'Waring' by Robert Browning

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I

What's become of Waring
Since he gave us all the slip,
Chose land-travel or seafaring,
Boots and chest, or staff and scrip,
Rather than pace up and down
Any longer London-town?

Who'd have guessed it from his lip,
Or his brow's accustomed bearing,
On the night he thus took ship,
Or started landward?—little caring
For us, it seems, who supped together,
(Friends of his too, I remember)
And walked home through the merry weather,
The snowiest in all December;
I left his arm that night myself
For what's-his-name's, the new prose-poet,
That wrote the book there, on the shelf—
How, forsooth, was I to know it
If Waring meant to glide away
Like a ghost at break of day?
Never looked he half so gay!

He was prouder than the devil:
How he must have cursed our revel!
Ay, and many other meetings,
Indoor visits, outdoor greetings,
As up and down he paced this London,
With no work done, but great works undone,
Where scarce twenty knew his name.
Why not, then, have earlier spoken,
Written, bustled? Who's to blame
If your silence kept unbroken?
"True, but there were sundry jottings,
Stray-leaves, fragments, blurrs and blottings,
Certain first steps were achieved
Already which—(is that your meaning?)
Had well borne out whoe'er believed
In more to come!" But who goes gleaning
Hedge-side chance-blades, while full-sheaved
Stand cornfields by him? Pride, o'erweening
Pride alone, puts forth such claims
O'er the day's distinguished names.

Meantime, how much I loved him,
I find out now I've lost him:
I, who cared not if I moved him,
Henceforth never shall get free
Of his ghostly company,
His eyes that just a little wink
As deep I go into the merit
Of this and that distinguished spirit—
His cheeks' raised colour, soon to sink,
As long I dwell on some stupendous
And tremendous (Heaven defend us!)
Monstr'-inform'-ingens-horrend-ous
Demoniaco-seraphic
Penman's latest piece of graphic.
Nay, my very wrist grows warm
With his dragging weight of arm!
E'en so, swimmingly appears,
Through one's after-supper musings,
Some lost Lady of old years,
With her beauteous vain endeavour,
And goodness unrepaid as ever;
The face, accustomed to refusings,
We, puppies that we were... Oh never
Surely, nice of conscience, scrupled
Being aught like false, forsooth, to?
Telling aught but honest truth to?
What a sin, had we centupled
Its possessor's grace and sweetness!
No! she heard in its completeness
Truth, for truth's a weighty matter,
And, truth at issue, we can't flatter!
Well, 'tis done with: she's exempt
From damning us through such a sally;
And so she glides, as down a valley,
Taking up with her contempt,
Past our reach; and in, the flowers
Shut her unregarded hours.


Oh, could I have him back once more,
This Waring, but one half-day more!
Back, with the quiet face of yore,
So hungry for acknowledgment
Like mine! I'd fool him to his bent!
Feed, should not he, to heart's content?
I'd say, "to only have conceived
Your great works, though they ne'er make progress,
Surpasses all we've yet achieved!"
I'd lie so, I should be believed.
I'd make such havoc of the claims
Of the day's distinguished names
To feast him with, as feasts an ogress
Her sharp-toothed golden-crowned child!
Or, as one feasts a creature rarely
Captured here, unreconciled
To capture; and completely gives
Its pettish humours licence, barely
Requiring that it lives.

Ichabod, Ichabod,
The glory is departed!
Travels Waring East away?
Who, of knowledge, by hearsay,
Reports a man upstarted
Somewhere as a God,
Hordes grown European-hearted,
Millions of the wild made tame
On a sudden at his fame?
In Vishnu-land what Avatar?
Or who, in Moscow, toward the Czar,
With the demurest of footfalls
Over the Kremlin's pavement, bright
With serpentine and syenite,
Steps, with five other generals,
That simultaneously take snuff,
For each to have pretext enough
To kerchiefwise unfurl his sash
Which, softness' self, is yet the stuff
To hold fast where a steel chain snaps,
And leave the grand white neck no gash?
Waring, in Moscow, to those rough
Cold northern natures borne, perhaps,
Like the lambwhite maiden dear
From the circle of mute kings,
Unable to repress the tear,
Each as his sceptre down he flings,
To Dian's fane at Taurica,
Where now a captive priestess, she alway
Mingles her tender grave Hellenic speech
With theirs, tuned to the hailstone-beaten beach,
As pours some pigeon, from the myrrhy lands
Rapt by the whirlblast to fierce Scythian strands
Where bred the swallows, her melodious cry
Amid their barbarous twitter!
In Russia? Never! Spain were fitter!
Ay, most likely, 'tis in Spain
That we and Waring meet again—
Now, while he turns down that cool narrow lane
Into the blackness, out of grave Madrid
All fire and shine—abrupt as when there's slid
Its stiff gold blazing pall
From some black coffin-lid.
Or, best of all,
I love to think
The leaving us was just a feint;
Back here to London did he slink;
And now works on without a wink
Of sleep, and we are on the brink
Of something great in fresco-paint:
Some garret's ceiling, walls and floor,
Up and down and o'er and o'er
He splashes, as none splashed before
Since great Caldara Polidore:
Or Music means this land of ours
Some favour yet, to pity won
By Purcell from his Rosy Bowers,—
"Give me my so long promised son,
Let Waring end what I begun!"
Then down he creeps and out he steals
Only when the night conceals
His face—in Kent 'tis cherry-time,
Or, hops are picking; or, at prime
Of March, he wanders as, too happy,
Years ago when he was young,
Some mild eve when woods grew sappy,
And the early moths had sprung
To life from many a trembling sheath
Woven the warm boughs beneath;
While small birds said to themselves
What should soon be actual song,
And young gnats, by tens and twelves,
Made as if they were the throng
That crowd around and carry aloft
The sound they have nursed, so sweet and pure,
Out of a myriad noises soft,
Into a tone that can endure
Amid the noise of a July noon,
When all God's creatures crave their boon,
All at once and all in tune,
And get it, happy as Waring then,
Having first within his ken
What a man might do with men,
And far too glad, in the even-glow,
To mix with your world he meant to take
Into his hand, he told you, so—
And out of it his world to make,
To contract and to expand
As he shut or oped his hand.
Oh, Waring, what's to really be?
A clear stage and a crowd to see!
Some Garrick—say—out shall not he
The heart of Hamlet's mystery pluck
Or, where most unclean beasts are rife,
Some Junius—am I right?—shall tuck
His sleeve, and out with flaying-knife!
Some Chatterton shall have the luck
Of calling Rowley into life!
Some one shall somehow run amuck
With this old world, for want of strife
Sound asleep: contrive, contrive
To rouse us, Waring! Who's alive?
Our men scarce seem in earnest now:
Distinguished names!—but 'tis, somehow
As if they played at being names
Still more distinguished, like the games
Of children. Turn our sport to earnest
With a visage of the sternest!
Bring the real times back, confessed
Still better than our very best!

II

"When I last saw Waring..."
(How all turned to him who spoke—
You saw Waring? Truth or joke?
In land-travel, or seafaring?)

"...We were sailing by Triest,
Where a day or two we harboured:
A sunset was in the West,
When, looking over the vessel's side,
One of our company espied
A sudden speck to larboard.
And, as a sea-duck flies and swins
At once, so came the light craft up,
With its sole lateen sail that trims
And turns (the water round its rims
Dancing, as round a sinking cup)
And by us like a fish it curled,
And drew itself up close beside,
Its great sail on the instant furled,
And o'er its planks, a shrill voice cried
(A neck as bronzed as a Lascar's)
'Buy wine of us, you English Brig?
Or fruit, tobacco and cigars?
A Pilot for you to Triest?
Without one, look you ne'er so big,
They'll never let you up the bay!
We natives should know best.'
I turned, and 'just those fellows' way,'
Our captain said, 'The long-shore thieves
Are laughing at us in their sleeves.'

"In truth, the boy leaned laughing back;
And one, half-hidden by his side
Under the furled sail, soon I spied,
With great grass hat, and kerchief black,
Who looked up, with his kingly throat,
Said somewhat, while the other shook
His hair back from his eyes to look
Their longest at us; then the boat,
I know not how, turned sharply round,
Laying her whole side on the sea
As a leaping fish does; from the lee
Into the weather, cut somehow
Her sparkling path beneath our bow;
And so went off, as with a bound,
Into the rose and golden half
Of the sky, to overtake the sun,
And reach the shore, like the sea-calf
Its singing cave; yet I caught one
Glance ere away the boat quite passed,
And neither time nor toil could mar
Those features: so I saw the last
Of Waring!"—You? Oh, never star
Was lost here, but it rose afar!
Look East, where whole new thousands are!
In Vishnu-land what Avatar?

Editor 1 Interpretation

Waring by Robert Browning: A Close Reading

Introduction

Robert Browning is one of the most celebrated poets of the Victorian era, and his poem "Waring" is no exception. First published in 1855, "Waring" tells the story of a man who disappears, leaving behind a letter that reveals his true identity. This poem is often cited as one of Browning's most enigmatic works, and it has been the subject of much literary interpretation and criticism.

In this essay, we will provide a close reading of "Waring" and explore its major themes, symbols, and literary devices. We will also examine the historical and social context in which the poem was written, and consider how it reflects Browning's broader literary and philosophical concerns.

Historical & Social Context

Before delving into the poem itself, it is useful to consider the historical and social context in which it was written. The Victorian era was marked by significant social and technological changes, including the rise of industrialization, urbanization, and imperialism. Many Victorians were also grappling with questions of faith, morality, and identity, as traditional religious and social structures were challenged by scientific discoveries and political upheavals.

Robert Browning was a prominent figure in the Victorian literary scene, and his work often reflected these broader concerns. His poetry was known for its psychological complexity and its exploration of the inner lives and motivations of his characters. "Waring" is no exception to this pattern, as it presents a mysterious and enigmatic protagonist whose true identity and motivations are never fully revealed.

Summary & Analysis

The poem begins with an introduction to the protagonist, who is only identified by the name "Waring." The narrator describes Waring as a man who has disappeared without a trace, leaving behind only a letter that reveals his true identity. The letter explains that Waring is, in fact, a prince who has been living incognito in order to escape the pressures of royal life.

The second stanza of the poem draws a contrast between Waring's life as a prince and his life in disguise. The narrator describes Waring's former life as one of luxury and extravagance, characterized by "silks, embroideries, gems, and gold." By contrast, his life in disguise was one of poverty and simplicity, marked by "hunger, thirst, and cold."

The third stanza introduces a new character, the narrator's friend, who expresses disbelief at the letter's contents. The friend argues that Waring's story must be a fabrication, a clever ruse to conceal some deeper motive. The narrator, however, insists that the letter is genuine, and that Waring's motives are pure.

The fourth and final stanza of the poem shifts dramatically in tone and content. The narrator reveals that Waring has returned, and that he has brought with him a message of hope and redemption. The message is not spelled out explicitly, but is instead conveyed through a series of vivid and evocative images, including "blushing roses, dewy lawns," and "thickets of myrtle-blossom."

The poem ends with a sense of mystery and ambiguity, as the reader is left to interpret the meaning and significance of Waring's message.

Themes & Symbols

One of the key themes of "Waring" is the tension between appearance and reality. Waring's true identity is hidden beneath a mask of anonymity, and his motives are shrouded in mystery. This theme is echoed in the contrast between his life as a prince and his life in disguise, which are characterized by vastly different circumstances and experiences.

Another important theme is the idea of redemption and renewal. Waring's return is accompanied by images of natural beauty and vitality, suggesting that his message is one of hope and renewal. This theme is also reflected in the poem's use of natural imagery and symbolism, which suggests a connection between Waring's message and the cycles of nature.

The poem's use of symbols is also worth noting. The letter that Waring leaves behind is a powerful symbol of his hidden identity and his desire for anonymity. The contrast between Waring's former life of luxury and his life in disguise is also symbolic, representing the tension between social expectations and individual identity.

Literary Devices

Browning's use of language and literary devices is one of the most striking aspects of "Waring." The poem is characterized by its vivid and evocative imagery, which is often used to convey complex emotional and psychological states.

One example of this is the poem's use of color imagery. The contrast between the "silks, embroideries, gems, and gold" of Waring's former life and the "hunger, thirst, and cold" of his life incognito is conveyed through a vivid and powerful use of color imagery. Similarly, the poem's use of natural imagery is striking, as it reflects Waring's message of hope and renewal.

Browning's use of sound and rhythm is also noteworthy. The poem's use of repetition and rhyme creates a sense of musicality and symmetry, while also reinforcing the poem's themes of contrast and tension. The use of enjambment is another effective technique, allowing the poem to flow seamlessly from one image to the next.

Conclusion

In conclusion, "Waring" is a complex and enigmatic poem that explores themes of identity, appearance, and renewal. Browning's use of language and literary devices is masterful, creating a sense of drama and tension that draws the reader in. Ultimately, however, the meaning of the poem remains ambiguous and open to interpretation, leaving the reader to grapple with its mysteries and complexities.

Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation

Waring: A Poem of Love and Loss

Robert Browning's "Waring" is a classic poem that explores the themes of love, loss, and the search for meaning in life. Written in 1855, the poem tells the story of a man named Waring who disappears without a trace, leaving behind a woman who loved him deeply. The poem is a powerful meditation on the nature of love and the human condition, and it continues to resonate with readers today.

The poem begins with the narrator describing the woman who loved Waring. She is described as "fair" and "young," with "eyes as bright as the day." The narrator tells us that she loved Waring deeply, and that her love for him was the most important thing in her life. She is described as being "all in all" to Waring, and it is clear that he was the center of her world.

However, despite her love for Waring, the woman is unable to understand him. He is described as being "strange" and "mysterious," and she cannot fathom the depths of his soul. She is left to wonder about the true nature of his character, and she is haunted by the thought that she may never truly know him.

The poem then takes a dramatic turn, as Waring disappears without a trace. The woman is left to wonder what has happened to him, and she is consumed by grief and despair. She searches for him everywhere, but he is nowhere to be found. She is left to wonder if he has died, or if he has simply abandoned her.

As the poem progresses, the woman begins to question the nature of love itself. She wonders if love is worth the pain and suffering that it can bring, and she begins to question the very meaning of life. She is left to ponder the mysteries of the universe, and she is forced to confront the fact that there may be no easy answers.

Despite the woman's despair, the poem ends on a note of hope. The narrator tells us that the woman has learned to accept the uncertainty of life, and that she has found a measure of peace in her grief. She has come to understand that love is a complex and mysterious thing, and that it cannot be easily understood or explained. She has learned to embrace the mystery of life, and she has found a way to move forward despite her loss.

In many ways, "Waring" is a poem about the human condition. It explores the depths of human emotion, and it asks us to confront the mysteries of life and love. It is a powerful meditation on the nature of existence, and it continues to resonate with readers today.

One of the most striking aspects of the poem is its use of language. Browning's writing is rich and evocative, and he uses a variety of poetic techniques to create a sense of depth and complexity. The poem is filled with vivid imagery and powerful metaphors, and it is clear that Browning was a master of his craft.

Another important aspect of the poem is its exploration of the theme of love. Browning portrays love as a complex and mysterious thing, and he suggests that it cannot be easily understood or explained. The woman's love for Waring is portrayed as a powerful force that shapes her entire life, and yet she is unable to fully understand it. This suggests that love is a deeply personal and subjective experience, and that it cannot be easily quantified or analyzed.

Finally, the poem is a powerful meditation on the nature of loss. The woman's grief at Waring's disappearance is palpable, and Browning portrays her pain in vivid detail. However, despite her suffering, the poem suggests that there is a way to find meaning and purpose in life even in the face of loss. The woman's acceptance of the uncertainty of life is a powerful message of hope, and it suggests that even in the darkest of times, there is a way to move forward.

In conclusion, "Waring" is a classic poem that continues to resonate with readers today. It is a powerful meditation on the nature of love, loss, and the human condition, and it is a testament to Browning's skill as a poet. The poem's use of language, exploration of complex themes, and message of hope make it a timeless work of literature that will continue to inspire and move readers for generations to come.

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