, my sacrifice is made,
The calling of my life gainsaid—
Like the Lord’s thunder to go forth
And rouse the sleepers of the earth.
Sacrifice! Liar! there was none!
I miss’d it when my Dream was done,
When Agnes woke me—and follow’d free
To labour in the gloom with me.
[_Looks along the road._]
Why tarries still the dying call,
Her word, that she will offer all,
That she has won that which uproots
Sin’s deepest fibres, rankest shoots!
See there——! No, it is but the Mayor,
Well-meaning, brisk, and debonnaire,
Both hands in pockets, round, remiss,
A bracketed parenthesis.
_Enter MAYOR._
THE MAYOR.
[_Through the garden gate._]
Good-day! Our meetings are but rare,
Perhaps my time is chosen amiss——
BRAND.
[_Pointing to house._]
Come in.
THE MAYOR.
Thanks; here I’m quite content.
Should my proposal meet assent,
I’m very sure the upshot of it
Would issue in our common profit.
BRAND.
Name your desire.
THE MAYOR.
Your mother’s state,
I understand, is desperate.
I’m sorry.
BRAND.
That I do not doubt.
THE MAYOR.
I’m _very_ sorry.
BRAND.
Pray, speak out.
THE MAYOR.
She’s old, however. Welladay,
We are all bound the selfsame way—
And, as I just drove by, occurr’d
The thought that, after all, “to leap
Is just as easy as to creep”:
Moreover, many have averr’d,
That she and you have been imbrued
For years in a domestic feud——
BRAND.
Domestic feud?
THE MAYOR.
She’s out and out
Close-fisted, so they say, you know.
You think it goes too far, no doubt.
A man’s own claims he can’t forego.
She keeps exclusive occupation
Of all that was bequeath’d to you.
BRAND.
Exclusive occupation, true.
THE MAYOR.
A ready cause of irritation
In families. Surmising thence
That you await with resignation
The moment of her going hence,
I hope I may without offence
Speak out, although I quite admit
The time I’ve chosen is unfit.
BRAND.
Or now or later, nought I care.
THE MAYOR.
Well, to the point then, fair and square.
When once your mother’s dead and blest,
In the earth’s bosom laid to rest,
You’re _rich_!
BRAND.
You think so?
THE MAYOR.
Think? Nay, man,
That’s sure. She’s land in every port,
Far as a telescope can scan.
You’re rich!
BRAND.
’Spite the Succession Court?
THE MAYOR.
[_Smiling._]
What of it? That cuts matters short
When many fight for pelf and debt.
Here no man’s interest suffers let.
BRAND.
And what if some day, all the same,
Came a coheir to debt and pelf
Crying: “I’m he!” and urged his claim?
THE MAYOR.
He’d have to be the devil himself!
Just look to me! None else has here
The smallest right to interfere.
I know my business: lean on me!
Well, then; you’ll now be well-to-do,
Rich even; you’ll no longer brook
Life in this God-forsaken nook;
The whole land’s open now to you.
BRAND.
Mayor, is not what you want to say,
Pithily put, just: “Go _away_”?
THE MAYOR.
Pretty much that. All parties’ good
Were so best answered. If you would
But eye attentively the herd
To whom you minister God’s word,
You’d find you’re no more of a piece
With them than foxes are with geese.
Pray, understand me! You have gifts,
Good where the social field is wide,
But dangerous for folk whose pride
Is to be Lords of rocky rifts
And Freemen of the ravine-side.
BRAND.
To a man’s feet his native haunt
Is as unto the tree the root.
If there his labour fill no want
His deeds are doomed, his music mute.
THE MAYOR.
Success means just: Self-adaptation
To the requirements of the nation.
BRAND.
Which from the heights you best o’erlook,
Not from the crag-encompass’d nook.
THE MAYOR.
That talk is fit for citizens,
Not for poor peasants of the glens.
BRAND.
O, still your limitation vain
Between the mountain and the plain!
World-citizens you’d be of right,
While every civic claim you slight;
And think, like dastards, to go free
By whining: “We’re a small folk, we!”
THE MAYOR.
All has its time, each time its need,
Each age its proper work to do;
We also flung our mite into
The world’s great treasure of bold deed.
True, that’s long since; but, after all,
The mite was not so very small.
Now the land’s dwindled and decay’d,
But our renown still lives in story.
The days of our reported glory
Were when the great King Belë sway’d.
Many a tale is still related
About the brothers Wulf and Thor,
And gallant fellows by the score,
Went harrying to the British shore,
And plunder’d till their heart was sated.
The Southrons shriek’d with quivering lip,
“Lord, help us from these fierce men’s grip,”
And these “fierce men,” beyond all doubt,
Had from our harbours sallied out.
And how these rovers wreak’d their ire,
And dealt out death with sword and fire!
Nay, legend names a lion-hearted
Hero that took the cross; in verity,
It is not mentioned that he started——
BRAND.
He left behind a large posterity,
This promise-maker?
THE MAYOR.
Yes, indeed;
But how came you to——?
BRAND.
O, I read
His features clearly in the breed
Of promise-heroes of to-day,
Who take the Cross in just his way.
THE MAYOR.
Yes, his descendants still remain.
But we were on King Belë’s reign!
So first abroad we battled. Then,
Visited our own countrymen
And kinsmen, with the axe and fire;
Trampled their harvests gaily down,
Scorch’d mansion-wall and village spire,
And wove ourselves the hero’s crown.—
Over the blood thus set a-flowing
There’s been perhaps excessive crowing;
But, after what I’ve said, I may,
I think, without a touch of vanity,
Point backward to the stir we made
In the great Age long since decay’d,
And hold that we indeed have paid
Our little mite of Fire and Fray
Towards the Progress of Humanity.
BRAND.
Yet do you not, in fact, eschew
The phrase, “Nobility’s a trust,”—
And drive hoe, plough, and harrow through
King Belë’s patrimonial dust?
THE MAYOR.
By no means. Only go and mark
Our parish on its gaudy-nights,
Where I with Constable and Clerk,
And Judge, preside as leading lights;
You’ll warrant, when the punch goes round,
King Belë’s memory is sound.
With toasts and clinking cups and song,
In speeches short and speeches long,
We drink his health and sound his fame.
I myself often feel inclined
The spinnings of my brain to wind
In flowery woof about his name,
And edify the local mind.
A little poetry pleases me,
And all our folks, in their degree;
But—moderation everywhere!
In _life_ it never must have share,—
Except at night, when folks have leisure,
Between the hours of seven and ten,
When baths of elevating pleasure
May fit the mood of weary men.
Here’s where we differ, you and we,
That you desire with main and might
At the same time to _plough_ and _fight_.
Your scheme, as far as I can see,
Is: Life and Faith in unity,—
God’s warfare and potato-dressing
Inseparably coalescing,
As coal, salt, sulphur, fusing fast,
Evolve just gunpowder at last.
BRAND.
Somewhat so.
THE MAYOR.
Here you’ll scheme in vain!
Out in the great world that may stand;—
Go thither with your big demand,
And let us plough our moors and main.
BRAND.
Plough first your brag of old renown
Into the main, and plough it down!
The pigmy is not more the man
For being of Goliath’s clan.
THE MAYOR.
Great memories bear the seed of growth.
BRAND.
Yes, _memories_ that to _life_ are bound;
But you, of memory’s empty mound,
Have made a stalking-horse for sloth.
THE MAYOR.