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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:15:49 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/791-8.txt b/791-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..480f7f9 --- /dev/null +++ b/791-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3997 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Princess, by Alfred Lord Tennyson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Princess + +Author: Alfred Lord Tennyson + +Posting Date: August 2, 2008 [EBook #791] +Release Date: January, 1997 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRINCESS *** + + + + +Produced by ddNg E-Ching + + + + + +THE PRINCESS + +by Alfred Lord Tennyson + + + + +PROLOGUE + + + Sir Walter Vivian all a summer's day + Gave his broad lawns until the set of sun + Up to the people: thither flocked at noon + His tenants, wife and child, and thither half + The neighbouring borough with their Institute + Of which he was the patron. I was there + From college, visiting the son,--the son + A Walter too,--with others of our set, + Five others: we were seven at Vivian-place. + + And me that morning Walter showed the house, + Greek, set with busts: from vases in the hall + Flowers of all heavens, and lovelier than their names, + Grew side by side; and on the pavement lay + Carved stones of the Abbey-ruin in the park, + Huge Ammonites, and the first bones of Time; + And on the tables every clime and age + Jumbled together; celts and calumets, + Claymore and snowshoe, toys in lava, fans + Of sandal, amber, ancient rosaries, + Laborious orient ivory sphere in sphere, + The cursed Malayan crease, and battle-clubs + From the isles of palm: and higher on the walls, + Betwixt the monstrous horns of elk and deer, + His own forefathers' arms and armour hung. + + And 'this' he said 'was Hugh's at Agincourt; + And that was old Sir Ralph's at Ascalon: + A good knight he! we keep a chronicle + With all about him'--which he brought, and I + Dived in a hoard of tales that dealt with knights, + Half-legend, half-historic, counts and kings + Who laid about them at their wills and died; + And mixt with these, a lady, one that armed + Her own fair head, and sallying through the gate, + Had beat her foes with slaughter from her walls. + + 'O miracle of women,' said the book, + 'O noble heart who, being strait-besieged + By this wild king to force her to his wish, + Nor bent, nor broke, nor shunned a soldier's death, + But now when all was lost or seemed as lost-- + Her stature more than mortal in the burst + Of sunrise, her arm lifted, eyes on fire-- + Brake with a blast of trumpets from the gate, + And, falling on them like a thunderbolt, + She trampled some beneath her horses' heels, + And some were whelmed with missiles of the wall, + And some were pushed with lances from the rock, + And part were drowned within the whirling brook: + O miracle of noble womanhood!' + + So sang the gallant glorious chronicle; + And, I all rapt in this, 'Come out,' he said, + 'To the Abbey: there is Aunt Elizabeth + And sister Lilia with the rest.' We went + (I kept the book and had my finger in it) + Down through the park: strange was the sight to me; + For all the sloping pasture murmured, sown + With happy faces and with holiday. + There moved the multitude, a thousand heads: + The patient leaders of their Institute + Taught them with facts. One reared a font of stone + And drew, from butts of water on the slope, + The fountain of the moment, playing, now + A twisted snake, and now a rain of pearls, + Or steep-up spout whereon the gilded ball + Danced like a wisp: and somewhat lower down + A man with knobs and wires and vials fired + A cannon: Echo answered in her sleep + From hollow fields: and here were telescopes + For azure views; and there a group of girls + In circle waited, whom the electric shock + Dislinked with shrieks and laughter: round the lake + A little clock-work steamer paddling plied + And shook the lilies: perched about the knolls + A dozen angry models jetted steam: + A petty railway ran: a fire-balloon + Rose gem-like up before the dusky groves + And dropt a fairy parachute and past: + And there through twenty posts of telegraph + They flashed a saucy message to and fro + Between the mimic stations; so that sport + Went hand in hand with Science; otherwhere + Pure sport; a herd of boys with clamour bowled + And stumped the wicket; babies rolled about + Like tumbled fruit in grass; and men and maids + Arranged a country dance, and flew through light + And shadow, while the twangling violin + Struck up with Soldier-laddie, and overhead + The broad ambrosial aisles of lofty lime + Made noise with bees and breeze from end to end. + + Strange was the sight and smacking of the time; + And long we gazed, but satiated at length + Came to the ruins. High-arched and ivy-claspt, + Of finest Gothic lighter than a fire, + Through one wide chasm of time and frost they gave + The park, the crowd, the house; but all within + The sward was trim as any garden lawn: + And here we lit on Aunt Elizabeth, + And Lilia with the rest, and lady friends + From neighbour seats: and there was Ralph himself, + A broken statue propt against the wall, + As gay as any. Lilia, wild with sport, + Half child half woman as she was, had wound + A scarf of orange round the stony helm, + And robed the shoulders in a rosy silk, + That made the old warrior from his ivied nook + Glow like a sunbeam: near his tomb a feast + Shone, silver-set; about it lay the guests, + And there we joined them: then the maiden Aunt + Took this fair day for text, and from it preached + An universal culture for the crowd, + And all things great; but we, unworthier, told + Of college: he had climbed across the spikes, + And he had squeezed himself betwixt the bars, + And he had breathed the Proctor's dogs; and one + Discussed his tutor, rough to common men, + But honeying at the whisper of a lord; + And one the Master, as a rogue in grain + Veneered with sanctimonious theory. + But while they talked, above their heads I saw + The feudal warrior lady-clad; which brought + My book to mind: and opening this I read + Of old Sir Ralph a page or two that rang + With tilt and tourney; then the tale of her + That drove her foes with slaughter from her walls, + And much I praised her nobleness, and 'Where,' + Asked Walter, patting Lilia's head (she lay + Beside him) 'lives there such a woman now?' + + Quick answered Lilia 'There are thousands now + Such women, but convention beats them down: + It is but bringing up; no more than that: + You men have done it: how I hate you all! + Ah, were I something great! I wish I were + Some might poetess, I would shame you then, + That love to keep us children! O I wish + That I were some great princess, I would build + Far off from men a college like a man's, + And I would teach them all that men are taught; + We are twice as quick!' And here she shook aside + The hand that played the patron with her curls. + + And one said smiling 'Pretty were the sight + If our old halls could change their sex, and flaunt + With prudes for proctors, dowagers for deans, + And sweet girl-graduates in their golden hair. + I think they should not wear our rusty gowns, + But move as rich as Emperor-moths, or Ralph + Who shines so in the corner; yet I fear, + If there were many Lilias in the brood, + However deep you might embower the nest, + Some boy would spy it.' + At this upon the sward + She tapt her tiny silken-sandaled foot: + 'That's your light way; but I would make it death + For any male thing but to peep at us.' + + Petulant she spoke, and at herself she laughed; + A rosebud set with little wilful thorns, + And sweet as English air could make her, she: + But Walter hailed a score of names upon her, + And 'petty Ogress', and 'ungrateful Puss', + And swore he longed at college, only longed, + All else was well, for she-society. + They boated and they cricketed; they talked + At wine, in clubs, of art, of politics; + They lost their weeks; they vext the souls of deans; + They rode; they betted; made a hundred friends, + And caught the blossom of the flying terms, + But missed the mignonette of Vivian-place, + The little hearth-flower Lilia. Thus he spoke, + Part banter, part affection. + 'True,' she said, + 'We doubt not that. O yes, you missed us much. + I'll stake my ruby ring upon it you did.' + + She held it out; and as a parrot turns + Up through gilt wires a crafty loving eye, + And takes a lady's finger with all care, + And bites it for true heart and not for harm, + So he with Lilia's. Daintily she shrieked + And wrung it. 'Doubt my word again!' he said. + 'Come, listen! here is proof that you were missed: + We seven stayed at Christmas up to read; + And there we took one tutor as to read: + The hard-grained Muses of the cube and square + Were out of season: never man, I think, + So mouldered in a sinecure as he: + For while our cloisters echoed frosty feet, + And our long walks were stript as bare as brooms, + We did but talk you over, pledge you all + In wassail; often, like as many girls-- + Sick for the hollies and the yews of home-- + As many little trifling Lilias--played + Charades and riddles as at Christmas here, + And _what's my thought_ and _when_ and _where_ and _how_, + As here at Christmas.' + She remembered that: + A pleasant game, she thought: she liked it more + Than magic music, forfeits, all the rest. + But these--what kind of tales did men tell men, + She wondered, by themselves? + A half-disdain + Perched on the pouted blossom of her lips: + And Walter nodded at me; '_He_ began, + The rest would follow, each in turn; and so + We forged a sevenfold story. Kind? what kind? + Chimeras, crotchets, Christmas solecisms, + Seven-headed monsters only made to kill + Time by the fire in winter.' + 'Kill him now, + The tyrant! kill him in the summer too,' + Said Lilia; 'Why not now?' the maiden Aunt. + 'Why not a summer's as a winter's tale? + A tale for summer as befits the time, + And something it should be to suit the place, + Heroic, for a hero lies beneath, + Grave, solemn!' + Walter warped his mouth at this + To something so mock-solemn, that I laughed + And Lilia woke with sudden-thrilling mirth + An echo like a ghostly woodpecker, + Hid in the ruins; till the maiden Aunt + (A little sense of wrong had touched her face + With colour) turned to me with 'As you will; + Heroic if you will, or what you will, + Or be yourself you hero if you will.' + + 'Take Lilia, then, for heroine' clamoured he, + 'And make her some great Princess, six feet high, + Grand, epic, homicidal; and be you + The Prince to win her!' + 'Then follow me, the Prince,' + I answered, 'each be hero in his turn! + Seven and yet one, like shadows in a dream.-- + Heroic seems our Princess as required-- + But something made to suit with Time and place, + A Gothic ruin and a Grecian house, + A talk of college and of ladies' rights, + A feudal knight in silken masquerade, + And, yonder, shrieks and strange experiments + For which the good Sir Ralph had burnt them all-- + This _were_ a medley! we should have him back + Who told the "Winter's tale" to do it for us. + No matter: we will say whatever comes. + And let the ladies sing us, if they will, + From time to time, some ballad or a song + To give us breathing-space.' + So I began, + And the rest followed: and the women sang + Between the rougher voices of the men, + Like linnets in the pauses of the wind: + And here I give the story and the songs. + + + + +I + + + + A prince I was, blue-eyed, and fair in face, + Of temper amorous, as the first of May, + With lengths of yellow ringlet, like a girl, + For on my cradle shone the Northern star. + + There lived an ancient legend in our house. + Some sorcerer, whom a far-off grandsire burnt + Because he cast no shadow, had foretold, + Dying, that none of all our blood should know + The shadow from the substance, and that one + Should come to fight with shadows and to fall. + For so, my mother said, the story ran. + And, truly, waking dreams were, more or less, + An old and strange affection of the house. + Myself too had weird seizures, Heaven knows what: + On a sudden in the midst of men and day, + And while I walked and talked as heretofore, + I seemed to move among a world of ghosts, + And feel myself the shadow of a dream. + Our great court-Galen poised his gilt-head cane, + And pawed his beard, and muttered 'catalepsy'. + My mother pitying made a thousand prayers; + My mother was as mild as any saint, + Half-canonized by all that looked on her, + So gracious was her tact and tenderness: + But my good father thought a king a king; + He cared not for the affection of the house; + He held his sceptre like a pedant's wand + To lash offence, and with long arms and hands + Reached out, and picked offenders from the mass + For judgment. + Now it chanced that I had been, + While life was yet in bud and blade, bethrothed + To one, a neighbouring Princess: she to me + Was proxy-wedded with a bootless calf + At eight years old; and still from time to time + Came murmurs of her beauty from the South, + And of her brethren, youths of puissance; + And still I wore her picture by my heart, + And one dark tress; and all around them both + Sweet thoughts would swarm as bees about their queen. + + But when the days drew nigh that I should wed, + My father sent ambassadors with furs + And jewels, gifts, to fetch her: these brought back + A present, a great labour of the loom; + And therewithal an answer vague as wind: + Besides, they saw the king; he took the gifts; + He said there was a compact; that was true: + But then she had a will; was he to blame? + And maiden fancies; loved to live alone + Among her women; certain, would not wed. + + That morning in the presence room I stood + With Cyril and with Florian, my two friends: + The first, a gentleman of broken means + (His father's fault) but given to starts and bursts + Of revel; and the last, my other heart, + And almost my half-self, for still we moved + Together, twinned as horse's ear and eye. + + Now, while they spake, I saw my father's face + Grow long and troubled like a rising moon, + Inflamed with wrath: he started on his feet, + Tore the king's letter, snowed it down, and rent + The wonder of the loom through warp and woof + From skirt to skirt; and at the last he sware + That he would send a hundred thousand men, + And bring her in a whirlwind: then he chewed + The thrice-turned cud of wrath, and cooked his spleen, + Communing with his captains of the war. + + At last I spoke. 'My father, let me go. + It cannot be but some gross error lies + In this report, this answer of a king, + Whom all men rate as kind and hospitable: + Or, maybe, I myself, my bride once seen, + Whate'er my grief to find her less than fame, + May rue the bargain made.' And Florian said: + 'I have a sister at the foreign court, + Who moves about the Princess; she, you know, + Who wedded with a nobleman from thence: + He, dying lately, left her, as I hear, + The lady of three castles in that land: + Through her this matter might be sifted clean.' + And Cyril whispered: 'Take me with you too.' + Then laughing 'what, if these weird seizures come + Upon you in those lands, and no one near + To point you out the shadow from the truth! + Take me: I'll serve you better in a strait; + I grate on rusty hinges here:' but 'No!' + Roared the rough king, 'you shall not; we ourself + Will crush her pretty maiden fancies dead + In iron gauntlets: break the council up.' + + But when the council broke, I rose and past + Through the wild woods that hung about the town; + Found a still place, and plucked her likeness out; + Laid it on flowers, and watched it lying bathed + In the green gleam of dewy-tasselled trees: + What were those fancies? wherefore break her troth? + Proud looked the lips: but while I meditated + A wind arose and rushed upon the South, + And shook the songs, the whispers, and the shrieks + Of the wild woods together; and a Voice + Went with it, 'Follow, follow, thou shalt win.' + + Then, ere the silver sickle of that month + Became her golden shield, I stole from court + With Cyril and with Florian, unperceived, + Cat-footed through the town and half in dread + To hear my father's clamour at our backs + With Ho! from some bay-window shake the night; + But all was quiet: from the bastioned walls + Like threaded spiders, one by one, we dropt, + And flying reached the frontier: then we crost + To a livelier land; and so by tilth and grange, + And vines, and blowing bosks of wilderness, + We gained the mother city thick with towers, + And in the imperial palace found the king. + + His name was Gama; cracked and small his voice, + But bland the smile that like a wrinkling wind + On glassy water drove his cheek in lines; + A little dry old man, without a star, + Not like a king: three days he feasted us, + And on the fourth I spake of why we came, + And my bethrothed. 'You do us, Prince,' he said, + Airing a snowy hand and signet gem, + 'All honour. We remember love ourselves + In our sweet youth: there did a compact pass + Long summers back, a kind of ceremony-- + I think the year in which our olives failed. + I would you had her, Prince, with all my heart, + With my full heart: but there were widows here, + Two widows, Lady Psyche, Lady Blanche; + They fed her theories, in and out of place + Maintaining that with equal husbandry + The woman were an equal to the man. + They harped on this; with this our banquets rang; + Our dances broke and buzzed in knots of talk; + Nothing but this; my very ears were hot + To hear them: knowledge, so my daughter held, + Was all in all: they had but been, she thought, + As children; they must lose the child, assume + The woman: then, Sir, awful odes she wrote, + Too awful, sure, for what they treated of, + But all she is and does is awful; odes + About this losing of the child; and rhymes + And dismal lyrics, prophesying change + Beyond all reason: these the women sang; + And they that know such things--I sought but peace; + No critic I--would call them masterpieces: + They mastered _me_. At last she begged a boon, + A certain summer-palace which I have + Hard by your father's frontier: I said no, + Yet being an easy man, gave it: and there, + All wild to found an University + For maidens, on the spur she fled; and more + We know not,--only this: they see no men, + Not even her brother Arac, nor the twins + Her brethren, though they love her, look upon her + As on a kind of paragon; and I + (Pardon me saying it) were much loth to breed + Dispute betwixt myself and mine: but since + (And I confess with right) you think me bound + In some sort, I can give you letters to her; + And yet, to speak the truth, I rate your chance + Almost at naked nothing.' + Thus the king; + And I, though nettled that he seemed to slur + With garrulous ease and oily courtesies + Our formal compact, yet, not less (all frets + But chafing me on fire to find my bride) + Went forth again with both my friends. We rode + Many a long league back to the North. At last + From hills, that looked across a land of hope, + We dropt with evening on a rustic town + Set in a gleaming river's crescent-curve, + Close at the boundary of the liberties; + There, entered an old hostel, called mine host + To council, plied him with his richest wines, + And showed the late-writ letters of the king. + + He with a long low sibilation, stared + As blank as death in marble; then exclaimed + Averring it was clear against all rules + For any man to go: but as his brain + Began to mellow, 'If the king,' he said, + 'Had given us letters, was he bound to speak? + The king would bear him out;' and at the last-- + The summer of the vine in all his veins-- + 'No doubt that we might make it worth his while. + She once had past that way; he heard her speak; + She scared him; life! he never saw the like; + She looked as grand as doomsday and as grave: + And he, he reverenced his liege-lady there; + He always made a point to post with mares; + His daughter and his housemaid were the boys: + The land, he understood, for miles about + Was tilled by women; all the swine were sows, + And all the dogs'-- + But while he jested thus, + A thought flashed through me which I clothed in act, + Remembering how we three presented Maid + Or Nymph, or Goddess, at high tide of feast, + In masque or pageant at my father's court. + We sent mine host to purchase female gear; + He brought it, and himself, a sight to shake + The midriff of despair with laughter, holp + To lace us up, till, each, in maiden plumes + We rustled: him we gave a costly bribe + To guerdon silence, mounted our good steeds, + And boldly ventured on the liberties. + + We followed up the river as we rode, + And rode till midnight when the college lights + Began to glitter firefly-like in copse + And linden alley: then we past an arch, + Whereon a woman-statue rose with wings + From four winged horses dark against the stars; + And some inscription ran along the front, + But deep in shadow: further on we gained + A little street half garden and half house; + But scarce could hear each other speak for noise + Of clocks and chimes, like silver hammers falling + On silver anvils, and the splash and stir + Of fountains spouted up and showering down + In meshes of the jasmine and the rose: + And all about us pealed the nightingale, + Rapt in her song, and careless of the snare. + + There stood a bust of Pallas for a sign, + By two sphere lamps blazoned like Heaven and Earth + With constellation and with continent, + Above an entry: riding in, we called; + A plump-armed Ostleress and a stable wench + Came running at the call, and helped us down. + Then stept a buxom hostess forth, and sailed, + Full-blown, before us into rooms which gave + Upon a pillared porch, the bases lost + In laurel: her we asked of that and this, + And who were tutors. 'Lady Blanche' she said, + 'And Lady Psyche.' 'Which was prettiest, + Best-natured?' 'Lady Psyche.' 'Hers are we,' + One voice, we cried; and I sat down and wrote, + In such a hand as when a field of corn + Bows all its ears before the roaring East; + + 'Three ladies of the Northern empire pray + Your Highness would enroll them with your own, + As Lady Psyche's pupils.' + This I sealed: + The seal was Cupid bent above a scroll, + And o'er his head Uranian Venus hung, + And raised the blinding bandage from his eyes: + I gave the letter to be sent with dawn; + And then to bed, where half in doze I seemed + To float about a glimmering night, and watch + A full sea glazed with muffled moonlight, swell + On some dark shore just seen that it was rich. + + + As through the land at eve we went, + And plucked the ripened ears, + We fell out, my wife and I, + O we fell out I know not why, + And kissed again with tears. + And blessings on the falling out + That all the more endears, + When we fall out with those we love + And kiss again with tears! + For when we came where lies the child + We lost in other years, + There above the little grave, + O there above the little grave, + We kissed again with tears. + + + + +II + + + + At break of day the College Portress came: + She brought us Academic silks, in hue + The lilac, with a silken hood to each, + And zoned with gold; and now when these were on, + And we as rich as moths from dusk cocoons, + She, curtseying her obeisance, let us know + The Princess Ida waited: out we paced, + I first, and following through the porch that sang + All round with laurel, issued in a court + Compact of lucid marbles, bossed with lengths + Of classic frieze, with ample awnings gay + Betwixt the pillars, and with great urns of flowers. + The Muses and the Graces, grouped in threes, + Enringed a billowing fountain in the midst; + And here and there on lattice edges lay + Or book or lute; but hastily we past, + And up a flight of stairs into the hall. + + There at a board by tome and paper sat, + With two tame leopards couched beside her throne, + All beauty compassed in a female form, + The Princess; liker to the inhabitant + Of some clear planet close upon the Sun, + Than our man's earth; such eyes were in her head, + And so much grace and power, breathing down + From over her arched brows, with every turn + Lived through her to the tips of her long hands, + And to her feet. She rose her height, and said: + + 'We give you welcome: not without redound + Of use and glory to yourselves ye come, + The first-fruits of the stranger: aftertime, + And that full voice which circles round the grave, + Will rank you nobly, mingled up with me. + What! are the ladies of your land so tall?' + 'We of the court' said Cyril. 'From the court' + She answered, 'then ye know the Prince?' and he: + 'The climax of his age! as though there were + One rose in all the world, your Highness that, + He worships your ideal:' she replied: + 'We scarcely thought in our own hall to hear + This barren verbiage, current among men, + Light coin, the tinsel clink of compliment. + Your flight from out your bookless wilds would seem + As arguing love of knowledge and of power; + Your language proves you still the child. Indeed, + We dream not of him: when we set our hand + To this great work, we purposed with ourself + Never to wed. You likewise will do well, + Ladies, in entering here, to cast and fling + The tricks, which make us toys of men, that so, + Some future time, if so indeed you will, + You may with those self-styled our lords ally + Your fortunes, justlier balanced, scale with scale.' + + At those high words, we conscious of ourselves, + Perused the matting: then an officer + Rose up, and read the statutes, such as these: + Not for three years to correspond with home; + Not for three years to cross the liberties; + Not for three years to speak with any men; + And many more, which hastily subscribed, + We entered on the boards: and 'Now,' she cried, + 'Ye are green wood, see ye warp not. Look, our hall! + Our statues!--not of those that men desire, + Sleek Odalisques, or oracles of mode, + Nor stunted squaws of West or East; but she + That taught the Sabine how to rule, and she + The foundress of the Babylonian wall, + The Carian Artemisia strong in war, + The Rhodope, that built the pyramid, + Clelia, Cornelia, with the Palmyrene + That fought Aurelian, and the Roman brows + Of Agrippina. Dwell with these, and lose + Convention, since to look on noble forms + Makes noble through the sensuous organism + That which is higher. O lift your natures up: + Embrace our aims: work out your freedom. Girls, + Knowledge is now no more a fountain sealed: + Drink deep, until the habits of the slave, + The sins of emptiness, gossip and spite + And slander, die. Better not be at all + Than not be noble. Leave us: you may go: + Today the Lady Psyche will harangue + The fresh arrivals of the week before; + For they press in from all the provinces, + And fill the hive.' + She spoke, and bowing waved + Dismissal: back again we crost the court + To Lady Psyche's: as we entered in, + There sat along the forms, like morning doves + That sun their milky bosoms on the thatch, + A patient range of pupils; she herself + Erect behind a desk of satin-wood, + A quick brunette, well-moulded, falcon-eyed, + And on the hither side, or so she looked, + Of twenty summers. At her left, a child, + In shining draperies, headed like a star, + Her maiden babe, a double April old, + Aglaïa slept. We sat: the Lady glanced: + Then Florian, but not livelier than the dame + That whispered 'Asses' ears', among the sedge, + 'My sister.' 'Comely, too, by all that's fair,' + Said Cyril. 'Oh hush, hush!' and she began. + + 'This world was once a fluid haze of light, + Till toward the centre set the starry tides, + And eddied into suns, that wheeling cast + The planets: then the monster, then the man; + Tattooed or woaded, winter-clad in skins, + Raw from the prime, and crushing down his mate; + As yet we find in barbarous isles, and here + Among the lowest.' + Thereupon she took + A bird's-eye-view of all the ungracious past; + Glanced at the legendary Amazon + As emblematic of a nobler age; + Appraised the Lycian custom, spoke of those + That lay at wine with Lar and Lucumo; + Ran down the Persian, Grecian, Roman lines + Of empire, and the woman's state in each, + How far from just; till warming with her theme + She fulmined out her scorn of laws Salique + And little-footed China, touched on Mahomet + With much contempt, and came to chivalry: + When some respect, however slight, was paid + To woman, superstition all awry: + However then commenced the dawn: a beam + Had slanted forward, falling in a land + Of promise; fruit would follow. Deep, indeed, + Their debt of thanks to her who first had dared + To leap the rotten pales of prejudice, + Disyoke their necks from custom, and assert + None lordlier than themselves but that which made + Woman and man. She had founded; they must build. + Here might they learn whatever men were taught: + Let them not fear: some said their heads were less: + Some men's were small; not they the least of men; + For often fineness compensated size: + Besides the brain was like the hand, and grew + With using; thence the man's, if more was more; + He took advantage of his strength to be + First in the field: some ages had been lost; + But woman ripened earlier, and her life + Was longer; and albeit their glorious names + Were fewer, scattered stars, yet since in truth + The highest is the measure of the man, + And not the Kaffir, Hottentot, Malay, + Nor those horn-handed breakers of the glebe, + But Homer, Plato, Verulam; even so + With woman: and in arts of government + Elizabeth and others; arts of war + The peasant Joan and others; arts of grace + Sappho and others vied with any man: + And, last not least, she who had left her place, + And bowed her state to them, that they might grow + To use and power on this Oasis, lapt + In the arms of leisure, sacred from the blight + Of ancient influence and scorn. + At last + She rose upon a wind of prophecy + Dilating on the future; 'everywhere + Who heads in council, two beside the hearth, + Two in the tangled business of the world, + Two in the liberal offices of life, + Two plummets dropt for one to sound the abyss + Of science, and the secrets of the mind: + Musician, painter, sculptor, critic, more: + And everywhere the broad and bounteous Earth + Should bear a double growth of those rare souls, + Poets, whose thoughts enrich the blood of the world.' + + She ended here, and beckoned us: the rest + Parted; and, glowing full-faced welcome, she + Began to address us, and was moving on + In gratulation, till as when a boat + Tacks, and the slackened sail flaps, all her voice + Faltering and fluttering in her throat, she cried + 'My brother!' 'Well, my sister.' 'O,' she said, + 'What do you here? and in this dress? and these? + Why who are these? a wolf within the fold! + A pack of wolves! the Lord be gracious to me! + A plot, a plot, a plot to ruin all!' + 'No plot, no plot,' he answered. 'Wretched boy, + How saw you not the inscription on the gate, + LET NO MAN ENTER IN ON PAIN OF DEATH?' + 'And if I had,' he answered, 'who could think + The softer Adams of your Academe, + O sister, Sirens though they be, were such + As chanted on the blanching bones of men?' + 'But you will find it otherwise' she said. + 'You jest: ill jesting with edge-tools! my vow + Binds me to speak, and O that iron will, + That axelike edge unturnable, our Head, + The Princess.' 'Well then, Psyche, take my life, + And nail me like a weasel on a grange + For warning: bury me beside the gate, + And cut this epitaph above my bones; + _Here lies a brother by a sister slain, + All for the common good of womankind._' + 'Let me die too,' said Cyril, 'having seen + And heard the Lady Psyche.' + I struck in: + 'Albeit so masked, Madam, I love the truth; + Receive it; and in me behold the Prince + Your countryman, affianced years ago + To the Lady Ida: here, for here she was, + And thus (what other way was left) I came.' + 'O Sir, O Prince, I have no country; none; + If any, this; but none. Whate'er I was + Disrooted, what I am is grafted here. + Affianced, Sir? love-whispers may not breathe + Within this vestal limit, and how should I, + Who am not mine, say, live: the thunderbolt + Hangs silent; but prepare: I speak; it falls.' + 'Yet pause,' I said: 'for that inscription there, + I think no more of deadly lurks therein, + Than in a clapper clapping in a garth, + To scare the fowl from fruit: if more there be, + If more and acted on, what follows? war; + Your own work marred: for this your Academe, + Whichever side be Victor, in the halloo + Will topple to the trumpet down, and pass + With all fair theories only made to gild + A stormless summer.' 'Let the Princess judge + Of that' she said: 'farewell, Sir--and to you. + I shudder at the sequel, but I go.' + + 'Are you that Lady Psyche,' I rejoined, + 'The fifth in line from that old Florian, + Yet hangs his portrait in my father's hall + (The gaunt old Baron with his beetle brow + Sun-shaded in the heat of dusty fights) + As he bestrode my Grandsire, when he fell, + And all else fled? we point to it, and we say, + The loyal warmth of Florian is not cold, + But branches current yet in kindred veins.' + 'Are you that Psyche,' Florian added; 'she + With whom I sang about the morning hills, + Flung ball, flew kite, and raced the purple fly, + And snared the squirrel of the glen? are you + That Psyche, wont to bind my throbbing brow, + To smoothe my pillow, mix the foaming draught + Of fever, tell me pleasant tales, and read + My sickness down to happy dreams? are you + That brother-sister Psyche, both in one? + You were that Psyche, but what are you now?' + 'You are that Psyche,' said Cyril, 'for whom + I would be that for ever which I seem, + Woman, if I might sit beside your feet, + And glean your scattered sapience.' + Then once more, + 'Are you that Lady Psyche,' I began, + 'That on her bridal morn before she past + From all her old companions, when the kind + Kissed her pale cheek, declared that ancient ties + Would still be dear beyond the southern hills; + That were there any of our people there + In want or peril, there was one to hear + And help them? look! for such are these and I.' + 'Are you that Psyche,' Florian asked, 'to whom, + In gentler days, your arrow-wounded fawn + Came flying while you sat beside the well? + The creature laid his muzzle on your lap, + And sobbed, and you sobbed with it, and the blood + Was sprinkled on your kirtle, and you wept. + That was fawn's blood, not brother's, yet you wept. + O by the bright head of my little niece, + You were that Psyche, and what are you now?' + 'You are that Psyche,' Cyril said again, + 'The mother of the sweetest little maid, + That ever crowed for kisses.' + 'Out upon it!' + She answered, 'peace! and why should I not play + The Spartan Mother with emotion, be + The Lucius Junius Brutus of my kind? + Him you call great: he for the common weal, + The fading politics of mortal Rome, + As I might slay this child, if good need were, + Slew both his sons: and I, shall I, on whom + The secular emancipation turns + Of half this world, be swerved from right to save + A prince, a brother? a little will I yield. + Best so, perchance, for us, and well for you. + O hard, when love and duty clash! I fear + My conscience will not count me fleckless; yet-- + Hear my conditions: promise (otherwise + You perish) as you came, to slip away + Today, tomorrow, soon: it shall be said, + These women were too barbarous, would not learn; + They fled, who might have shamed us: promise, all.' + + What could we else, we promised each; and she, + Like some wild creature newly-caged, commenced + A to-and-fro, so pacing till she paused + By Florian; holding out her lily arms + Took both his hands, and smiling faintly said: + 'I knew you at the first: though you have grown + You scarce have altered: I am sad and glad + To see you, Florian. _I_ give thee to death + My brother! it was duty spoke, not I. + My needful seeming harshness, pardon it. + Our mother, is she well?' + With that she kissed + His forehead, then, a moment after, clung + About him, and betwixt them blossomed up + From out a common vein of memory + Sweet household talk, and phrases of the hearth, + And far allusion, till the gracious dews + Began to glisten and to fall: and while + They stood, so rapt, we gazing, came a voice, + 'I brought a message here from Lady Blanche.' + Back started she, and turning round we saw + The Lady Blanche's daughter where she stood, + Melissa, with her hand upon the lock, + A rosy blonde, and in a college gown, + That clad her like an April daffodilly + (Her mother's colour) with her lips apart, + And all her thoughts as fair within her eyes, + As bottom agates seen to wave and float + In crystal currents of clear morning seas. + + So stood that same fair creature at the door. + Then Lady Psyche, 'Ah--Melissa--you! + You heard us?' and Melissa, 'O pardon me + I heard, I could not help it, did not wish: + But, dearest Lady, pray you fear me not, + Nor think I bear that heart within my breast, + To give three gallant gentlemen to death.' + 'I trust you,' said the other, 'for we two + Were always friends, none closer, elm and vine: + But yet your mother's jealous temperament-- + Let not your prudence, dearest, drowse, or prove + The Danaïd of a leaky vase, for fear + This whole foundation ruin, and I lose + My honour, these their lives.' 'Ah, fear me not' + Replied Melissa; 'no--I would not tell, + No, not for all Aspasia's cleverness, + No, not to answer, Madam, all those hard things + That Sheba came to ask of Solomon.' + 'Be it so' the other, 'that we still may lead + The new light up, and culminate in peace, + For Solomon may come to Sheba yet.' + Said Cyril, 'Madam, he the wisest man + Feasted the woman wisest then, in halls + Of Lebanonian cedar: nor should you + (Though, Madam, _you_ should answer, _we_ would ask) + Less welcome find among us, if you came + Among us, debtors for our lives to you, + Myself for something more.' He said not what, + But 'Thanks,' she answered 'Go: we have been too long + Together: keep your hoods about the face; + They do so that affect abstraction here. + Speak little; mix not with the rest; and hold + Your promise: all, I trust, may yet be well.' + + We turned to go, but Cyril took the child, + And held her round the knees against his waist, + And blew the swollen cheek of a trumpeter, + While Psyche watched them, smiling, and the child + Pushed her flat hand against his face and laughed; + And thus our conference closed. + And then we strolled + For half the day through stately theatres + Benched crescent-wise. In each we sat, we heard + The grave Professor. On the lecture slate + The circle rounded under female hands + With flawless demonstration: followed then + A classic lecture, rich in sentiment, + With scraps of thunderous Epic lilted out + By violet-hooded Doctors, elegies + And quoted odes, and jewels five-words-long + That on the stretched forefinger of all Time + Sparkle for ever: then we dipt in all + That treats of whatsoever is, the state, + The total chronicles of man, the mind, + The morals, something of the frame, the rock, + The star, the bird, the fish, the shell, the flower, + Electric, chemic laws, and all the rest, + And whatsoever can be taught and known; + Till like three horses that have broken fence, + And glutted all night long breast-deep in corn, + We issued gorged with knowledge, and I spoke: + 'Why, Sirs, they do all this as well as we.' + 'They hunt old trails' said Cyril 'very well; + But when did woman ever yet invent?' + 'Ungracious!' answered Florian; 'have you learnt + No more from Psyche's lecture, you that talked + The trash that made me sick, and almost sad?' + 'O trash' he said, 'but with a kernel in it. + Should I not call her wise, who made me wise? + And learnt? I learnt more from her in a flash, + Than in my brainpan were an empty hull, + And every Muse tumbled a science in. + A thousand hearts lie fallow in these halls, + And round these halls a thousand baby loves + Fly twanging headless arrows at the hearts, + Whence follows many a vacant pang; but O + With me, Sir, entered in the bigger boy, + The Head of all the golden-shafted firm, + The long-limbed lad that had a Psyche too; + He cleft me through the stomacher; and now + What think you of it, Florian? do I chase + The substance or the shadow? will it hold? + I have no sorcerer's malison on me, + No ghostly hauntings like his Highness. I + Flatter myself that always everywhere + I know the substance when I see it. Well, + Are castles shadows? Three of them? Is she + The sweet proprietress a shadow? If not, + Shall those three castles patch my tattered coat? + For dear are those three castles to my wants, + And dear is sister Psyche to my heart, + And two dear things are one of double worth, + And much I might have said, but that my zone + Unmanned me: then the Doctors! O to hear + The Doctors! O to watch the thirsty plants + Imbibing! once or twice I thought to roar, + To break my chain, to shake my mane: but thou, + Modulate me, Soul of mincing mimicry! + Make liquid treble of that bassoon, my throat; + Abase those eyes that ever loved to meet + Star-sisters answering under crescent brows; + Abate the stride, which speaks of man, and loose + A flying charm of blushes o'er this cheek, + Where they like swallows coming out of time + Will wonder why they came: but hark the bell + For dinner, let us go!' + And in we streamed + Among the columns, pacing staid and still + By twos and threes, till all from end to end + With beauties every shade of brown and fair + In colours gayer than the morning mist, + The long hall glittered like a bed of flowers. + How might a man not wander from his wits + Pierced through with eyes, but that I kept mine own + Intent on her, who rapt in glorious dreams, + The second-sight of some Astræan age, + Sat compassed with professors: they, the while, + Discussed a doubt and tost it to and fro: + A clamour thickened, mixt with inmost terms + Of art and science: Lady Blanche alone + Of faded form and haughtiest lineaments, + With all her autumn tresses falsely brown, + Shot sidelong daggers at us, a tiger-cat + In act to spring. + At last a solemn grace + Concluded, and we sought the gardens: there + One walked reciting by herself, and one + In this hand held a volume as to read, + And smoothed a petted peacock down with that: + Some to a low song oared a shallop by, + Or under arches of the marble bridge + Hung, shadowed from the heat: some hid and sought + In the orange thickets: others tost a ball + Above the fountain-jets, and back again + With laughter: others lay about the lawns, + Of the older sort, and murmured that their May + Was passing: what was learning unto them? + They wished to marry; they could rule a house; + Men hated learned women: but we three + Sat muffled like the Fates; and often came + Melissa hitting all we saw with shafts + Of gentle satire, kin to charity, + That harmed not: then day droopt; the chapel bells + Called us: we left the walks; we mixt with those + Six hundred maidens clad in purest white, + Before two streams of light from wall to wall, + While the great organ almost burst his pipes, + Groaning for power, and rolling through the court + A long melodious thunder to the sound + Of solemn psalms, and silver litanies, + The work of Ida, to call down from Heaven + A blessing on her labours for the world. + + + Sweet and low, sweet and low, + Wind of the western sea, + Low, low, breathe and blow, + Wind of the western sea! + Over the rolling waters go, + Come from the dying moon, and blow, + Blow him again to me; + While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. + + Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, + Father will come to thee soon; + Rest, rest, on mother's breast, + Father will come to thee soon; + Father will come to his babe in the nest, + Silver sails all out of the west + Under the silver moon: + Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. + + + + +III + + + + Morn in the wake of the morning star + Came furrowing all the orient into gold. + We rose, and each by other drest with care + Descended to the court that lay three parts + In shadow, but the Muses' heads were touched + Above the darkness from their native East. + + There while we stood beside the fount, and watched + Or seemed to watch the dancing bubble, approached + Melissa, tinged with wan from lack of sleep, + Or grief, and glowing round her dewy eyes + The circled Iris of a night of tears; + 'And fly,' she cried, 'O fly, while yet you may! + My mother knows:' and when I asked her 'how,' + 'My fault' she wept 'my fault! and yet not mine; + Yet mine in part. O hear me, pardon me. + My mother, 'tis her wont from night to night + To rail at Lady Psyche and her side. + She says the Princess should have been the Head, + Herself and Lady Psyche the two arms; + And so it was agreed when first they came; + But Lady Psyche was the right hand now, + And the left, or not, or seldom used; + Hers more than half the students, all the love. + And so last night she fell to canvass you: + _Her_ countrywomen! she did not envy her. + "Who ever saw such wild barbarians? + Girls?--more like men!" and at these words the snake, + My secret, seemed to stir within my breast; + And oh, Sirs, could I help it, but my cheek + Began to burn and burn, and her lynx eye + To fix and make me hotter, till she laughed: + "O marvellously modest maiden, you! + Men! girls, like men! why, if they had been men + You need not set your thoughts in rubric thus + For wholesale comment." Pardon, I am shamed + That I must needs repeat for my excuse + What looks so little graceful: "men" (for still + My mother went revolving on the word) + "And so they are,--very like men indeed-- + And with that woman closeted for hours!" + Then came these dreadful words out one by one, + "Why--these--_are_--men:" I shuddered: "and you know it." + "O ask me nothing," I said: "And she knows too, + And she conceals it." So my mother clutched + The truth at once, but with no word from me; + And now thus early risen she goes to inform + The Princess: Lady Psyche will be crushed; + But you may yet be saved, and therefore fly; + But heal me with your pardon ere you go.' + + 'What pardon, sweet Melissa, for a blush?' + Said Cyril: 'Pale one, blush again: than wear + Those lilies, better blush our lives away. + Yet let us breathe for one hour more in Heaven' + He added, 'lest some classic Angel speak + In scorn of us, "They mounted, Ganymedes, + To tumble, Vulcans, on the second morn." + But I will melt this marble into wax + To yield us farther furlough:' and he went. + + Melissa shook her doubtful curls, and thought + He scarce would prosper. 'Tell us,' Florian asked, + 'How grew this feud betwixt the right and left.' + 'O long ago,' she said, 'betwixt these two + Division smoulders hidden; 'tis my mother, + Too jealous, often fretful as the wind + Pent in a crevice: much I bear with her: + I never knew my father, but she says + (God help her) she was wedded to a fool; + And still she railed against the state of things. + She had the care of Lady Ida's youth, + And from the Queen's decease she brought her up. + But when your sister came she won the heart + Of Ida: they were still together, grew + (For so they said themselves) inosculated; + Consonant chords that shiver to one note; + One mind in all things: yet my mother still + Affirms your Psyche thieved her theories, + And angled with them for her pupil's love: + She calls her plagiarist; I know not what: + But I must go: I dare not tarry,' and light, + As flies the shadow of a bird, she fled. + + Then murmured Florian gazing after her, + 'An open-hearted maiden, true and pure. + If I could love, why this were she: how pretty + Her blushing was, and how she blushed again, + As if to close with Cyril's random wish: + Not like your Princess crammed with erring pride, + Nor like poor Psyche whom she drags in tow.' + + 'The crane,' I said, 'may chatter of the crane, + The dove may murmur of the dove, but I + An eagle clang an eagle to the sphere. + My princess, O my princess! true she errs, + But in her own grand way: being herself + Three times more noble than three score of men, + She sees herself in every woman else, + And so she wears her error like a crown + To blind the truth and me: for her, and her, + Hebes are they to hand ambrosia, mix + The nectar; but--ah she--whene'er she moves + The Samian Herè rises and she speaks + A Memnon smitten with the morning Sun.' + + So saying from the court we paced, and gained + The terrace ranged along the Northern front, + And leaning there on those balusters, high + Above the empurpled champaign, drank the gale + That blown about the foliage underneath, + And sated with the innumerable rose, + Beat balm upon our eyelids. Hither came + Cyril, and yawning 'O hard task,' he cried; + 'No fighting shadows here! I forced a way + Through opposition crabbed and gnarled. + Better to clear prime forests, heave and thump + A league of street in summer solstice down, + Than hammer at this reverend gentlewoman. + I knocked and, bidden, entered; found her there + At point to move, and settled in her eyes + The green malignant light of coming storm. + Sir, I was courteous, every phrase well-oiled, + As man's could be; yet maiden-meek I prayed + Concealment: she demanded who we were, + And why we came? I fabled nothing fair, + But, your example pilot, told her all. + Up went the hushed amaze of hand and eye. + But when I dwelt upon your old affiance, + She answered sharply that I talked astray. + I urged the fierce inscription on the gate, + And our three lives. True--we had limed ourselves + With open eyes, and we must take the chance. + But such extremes, I told her, well might harm + The woman's cause. "Not more than now," she said, + "So puddled as it is with favouritism." + I tried the mother's heart. Shame might befall + Melissa, knowing, saying not she knew: + Her answer was "Leave me to deal with that." + I spoke of war to come and many deaths, + And she replied, her duty was to speak, + And duty duty, clear of consequences. + I grew discouraged, Sir; but since I knew + No rock so hard but that a little wave + May beat admission in a thousand years, + I recommenced; "Decide not ere you pause. + I find you here but in the second place, + Some say the third--the authentic foundress you. + I offer boldly: we will seat you highest: + Wink at our advent: help my prince to gain + His rightful bride, and here I promise you + Some palace in our land, where you shall reign + The head and heart of all our fair she-world, + And your great name flow on with broadening time + For ever." Well, she balanced this a little, + And told me she would answer us today, + meantime be mute: thus much, nor more I gained.' + + He ceasing, came a message from the Head. + 'That afternoon the Princess rode to take + The dip of certain strata to the North. + Would we go with her? we should find the land + Worth seeing; and the river made a fall + Out yonder:' then she pointed on to where + A double hill ran up his furrowy forks + Beyond the thick-leaved platans of the vale. + + Agreed to, this, the day fled on through all + Its range of duties to the appointed hour. + Then summoned to the porch we went. She stood + Among her maidens, higher by the head, + Her back against a pillar, her foot on one + Of those tame leopards. Kittenlike he rolled + And pawed about her sandal. I drew near; + I gazed. On a sudden my strange seizure came + Upon me, the weird vision of our house: + The Princess Ida seemed a hollow show, + Her gay-furred cats a painted fantasy, + Her college and her maidens, empty masks, + And I myself the shadow of a dream, + For all things were and were not. Yet I felt + My heart beat thick with passion and with awe; + Then from my breast the involuntary sigh + Brake, as she smote me with the light of eyes + That lent my knee desire to kneel, and shook + My pulses, till to horse we got, and so + Went forth in long retinue following up + The river as it narrowed to the hills. + + I rode beside her and to me she said: + 'O friend, we trust that you esteemed us not + Too harsh to your companion yestermorn; + Unwillingly we spake.' 'No--not to her,' + I answered, 'but to one of whom we spake + Your Highness might have seemed the thing you say.' + 'Again?' she cried, 'are you ambassadresses + From him to me? we give you, being strange, + A license: speak, and let the topic die.' + + I stammered that I knew him--could have wished-- + 'Our king expects--was there no precontract? + There is no truer-hearted--ah, you seem + All he prefigured, and he could not see + The bird of passage flying south but longed + To follow: surely, if your Highness keep + Your purport, you will shock him even to death, + Or baser courses, children of despair.' + + 'Poor boy,' she said, 'can he not read--no books? + Quoit, tennis, ball--no games? nor deals in that + Which men delight in, martial exercise? + To nurse a blind ideal like a girl, + Methinks he seems no better than a girl; + As girls were once, as we ourself have been: + We had our dreams; perhaps he mixt with them: + We touch on our dead self, nor shun to do it, + Being other--since we learnt our meaning here, + To lift the woman's fallen divinity + Upon an even pedestal with man.' + + She paused, and added with a haughtier smile + 'And as to precontracts, we move, my friend, + At no man's beck, but know ourself and thee, + O Vashti, noble Vashti! Summoned out + She kept her state, and left the drunken king + To brawl at Shushan underneath the palms.' + + 'Alas your Highness breathes full East,' I said, + 'On that which leans to you. I know the Prince, + I prize his truth: and then how vast a work + To assail this gray preëminence of man! + You grant me license; might I use it? think; + Ere half be done perchance your life may fail; + Then comes the feebler heiress of your plan, + And takes and ruins all; and thus your pains + May only make that footprint upon sand + Which old-recurring waves of prejudice + Resmooth to nothing: might I dread that you, + With only Fame for spouse and your great deeds + For issue, yet may live in vain, and miss, + Meanwhile, what every woman counts her due, + Love, children, happiness?' + And she exclaimed, + 'Peace, you young savage of the Northern wild! + What! though your Prince's love were like a God's, + Have we not made ourself the sacrifice? + You are bold indeed: we are not talked to thus: + Yet will we say for children, would they grew + Like field-flowers everywhere! we like them well: + But children die; and let me tell you, girl, + Howe'er you babble, great deeds cannot die; + They with the sun and moon renew their light + For ever, blessing those that look on them. + Children--that men may pluck them from our hearts, + Kill us with pity, break us with ourselves-- + O--children--there is nothing upon earth + More miserable than she that has a son + And sees him err: nor would we work for fame; + Though she perhaps might reap the applause of Great, + Who earns the one POU STO whence after-hands + May move the world, though she herself effect + But little: wherefore up and act, nor shrink + For fear our solid aim be dissipated + By frail successors. Would, indeed, we had been, + In lieu of many mortal flies, a race + Of giants living, each, a thousand years, + That we might see our own work out, and watch + The sandy footprint harden into stone.' + + I answered nothing, doubtful in myself + If that strange Poet-princess with her grand + Imaginations might at all be won. + And she broke out interpreting my thoughts: + + 'No doubt we seem a kind of monster to you; + We are used to that: for women, up till this + Cramped under worse than South-sea-isle taboo, + Dwarfs of the gynæceum, fail so far + In high desire, they know not, cannot guess + How much their welfare is a passion to us. + If we could give them surer, quicker proof-- + Oh if our end were less achievable + By slow approaches, than by single act + Of immolation, any phase of death, + We were as prompt to spring against the pikes, + Or down the fiery gulf as talk of it, + To compass our dear sisters' liberties.' + + She bowed as if to veil a noble tear; + And up we came to where the river sloped + To plunge in cataract, shattering on black blocks + A breadth of thunder. O'er it shook the woods, + And danced the colour, and, below, stuck out + The bones of some vast bulk that lived and roared + Before man was. She gazed awhile and said, + 'As these rude bones to us, are we to her + That will be.' 'Dare we dream of that,' I asked, + 'Which wrought us, as the workman and his work, + That practice betters?' 'How,' she cried, 'you love + The metaphysics! read and earn our prize, + A golden brooch: beneath an emerald plane + Sits Diotima, teaching him that died + Of hemlock; our device; wrought to the life; + She rapt upon her subject, he on her: + For there are schools for all.' 'And yet' I said + 'Methinks I have not found among them all + One anatomic.' 'Nay, we thought of that,' + She answered, 'but it pleased us not: in truth + We shudder but to dream our maids should ape + Those monstrous males that carve the living hound, + And cram him with the fragments of the grave, + Or in the dark dissolving human heart, + And holy secrets of this microcosm, + Dabbling a shameless hand with shameful jest, + Encarnalize their spirits: yet we know + Knowledge is knowledge, and this matter hangs: + Howbeit ourself, foreseeing casualty, + Nor willing men should come among us, learnt, + For many weary moons before we came, + This craft of healing. Were you sick, ourself + Would tend upon you. To your question now, + Which touches on the workman and his work. + Let there be light and there was light: 'tis so: + For was, and is, and will be, are but is; + And all creation is one act at once, + The birth of light: but we that are not all, + As parts, can see but parts, now this, now that, + And live, perforce, from thought to thought, and make + One act a phantom of succession: thus + Our weakness somehow shapes the shadow, Time; + But in the shadow will we work, and mould + The woman to the fuller day.' + She spake + With kindled eyes; we rode a league beyond, + And, o'er a bridge of pinewood crossing, came + On flowery levels underneath the crag, + Full of all beauty. 'O how sweet' I said + (For I was half-oblivious of my mask) + 'To linger here with one that loved us.' 'Yea,' + She answered, 'or with fair philosophies + That lift the fancy; for indeed these fields + Are lovely, lovelier not the Elysian lawns, + Where paced the Demigods of old, and saw + The soft white vapour streak the crownèd towers + Built to the Sun:' then, turning to her maids, + 'Pitch our pavilion here upon the sward; + Lay out the viands.' At the word, they raised + A tent of satin, elaborately wrought + With fair Corinna's triumph; here she stood, + Engirt with many a florid maiden-cheek, + The woman-conqueror; woman-conquered there + The bearded Victor of ten-thousand hymns, + And all the men mourned at his side: but we + Set forth to climb; then, climbing, Cyril kept + With Psyche, with Melissa Florian, I + With mine affianced. Many a little hand + Glanced like a touch of sunshine on the rocks, + Many a light foot shone like a jewel set + In the dark crag: and then we turned, we wound + About the cliffs, the copses, out and in, + Hammering and clinking, chattering stony names + Of shales and hornblende, rag and trap and tuff, + Amygdaloid and trachyte, till the Sun + Grew broader toward his death and fell, and all + The rosy heights came out above the lawns. + + + The splendour falls on castle walls + And snowy summits old in story: + The long light shakes across the lakes, + And the wild cataract leaps in glory. + Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, + Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. + + O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, + And thinner, clearer, farther going! + O sweet and far from cliff and scar + The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! + Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: + Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. + + O love, they die in yon rich sky, + They faint on hill or field or river: + Our echoes roll from soul to soul, + And grow for ever and for ever. + Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, + And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. + + + + +IV + + + + 'There sinks the nebulous star we call the Sun, + If that hypothesis of theirs be sound' + Said Ida; 'let us down and rest;' and we + Down from the lean and wrinkled precipices, + By every coppice-feathered chasm and cleft, + Dropt through the ambrosial gloom to where below + No bigger than a glow-worm shone the tent + Lamp-lit from the inner. Once she leaned on me, + Descending; once or twice she lent her hand, + And blissful palpitations in the blood, + Stirring a sudden transport rose and fell. + + But when we planted level feet, and dipt + Beneath the satin dome and entered in, + There leaning deep in broidered down we sank + Our elbows: on a tripod in the midst + A fragrant flame rose, and before us glowed + Fruit, blossom, viand, amber wine, and gold. + + Then she, 'Let some one sing to us: lightlier move + The minutes fledged with music:' and a maid, + Of those beside her, smote her harp, and sang. + + + 'Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, + Tears from the depth of some divine despair + Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, + In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, + And thinking of the days that are no more. + + 'Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, + That brings our friends up from the underworld, + Sad as the last which reddens over one + That sinks with all we love below the verge; + So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. + + 'Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns + The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds + To dying ears, when unto dying eyes + The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; + So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. + + 'Dear as remembered kisses after death, + And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned + On lips that are for others; deep as love, + Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; + O Death in Life, the days that are no more.' + + + She ended with such passion that the tear, + She sang of, shook and fell, an erring pearl + Lost in her bosom: but with some disdain + Answered the Princess, 'If indeed there haunt + About the mouldered lodges of the Past + So sweet a voice and vague, fatal to men, + Well needs it we should cram our ears with wool + And so pace by: but thine are fancies hatched + In silken-folded idleness; nor is it + Wiser to weep a true occasion lost, + But trim our sails, and let old bygones be, + While down the streams that float us each and all + To the issue, goes, like glittering bergs of ice, + Throne after throne, and molten on the waste + Becomes a cloud: for all things serve their time + Toward that great year of equal mights and rights, + Nor would I fight with iron laws, in the end + Found golden: let the past be past; let be + Their cancelled Babels: though the rough kex break + The starred mosaic, and the beard-blown goat + Hang on the shaft, and the wild figtree split + Their monstrous idols, care not while we hear + A trumpet in the distance pealing news + Of better, and Hope, a poising eagle, burns + Above the unrisen morrow:' then to me; + 'Know you no song of your own land,' she said, + 'Not such as moans about the retrospect, + But deals with the other distance and the hues + Of promise; not a death's-head at the wine.' + + Then I remembered one myself had made, + What time I watched the swallow winging south + From mine own land, part made long since, and part + Now while I sang, and maidenlike as far + As I could ape their treble, did I sing. + + + 'O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South, + Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves, + And tell her, tell her, what I tell to thee. + + 'O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each, + That bright and fierce and fickle is the South, + And dark and true and tender is the North. + + 'O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and light + Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill, + And cheep and twitter twenty million loves. + + 'O were I thou that she might take me in, + And lay me on her bosom, and her heart + Would rock the snowy cradle till I died. + + 'Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love, + Delaying as the tender ash delays + To clothe herself, when all the woods are green? + + 'O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown: + Say to her, I do but wanton in the South, + But in the North long since my nest is made. + + 'O tell her, brief is life but love is long, + And brief the sun of summer in the North, + And brief the moon of beauty in the South. + + 'O Swallow, flying from the golden woods, + Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine, + And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee.' + + + I ceased, and all the ladies, each at each, + Like the Ithacensian suitors in old time, + Stared with great eyes, and laughed with alien lips, + And knew not what they meant; for still my voice + Rang false: but smiling 'Not for thee,' she said, + 'O Bulbul, any rose of Gulistan + Shall burst her veil: marsh-divers, rather, maid, + Shall croak thee sister, or the meadow-crake + Grate her harsh kindred in the grass: and this + A mere love-poem! O for such, my friend, + We hold them slight: they mind us of the time + When we made bricks in Egypt. Knaves are men, + That lute and flute fantastic tenderness, + And dress the victim to the offering up, + And paint the gates of Hell with Paradise, + And play the slave to gain the tyranny. + Poor soul! I had a maid of honour once; + She wept her true eyes blind for such a one, + A rogue of canzonets and serenades. + I loved her. Peace be with her. She is dead. + So they blaspheme the muse! But great is song + Used to great ends: ourself have often tried + Valkyrian hymns, or into rhythm have dashed + The passion of the prophetess; for song + Is duer unto freedom, force and growth + Of spirit than to junketing and love. + Love is it? Would this same mock-love, and this + Mock-Hymen were laid up like winter bats, + Till all men grew to rate us at our worth, + Not vassals to be beat, nor pretty babes + To be dandled, no, but living wills, and sphered + Whole in ourselves and owed to none. Enough! + But now to leaven play with profit, you, + Know you no song, the true growth of your soil, + That gives the manners of your country-women?' + + She spoke and turned her sumptuous head with eyes + Of shining expectation fixt on mine. + Then while I dragged my brains for such a song, + Cyril, with whom the bell-mouthed glass had wrought, + Or mastered by the sense of sport, began + To troll a careless, careless tavern-catch + Of Moll and Meg, and strange experiences + Unmeet for ladies. Florian nodded at him, + I frowning; Psyche flushed and wanned and shook; + The lilylike Melissa drooped her brows; + 'Forbear,' the Princess cried; 'Forbear, Sir' I; + And heated through and through with wrath and love, + I smote him on the breast; he started up; + There rose a shriek as of a city sacked; + Melissa clamoured 'Flee the death;' 'To horse' + Said Ida; 'home! to horse!' and fled, as flies + A troop of snowy doves athwart the dusk, + When some one batters at the dovecote-doors, + Disorderly the women. Alone I stood + With Florian, cursing Cyril, vext at heart, + In the pavilion: there like parting hopes + I heard them passing from me: hoof by hoof, + And every hoof a knell to my desires, + Clanged on the bridge; and then another shriek, + 'The Head, the Head, the Princess, O the Head!' + For blind with rage she missed the plank, and rolled + In the river. Out I sprang from glow to gloom: + There whirled her white robe like a blossomed branch + Rapt to the horrible fall: a glance I gave, + No more; but woman-vested as I was + Plunged; and the flood drew; yet I caught her; then + Oaring one arm, and bearing in my left + The weight of all the hopes of half the world, + Strove to buffet to land in vain. A tree + Was half-disrooted from his place and stooped + To wrench his dark locks in the gurgling wave + Mid-channel. Right on this we drove and caught, + And grasping down the boughs I gained the shore. + + There stood her maidens glimmeringly grouped + In the hollow bank. One reaching forward drew + My burthen from mine arms; they cried 'she lives:' + They bore her back into the tent: but I, + So much a kind of shame within me wrought, + Not yet endured to meet her opening eyes, + Nor found my friends; but pushed alone on foot + (For since her horse was lost I left her mine) + Across the woods, and less from Indian craft + Than beelike instinct hiveward, found at length + The garden portals. Two great statues, Art + And Science, Caryatids, lifted up + A weight of emblem, and betwixt were valves + Of open-work in which the hunter rued + His rash intrusion, manlike, but his brows + Had sprouted, and the branches thereupon + Spread out at top, and grimly spiked the gates. + + A little space was left between the horns, + Through which I clambered o'er at top with pain, + Dropt on the sward, and up the linden walks, + And, tost on thoughts that changed from hue to hue, + Now poring on the glowworm, now the star, + I paced the terrace, till the Bear had wheeled + Through a great arc his seven slow suns. + A step + Of lightest echo, then a loftier form + Than female, moving through the uncertain gloom, + Disturbed me with the doubt 'if this were she,' + But it was Florian. 'Hist O Hist,' he said, + 'They seek us: out so late is out of rules. + Moreover "seize the strangers" is the cry. + How came you here?' I told him: 'I' said he, + 'Last of the train, a moral leper, I, + To whom none spake, half-sick at heart, returned. + Arriving all confused among the rest + With hooded brows I crept into the hall, + And, couched behind a Judith, underneath + The head of Holofernes peeped and saw. + Girl after girl was called to trial: each + Disclaimed all knowledge of us: last of all, + Melissa: trust me, Sir, I pitied her. + She, questioned if she knew us men, at first + Was silent; closer prest, denied it not: + And then, demanded if her mother knew, + Or Psyche, she affirmed not, or denied: + From whence the Royal mind, familiar with her, + Easily gathered either guilt. She sent + For Psyche, but she was not there; she called + For Psyche's child to cast it from the doors; + She sent for Blanche to accuse her face to face; + And I slipt out: but whither will you now? + And where are Psyche, Cyril? both are fled: + What, if together? that were not so well. + Would rather we had never come! I dread + His wildness, and the chances of the dark.' + + 'And yet,' I said, 'you wrong him more than I + That struck him: this is proper to the clown, + Though smocked, or furred and purpled, still the clown, + To harm the thing that trusts him, and to shame + That which he says he loves: for Cyril, howe'er + He deal in frolic, as tonight--the song + Might have been worse and sinned in grosser lips + Beyond all pardon--as it is, I hold + These flashes on the surface are not he. + He has a solid base of temperament: + But as the waterlily starts and slides + Upon the level in little puffs of wind, + Though anchored to the bottom, such is he.' + + Scarce had I ceased when from a tamarisk near + Two Proctors leapt upon us, crying, 'Names:' + He, standing still, was clutched; but I began + To thrid the musky-circled mazes, wind + And double in and out the boles, and race + By all the fountains: fleet I was of foot: + Before me showered the rose in flakes; behind + I heard the puffed pursuer; at mine ear + Bubbled the nightingale and heeded not, + And secret laughter tickled all my soul. + At last I hooked my ankle in a vine, + That claspt the feet of a Mnemosyne, + And falling on my face was caught and known. + + They haled us to the Princess where she sat + High in the hall: above her drooped a lamp, + And made the single jewel on her brow + Burn like the mystic fire on a mast-head, + Prophet of storm: a handmaid on each side + Bowed toward her, combing out her long black hair + Damp from the river; and close behind her stood + Eight daughters of the plough, stronger than men, + Huge women blowzed with health, and wind, and rain, + And labour. Each was like a Druid rock; + Or like a spire of land that stands apart + Cleft from the main, and wailed about with mews. + + Then, as we came, the crowd dividing clove + An advent to the throne: and therebeside, + Half-naked as if caught at once from bed + And tumbled on the purple footcloth, lay + The lily-shining child; and on the left, + Bowed on her palms and folded up from wrong, + Her round white shoulder shaken with her sobs, + Melissa knelt; but Lady Blanche erect + Stood up and spake, an affluent orator. + + 'It was not thus, O Princess, in old days: + You prized my counsel, lived upon my lips: + I led you then to all the Castalies; + I fed you with the milk of every Muse; + I loved you like this kneeler, and you me + Your second mother: those were gracious times. + Then came your new friend: you began to change-- + I saw it and grieved--to slacken and to cool; + Till taken with her seeming openness + You turned your warmer currents all to her, + To me you froze: this was my meed for all. + Yet I bore up in part from ancient love, + And partly that I hoped to win you back, + And partly conscious of my own deserts, + And partly that you were my civil head, + And chiefly you were born for something great, + In which I might your fellow-worker be, + When time should serve; and thus a noble scheme + Grew up from seed we two long since had sown; + In us true growth, in her a Jonah's gourd, + Up in one night and due to sudden sun: + We took this palace; but even from the first + You stood in your own light and darkened mine. + What student came but that you planed her path + To Lady Psyche, younger, not so wise, + A foreigner, and I your countrywoman, + I your old friend and tried, she new in all? + But still her lists were swelled and mine were lean; + Yet I bore up in hope she would be known: + Then came these wolves: _they_ knew her: _they_ endured, + Long-closeted with her the yestermorn, + To tell her what they were, and she to hear: + And me none told: not less to an eye like mine + A lidless watcher of the public weal, + Last night, their mask was patent, and my foot + Was to you: but I thought again: I feared + To meet a cold "We thank you, we shall hear of it + From Lady Psyche:" you had gone to her, + She told, perforce; and winning easy grace + No doubt, for slight delay, remained among us + In our young nursery still unknown, the stem + Less grain than touchwood, while my honest heat + Were all miscounted as malignant haste + To push my rival out of place and power. + But public use required she should be known; + And since my oath was ta'en for public use, + I broke the letter of it to keep the sense. + I spoke not then at first, but watched them well, + Saw that they kept apart, no mischief done; + And yet this day (though you should hate me for it) + I came to tell you; found that you had gone, + Ridden to the hills, she likewise: now, I thought, + That surely she will speak; if not, then I: + Did she? These monsters blazoned what they were, + According to the coarseness of their kind, + For thus I hear; and known at last (my work) + And full of cowardice and guilty shame, + I grant in her some sense of shame, she flies; + And I remain on whom to wreak your rage, + I, that have lent my life to build up yours, + I that have wasted here health, wealth, and time, + And talent, I--you know it--I will not boast: + Dismiss me, and I prophesy your plan, + Divorced from my experience, will be chaff + For every gust of chance, and men will say + We did not know the real light, but chased + The wisp that flickers where no foot can tread.' + + She ceased: the Princess answered coldly, 'Good: + Your oath is broken: we dismiss you: go. + For this lost lamb (she pointed to the child) + Our mind is changed: we take it to ourself.' + + Thereat the Lady stretched a vulture throat, + And shot from crooked lips a haggard smile. + 'The plan was mine. I built the nest' she said + 'To hatch the cuckoo. Rise!' and stooped to updrag + Melissa: she, half on her mother propt, + Half-drooping from her, turned her face, and cast + A liquid look on Ida, full of prayer, + Which melted Florian's fancy as she hung, + A Niobëan daughter, one arm out, + Appealing to the bolts of Heaven; and while + We gazed upon her came a little stir + About the doors, and on a sudden rushed + Among us, out of breath as one pursued, + A woman-post in flying raiment. Fear + Stared in her eyes, and chalked her face, and winged + Her transit to the throne, whereby she fell + Delivering sealed dispatches which the Head + Took half-amazed, and in her lion's mood + Tore open, silent we with blind surmise + Regarding, while she read, till over brow + And cheek and bosom brake the wrathful bloom + As of some fire against a stormy cloud, + When the wild peasant rights himself, the rick + Flames, and his anger reddens in the heavens; + For anger most it seemed, while now her breast, + Beaten with some great passion at her heart, + Palpitated, her hand shook, and we heard + In the dead hush the papers that she held + Rustle: at once the lost lamb at her feet + Sent out a bitter bleating for its dam; + The plaintive cry jarred on her ire; she crushed + The scrolls together, made a sudden turn + As if to speak, but, utterance failing her, + She whirled them on to me, as who should say + 'Read,' and I read--two letters--one her sire's. + + 'Fair daughter, when we sent the Prince your way, + We knew not your ungracious laws, which learnt, + We, conscious of what temper you are built, + Came all in haste to hinder wrong, but fell + Into his father's hands, who has this night, + You lying close upon his territory, + Slipt round and in the dark invested you, + And here he keeps me hostage for his son.' + + The second was my father's running thus: + 'You have our son: touch not a hair of his head: + Render him up unscathed: give him your hand: + Cleave to your contract: though indeed we hear + You hold the woman is the better man; + A rampant heresy, such as if it spread + Would make all women kick against their Lords + Through all the world, and which might well deserve + That we this night should pluck your palace down; + And we will do it, unless you send us back + Our son, on the instant, whole.' + So far I read; + And then stood up and spoke impetuously. + + 'O not to pry and peer on your reserve, + But led by golden wishes, and a hope + The child of regal compact, did I break + Your precinct; not a scorner of your sex + But venerator, zealous it should be + All that it might be: hear me, for I bear, + Though man, yet human, whatsoe'er your wrongs, + From the flaxen curl to the gray lock a life + Less mine than yours: my nurse would tell me of you; + I babbled for you, as babies for the moon, + Vague brightness; when a boy, you stooped to me + From all high places, lived in all fair lights, + Came in long breezes rapt from inmost south + And blown to inmost north; at eve and dawn + With Ida, Ida, Ida, rang the woods; + The leader wildswan in among the stars + Would clang it, and lapt in wreaths of glowworm light + The mellow breaker murmured Ida. Now, + Because I would have reached you, had you been + Sphered up with Cassiopëia, or the enthroned + Persephonè in Hades, now at length, + Those winters of abeyance all worn out, + A man I came to see you: but indeed, + Not in this frequence can I lend full tongue, + O noble Ida, to those thoughts that wait + On you, their centre: let me say but this, + That many a famous man and woman, town + And landskip, have I heard of, after seen + The dwarfs of presage: though when known, there grew + Another kind of beauty in detail + Made them worth knowing; but in you I found + My boyish dream involved and dazzled down + And mastered, while that after-beauty makes + Such head from act to act, from hour to hour, + Within me, that except you slay me here, + According to your bitter statute-book, + I cannot cease to follow you, as they say + The seal does music; who desire you more + Than growing boys their manhood; dying lips, + With many thousand matters left to do, + The breath of life; O more than poor men wealth, + Than sick men health--yours, yours, not mine--but half + Without you; with you, whole; and of those halves + You worthiest; and howe'er you block and bar + Your heart with system out from mine, I hold + That it becomes no man to nurse despair, + But in the teeth of clenched antagonisms + To follow up the worthiest till he die: + Yet that I came not all unauthorized + Behold your father's letter.' + On one knee + Kneeling, I gave it, which she caught, and dashed + Unopened at her feet: a tide of fierce + Invective seemed to wait behind her lips, + As waits a river level with the dam + Ready to burst and flood the world with foam: + And so she would have spoken, but there rose + A hubbub in the court of half the maids + Gathered together: from the illumined hall + Long lanes of splendour slanted o'er a press + Of snowy shoulders, thick as herded ewes, + And rainbow robes, and gems and gemlike eyes, + And gold and golden heads; they to and fro + Fluctuated, as flowers in storm, some red, some pale, + All open-mouthed, all gazing to the light, + Some crying there was an army in the land, + And some that men were in the very walls, + And some they cared not; till a clamour grew + As of a new-world Babel, woman-built, + And worse-confounded: high above them stood + The placid marble Muses, looking peace. + + Not peace she looked, the Head: but rising up + Robed in the long night of her deep hair, so + To the open window moved, remaining there + Fixt like a beacon-tower above the waves + Of tempest, when the crimson-rolling eye + Glares ruin, and the wild birds on the light + Dash themselves dead. She stretched her arms and called + Across the tumult and the tumult fell. + + 'What fear ye, brawlers? am not I your Head? + On me, me, me, the storm first breaks: _I_ dare + All these male thunderbolts: what is it ye fear? + Peace! there are those to avenge us and they come: + If not,--myself were like enough, O girls, + To unfurl the maiden banner of our rights, + And clad in iron burst the ranks of war, + Or, falling, promartyr of our cause, + Die: yet I blame you not so much for fear: + Six thousand years of fear have made you that + From which I would redeem you: but for those + That stir this hubbub--you and you--I know + Your faces there in the crowd--tomorrow morn + We hold a great convention: then shall they + That love their voices more than duty, learn + With whom they deal, dismissed in shame to live + No wiser than their mothers, household stuff, + Live chattels, mincers of each other's fame, + Full of weak poison, turnspits for the clown, + The drunkard's football, laughing-stocks of Time, + Whose brains are in their hands and in their heels + But fit to flaunt, to dress, to dance, to thrum, + To tramp, to scream, to burnish, and to scour, + For ever slaves at home and fools abroad.' + + She, ending, waved her hands: thereat the crowd + Muttering, dissolved: then with a smile, that looked + A stroke of cruel sunshine on the cliff, + When all the glens are drowned in azure gloom + Of thunder-shower, she floated to us and said: + + 'You have done well and like a gentleman, + And like a prince: you have our thanks for all: + And you look well too in your woman's dress: + Well have you done and like a gentleman. + You saved our life: we owe you bitter thanks: + Better have died and spilt our bones in the flood-- + Then men had said--but now--What hinders me + To take such bloody vengeance on you both?-- + Yet since our father--Wasps in our good hive, + You would-be quenchers of the light to be, + Barbarians, grosser than your native bears-- + O would I had his sceptre for one hour! + You that have dared to break our bound, and gulled + Our servants, wronged and lied and thwarted us-- + _I_ wed with thee! _I_ bound by precontract + Your bride, your bondslave! not though all the gold + That veins the world were packed to make your crown, + And every spoken tongue should lord you. Sir, + Your falsehood and yourself are hateful to us: + I trample on your offers and on you: + Begone: we will not look upon you more. + Here, push them out at gates.' + In wrath she spake. + Then those eight mighty daughters of the plough + Bent their broad faces toward us and addressed + Their motion: twice I sought to plead my cause, + But on my shoulder hung their heavy hands, + The weight of destiny: so from her face + They pushed us, down the steps, and through the court, + And with grim laughter thrust us out at gates. + + We crossed the street and gained a petty mound + Beyond it, whence we saw the lights and heard the voices murmuring. + While I listened, came + On a sudden the weird seizure and the doubt: + I seemed to move among a world of ghosts; + The Princess with her monstrous woman-guard, + The jest and earnest working side by side, + The cataract and the tumult and the kings + Were shadows; and the long fantastic night + With all its doings had and had not been, + And all things were and were not. + This went by + As strangely as it came, and on my spirits + Settled a gentle cloud of melancholy; + Not long; I shook it off; for spite of doubts + And sudden ghostly shadowings I was one + To whom the touch of all mischance but came + As night to him that sitting on a hill + Sees the midsummer, midnight, Norway sun + Set into sunrise; then we moved away. + + + Thy voice is heard through rolling drums, + That beat to battle where he stands; + Thy face across his fancy comes, + And gives the battle to his hands: + A moment, while the trumpets blow, + He sees his brood about thy knee; + The next, like fire he meets the foe, + And strikes him dead for thine and thee. + + + So Lilia sang: we thought her half-possessed, + She struck such warbling fury through the words; + And, after, feigning pique at what she called + The raillery, or grotesque, or false sublime-- + Like one that wishes at a dance to change + The music--clapt her hands and cried for war, + Or some grand fight to kill and make an end: + And he that next inherited the tale + Half turning to the broken statue, said, + 'Sir Ralph has got your colours: if I prove + Your knight, and fight your battle, what for me?' + It chanced, her empty glove upon the tomb + Lay by her like a model of her hand. + She took it and she flung it. 'Fight' she said, + 'And make us all we would be, great and good.' + He knightlike in his cap instead of casque, + A cap of Tyrol borrowed from the hall, + Arranged the favour, and assumed the Prince. + + + + +V + + + + Now, scarce three paces measured from the mound, + We stumbled on a stationary voice, + And 'Stand, who goes?' 'Two from the palace' I. + 'The second two: they wait,' he said, 'pass on; + His Highness wakes:' and one, that clashed in arms, + By glimmering lanes and walls of canvas led + Threading the soldier-city, till we heard + The drowsy folds of our great ensign shake + From blazoned lions o'er the imperial tent + Whispers of war. + Entering, the sudden light + Dazed me half-blind: I stood and seemed to hear, + As in a poplar grove when a light wind wakes + A lisping of the innumerous leaf and dies, + Each hissing in his neighbour's ear; and then + A strangled titter, out of which there brake + On all sides, clamouring etiquette to death, + Unmeasured mirth; while now the two old kings + Began to wag their baldness up and down, + The fresh young captains flashed their glittering teeth, + The huge bush-bearded Barons heaved and blew, + And slain with laughter rolled the gilded Squire. + + At length my Sire, his rough cheek wet with tears, + Panted from weary sides 'King, you are free! + We did but keep you surety for our son, + If this be he,--or a dragged mawkin, thou, + That tends to her bristled grunters in the sludge:' + For I was drenched with ooze, and torn with briers, + More crumpled than a poppy from the sheath, + And all one rag, disprinced from head to heel. + Then some one sent beneath his vaulted palm + A whispered jest to some one near him, 'Look, + He has been among his shadows.' 'Satan take + The old women and their shadows! (thus the King + Roared) make yourself a man to fight with men. + Go: Cyril told us all.' + As boys that slink + From ferule and the trespass-chiding eye, + Away we stole, and transient in a trice + From what was left of faded woman-slough + To sheathing splendours and the golden scale + Of harness, issued in the sun, that now + Leapt from the dewy shoulders of the Earth, + And hit the Northern hills. Here Cyril met us. + A little shy at first, but by and by + We twain, with mutual pardon asked and given + For stroke and song, resoldered peace, whereon + Followed his tale. Amazed he fled away + Through the dark land, and later in the night + Had come on Psyche weeping: 'then we fell + Into your father's hand, and there she lies, + But will not speak, or stir.' + He showed a tent + A stone-shot off: we entered in, and there + Among piled arms and rough accoutrements, + Pitiful sight, wrapped in a soldier's cloak, + Like some sweet sculpture draped from head to foot, + And pushed by rude hands from its pedestal, + All her fair length upon the ground she lay: + And at her head a follower of the camp, + A charred and wrinkled piece of womanhood, + Sat watching like the watcher by the dead. + + Then Florian knelt, and 'Come' he whispered to her, + 'Lift up your head, sweet sister: lie not thus. + What have you done but right? you could not slay + Me, nor your prince: look up: be comforted: + Sweet is it to have done the thing one ought, + When fallen in darker ways.' And likewise I: + 'Be comforted: have I not lost her too, + In whose least act abides the nameless charm + That none has else for me?' She heard, she moved, + She moaned, a folded voice; and up she sat, + And raised the cloak from brows as pale and smooth + As those that mourn half-shrouded over death + In deathless marble. 'Her,' she said, 'my friend-- + Parted from her--betrayed her cause and mine-- + Where shall I breathe? why kept ye not your faith? + O base and bad! what comfort? none for me!' + To whom remorseful Cyril, 'Yet I pray + Take comfort: live, dear lady, for your child!' + At which she lifted up her voice and cried. + + 'Ah me, my babe, my blossom, ah, my child, + My one sweet child, whom I shall see no more! + For now will cruel Ida keep her back; + And either she will die from want of care, + Or sicken with ill-usage, when they say + The child is hers--for every little fault, + The child is hers; and they will beat my girl + Remembering her mother: O my flower! + Or they will take her, they will make her hard, + And she will pass me by in after-life + With some cold reverence worse than were she dead. + Ill mother that I was to leave her there, + To lag behind, scared by the cry they made, + The horror of the shame among them all: + But I will go and sit beside the doors, + And make a wild petition night and day, + Until they hate to hear me like a wind + Wailing for ever, till they open to me, + And lay my little blossom at my feet, + My babe, my sweet Aglaïa, my one child: + And I will take her up and go my way, + And satisfy my soul with kissing her: + Ah! what might that man not deserve of me + Who gave me back my child?' 'Be comforted,' + Said Cyril, 'you shall have it:' but again + She veiled her brows, and prone she sank, and so + Like tender things that being caught feign death, + Spoke not, nor stirred. + By this a murmur ran + Through all the camp and inward raced the scouts + With rumour of Prince Arab hard at hand. + We left her by the woman, and without + Found the gray kings at parle: and 'Look you' cried + My father 'that our compact be fulfilled: + You have spoilt this child; she laughs at you and man: + She wrongs herself, her sex, and me, and him: + But red-faced war has rods of steel and fire; + She yields, or war.' + Then Gama turned to me: + 'We fear, indeed, you spent a stormy time + With our strange girl: and yet they say that still + You love her. Give us, then, your mind at large: + How say you, war or not?' + 'Not war, if possible, + O king,' I said, 'lest from the abuse of war, + The desecrated shrine, the trampled year, + The smouldering homestead, and the household flower + Torn from the lintel--all the common wrong-- + A smoke go up through which I loom to her + Three times a monster: now she lightens scorn + At him that mars her plan, but then would hate + (And every voice she talked with ratify it, + And every face she looked on justify it) + The general foe. More soluble is this knot, + By gentleness than war. I want her love. + What were I nigher this although we dashed + Your cities into shards with catapults, + She would not love;--or brought her chained, a slave, + The lifting of whose eyelash is my lord, + Not ever would she love; but brooding turn + The book of scorn, till all my flitting chance + Were caught within the record of her wrongs, + And crushed to death: and rather, Sire, than this + I would the old God of war himself were dead, + Forgotten, rusting on his iron hills, + Rotting on some wild shore with ribs of wreck, + Or like an old-world mammoth bulked in ice, + Not to be molten out.' + And roughly spake + My father, 'Tut, you know them not, the girls. + Boy, when I hear you prate I almost think + That idiot legend credible. Look you, Sir! + Man is the hunter; woman is his game: + The sleek and shining creatures of the chase, + We hunt them for the beauty of their skins; + They love us for it, and we ride them down. + Wheedling and siding with them! Out! for shame! + Boy, there's no rose that's half so dear to them + As he that does the thing they dare not do, + Breathing and sounding beauteous battle, comes + With the air of the trumpet round him, and leaps in + Among the women, snares them by the score + Flattered and flustered, wins, though dashed with death + He reddens what he kisses: thus I won + You mother, a good mother, a good wife, + Worth winning; but this firebrand--gentleness + To such as her! if Cyril spake her true, + To catch a dragon in a cherry net, + To trip a tigress with a gossamer + Were wisdom to it.' + 'Yea but Sire,' I cried, + 'Wild natures need wise curbs. The soldier? No: + What dares not Ida do that she should prize + The soldier? I beheld her, when she rose + The yesternight, and storming in extremes, + Stood for her cause, and flung defiance down + Gagelike to man, and had not shunned the death, + No, not the soldier's: yet I hold her, king, + True woman: you clash them all in one, + That have as many differences as we. + The violet varies from the lily as far + As oak from elm: one loves the soldier, one + The silken priest of peace, one this, one that, + And some unworthily; their sinless faith, + A maiden moon that sparkles on a sty, + Glorifying clown and satyr; whence they need + More breadth of culture: is not Ida right? + They worth it? truer to the law within? + Severer in the logic of a life? + Twice as magnetic to sweet influences + Of earth and heaven? and she of whom you speak, + My mother, looks as whole as some serene + Creation minted in the golden moods + Of sovereign artists; not a thought, a touch, + But pure as lines of green that streak the white + Of the first snowdrop's inner leaves; I say, + Not like the piebald miscellany, man, + Bursts of great heart and slips in sensual mire, + But whole and one: and take them all-in-all, + Were we ourselves but half as good, as kind, + As truthful, much that Ida claims as right + Had ne'er been mooted, but as frankly theirs + As dues of Nature. To our point: not war: + Lest I lose all.' + 'Nay, nay, you spake but sense' + Said Gama. 'We remember love ourself + In our sweet youth; we did not rate him then + This red-hot iron to be shaped with blows. + You talk almost like Ida: _she_ can talk; + And there is something in it as you say: + But you talk kindlier: we esteem you for it.-- + He seems a gracious and a gallant Prince, + I would he had our daughter: for the rest, + Our own detention, why, the causes weighed, + Fatherly fears--you used us courteously-- + We would do much to gratify your Prince-- + We pardon it; and for your ingress here + Upon the skirt and fringe of our fair land, + you did but come as goblins in the night, + Nor in the furrow broke the ploughman's head, + Nor burnt the grange, nor bussed the milking-maid, + Nor robbed the farmer of his bowl of cream: + But let your Prince (our royal word upon it, + He comes back safe) ride with us to our lines, + And speak with Arac: Arac's word is thrice + As ours with Ida: something may be done-- + I know not what--and ours shall see us friends. + You, likewise, our late guests, if so you will, + Follow us: who knows? we four may build some plan + Foursquare to opposition.' + Here he reached + White hands of farewell to my sire, who growled + An answer which, half-muffled in his beard, + Let so much out as gave us leave to go. + + Then rode we with the old king across the lawns + Beneath huge trees, a thousand rings of Spring + In every bole, a song on every spray + Of birds that piped their Valentines, and woke + Desire in me to infuse my tale of love + In the old king's ears, who promised help, and oozed + All o'er with honeyed answer as we rode + And blossom-fragrant slipt the heavy dews + Gathered by night and peace, with each light air + On our mailed heads: but other thoughts than Peace + Burnt in us, when we saw the embattled squares, + And squadrons of the Prince, trampling the flowers + With clamour: for among them rose a cry + As if to greet the king; they made a halt; + The horses yelled; they clashed their arms; the drum + Beat; merrily-blowing shrilled the martial fife; + And in the blast and bray of the long horn + And serpent-throated bugle, undulated + The banner: anon to meet us lightly pranced + Three captains out; nor ever had I seen + Such thews of men: the midmost and the highest + Was Arac: all about his motion clung + The shadow of his sister, as the beam + Of the East, that played upon them, made them glance + Like those three stars of the airy Giant's zone, + That glitter burnished by the frosty dark; + And as the fiery Sirius alters hue, + And bickers into red and emerald, shone + Their morions, washed with morning, as they came. + + And I that prated peace, when first I heard + War-music, felt the blind wildbeast of force, + Whose home is in the sinews of a man, + Stir in me as to strike: then took the king + His three broad sons; with now a wandering hand + And now a pointed finger, told them all: + A common light of smiles at our disguise + Broke from their lips, and, ere the windy jest + Had laboured down within his ample lungs, + The genial giant, Arac, rolled himself + Thrice in the saddle, then burst out in words. + + 'Our land invaded, 'sdeath! and he himself + Your captive, yet my father wills not war: + And, 'sdeath! myself, what care I, war or no? + but then this question of your troth remains: + And there's a downright honest meaning in her; + She flies too high, she flies too high! and yet + She asked but space and fairplay for her scheme; + She prest and prest it on me--I myself, + What know I of these things? but, life and soul! + I thought her half-right talking of her wrongs; + I say she flies too high, 'sdeath! what of that? + I take her for the flower of womankind, + And so I often told her, right or wrong, + And, Prince, she can be sweet to those she loves, + And, right or wrong, I care not: this is all, + I stand upon her side: she made me swear it-- + 'Sdeath--and with solemn rites by candle-light-- + Swear by St something--I forget her name-- + Her that talked down the fifty wisest men; + _She_ was a princess too; and so I swore. + Come, this is all; she will not: waive your claim: + If not, the foughten field, what else, at once + Decides it, 'sdeath! against my father's will.' + + I lagged in answer loth to render up + My precontract, and loth by brainless war + To cleave the rift of difference deeper yet; + Till one of those two brothers, half aside + And fingering at the hair about his lip, + To prick us on to combat 'Like to like! + The woman's garment hid the woman's heart.' + A taunt that clenched his purpose like a blow! + For fiery-short was Cyril's counter-scoff, + And sharp I answered, touched upon the point + Where idle boys are cowards to their shame, + 'Decide it here: why not? we are three to three.' + + Then spake the third 'But three to three? no more? + No more, and in our noble sister's cause? + More, more, for honour: every captain waits + Hungry for honour, angry for his king. + More, more some fifty on a side, that each + May breathe himself, and quick! by overthrow + Of these or those, the question settled die.' + + 'Yea,' answered I, 'for this wreath of air, + This flake of rainbow flying on the highest + Foam of men's deeds--this honour, if ye will. + It needs must be for honour if at all: + Since, what decision? if we fail, we fail, + And if we win, we fail: she would not keep + Her compact.' ''Sdeath! but we will send to her,' + Said Arac, 'worthy reasons why she should + Bide by this issue: let our missive through, + And you shall have her answer by the word.' + + 'Boys!' shrieked the old king, but vainlier than a hen + To her false daughters in the pool; for none + Regarded; neither seemed there more to say: + Back rode we to my father's camp, and found + He thrice had sent a herald to the gates, + To learn if Ida yet would cede our claim, + Or by denial flush her babbling wells + With her own people's life: three times he went: + The first, he blew and blew, but none appeared: + He battered at the doors; none came: the next, + An awful voice within had warned him thence: + The third, and those eight daughters of the plough + Came sallying through the gates, and caught his hair, + And so belaboured him on rib and cheek + They made him wild: not less one glance he caught + Through open doors of Ida stationed there + Unshaken, clinging to her purpose, firm + Though compassed by two armies and the noise + Of arms; and standing like a stately Pine + Set in a cataract on an island-crag, + When storm is on the heights, and right and left + Sucked from the dark heart of the long hills roll + The torrents, dashed to the vale: and yet her will + Bred will in me to overcome it or fall. + + But when I told the king that I was pledged + To fight in tourney for my bride, he clashed + His iron palms together with a cry; + Himself would tilt it out among the lads: + But overborne by all his bearded lords + With reasons drawn from age and state, perforce + He yielded, wroth and red, with fierce demur: + And many a bold knight started up in heat, + And sware to combat for my claim till death. + + All on this side the palace ran the field + Flat to the garden-wall: and likewise here, + Above the garden's glowing blossom-belts, + A columned entry shone and marble stairs, + And great bronze valves, embossed with Tomyris + And what she did to Cyrus after fight, + But now fast barred: so here upon the flat + All that long morn the lists were hammered up, + And all that morn the heralds to and fro, + With message and defiance, went and came; + Last, Ida's answer, in a royal hand, + But shaken here and there, and rolling words + Oration-like. I kissed it and I read. + + 'O brother, you have known the pangs we felt, + What heats of indignation when we heard + Of those that iron-cramped their women's feet; + Of lands in which at the altar the poor bride + Gives her harsh groom for bridal-gift a scourge; + Of living hearts that crack within the fire + Where smoulder their dead despots; and of those,-- + Mothers,--that, with all prophetic pity, fling + Their pretty maids in the running flood, and swoops + The vulture, beak and talon, at the heart + Made for all noble motion: and I saw + That equal baseness lived in sleeker times + With smoother men: the old leaven leavened all: + Millions of throats would bawl for civil rights, + No woman named: therefore I set my face + Against all men, and lived but for mine own. + Far off from men I built a fold for them: + I stored it full of rich memorial: + I fenced it round with gallant institutes, + And biting laws to scare the beasts of prey + And prospered; till a rout of saucy boys + Brake on us at our books, and marred our peace, + Masked like our maids, blustering I know not what + Of insolence and love, some pretext held + Of baby troth, invalid, since my will + Sealed not the bond--the striplings! for their sport!-- + I tamed my leopards: shall I not tame these? + Or you? or I? for since you think me touched + In honour--what, I would not aught of false-- + Is not our case pure? and whereas I know + Your prowess, Arac, and what mother's blood + You draw from, fight; you failing, I abide + What end soever: fail you will not. Still + Take not his life: he risked it for my own; + His mother lives: yet whatsoe'er you do, + Fight and fight well; strike and strike him. O dear + Brothers, the woman's Angel guards you, you + The sole men to be mingled with our cause, + The sole men we shall prize in the after-time, + Your very armour hallowed, and your statues + Reared, sung to, when, this gad-fly brushed aside, + We plant a solid foot into the Time, + And mould a generation strong to move + With claim on claim from right to right, till she + Whose name is yoked with children's, know herself; + And Knowledge in our own land make her free, + And, ever following those two crownèd twins, + Commerce and conquest, shower the fiery grain + Of freedom broadcast over all the orbs + Between the Northern and the Southern morn.' + + Then came a postscript dashed across the rest. + 'See that there be no traitors in your camp: + We seem a nest of traitors--none to trust + Since our arms failed--this Egypt-plague of men! + Almost our maids were better at their homes, + Than thus man-girdled here: indeed I think + Our chiefest comfort is the little child + Of one unworthy mother; which she left: + She shall not have it back: the child shall grow + To prize the authentic mother of her mind. + I took it for an hour in mine own bed + This morning: there the tender orphan hands + Felt at my heart, and seemed to charm from thence + The wrath I nursed against the world: farewell.' + + I ceased; he said, 'Stubborn, but she may sit + Upon a king's right hand in thunder-storms, + And breed up warriors! See now, though yourself + Be dazzled by the wildfire Love to sloughs + That swallow common sense, the spindling king, + This Gama swamped in lazy tolerance. + When the man wants weight, the woman takes it up, + And topples down the scales; but this is fixt + As are the roots of earth and base of all; + Man for the field and woman for the hearth: + Man for the sword and for the needle she: + Man with the head and woman with the heart: + Man to command and woman to obey; + All else confusion. Look you! the gray mare + Is ill to live with, when her whinny shrills + From tile to scullery, and her small goodman + Shrinks in his arm-chair while the fires of Hell + Mix with his hearth: but you--she's yet a colt-- + Take, break her: strongly groomed and straitly curbed + She might not rank with those detestable + That let the bantling scald at home, and brawl + Their rights and wrongs like potherbs in the street. + They say she's comely; there's the fairer chance: + _I_ like her none the less for rating at her! + Besides, the woman wed is not as we, + But suffers change of frame. A lusty brace + Of twins may weed her of her folly. Boy, + The bearing and the training of a child + Is woman's wisdom.' + Thus the hard old king: + I took my leave, for it was nearly noon: + I pored upon her letter which I held, + And on the little clause 'take not his life:' + I mused on that wild morning in the woods, + And on the 'Follow, follow, thou shalt win:' + I thought on all the wrathful king had said, + And how the strange betrothment was to end: + Then I remembered that burnt sorcerer's curse + That one should fight with shadows and should fall; + And like a flash the weird affection came: + King, camp and college turned to hollow shows; + I seemed to move in old memorial tilts, + And doing battle with forgotten ghosts, + To dream myself the shadow of a dream: + And ere I woke it was the point of noon, + The lists were ready. Empanoplied and plumed + We entered in, and waited, fifty there + Opposed to fifty, till the trumpet blared + At the barrier like a wild horn in a land + Of echoes, and a moment, and once more + The trumpet, and again: at which the storm + Of galloping hoofs bare on the ridge of spears + And riders front to front, until they closed + In conflict with the crash of shivering points, + And thunder. Yet it seemed a dream, I dreamed + Of fighting. On his haunches rose the steed, + And into fiery splinters leapt the lance, + And out of stricken helmets sprang the fire. + Part sat like rocks: part reeled but kept their seats: + Part rolled on the earth and rose again and drew: + Part stumbled mixt with floundering horses. Down + From those two bulks at Arac's side, and down + From Arac's arm, as from a giant's flail, + The large blows rained, as here and everywhere + He rode the mellay, lord of the ringing lists, + And all the plain,--brand, mace, and shaft, and shield-- + Shocked, like an iron-clanging anvil banged + With hammers; till I thought, can this be he + From Gama's dwarfish loins? if this be so, + The mother makes us most--and in my dream + I glanced aside, and saw the palace-front + Alive with fluttering scarfs and ladies' eyes, + And highest, among the statues, statuelike, + Between a cymballed Miriam and a Jael, + With Psyche's babe, was Ida watching us, + A single band of gold about her hair, + Like a Saint's glory up in heaven: but she + No saint--inexorable--no tenderness-- + Too hard, too cruel: yet she sees me fight, + Yea, let her see me fall! and with that I drave + Among the thickest and bore down a Prince, + And Cyril, one. Yea, let me make my dream + All that I would. But that large-moulded man, + His visage all agrin as at a wake, + Made at me through the press, and, staggering back + With stroke on stroke the horse and horseman, came + As comes a pillar of electric cloud, + Flaying the roofs and sucking up the drains, + And shadowing down the champaign till it strikes + On a wood, and takes, and breaks, and cracks, and splits, + And twists the grain with such a roar that Earth + Reels, and the herdsmen cry; for everything + Gave way before him: only Florian, he + That loved me closer than his own right eye, + Thrust in between; but Arac rode him down: + And Cyril seeing it, pushed against the Prince, + With Psyche's colour round his helmet, tough, + Strong, supple, sinew-corded, apt at arms; + But tougher, heavier, stronger, he that smote + And threw him: last I spurred; I felt my veins + Stretch with fierce heat; a moment hand to hand, + And sword to sword, and horse to horse we hung, + Till I struck out and shouted; the blade glanced, + I did but shear a feather, and dream and truth + Flowed from me; darkness closed me; and I fell. + + + Home they brought her warrior dead: + She nor swooned, nor uttered cry: + All her maidens, watching, said, + 'She must weep or she will die.' + + Then they praised him, soft and low, + Called him worthy to be loved, + Truest friend and noblest foe; + Yet she neither spoke nor moved. + + Stole a maiden from her place, + Lightly to the warrior stept, + Took the face-cloth from the face; + Yet she neither moved nor wept. + + Rose a nurse of ninety years, + Set his child upon her knee-- + Like summer tempest came her tears-- + 'Sweet my child, I live for thee.' + + + + +VI + + + + My dream had never died or lived again. + As in some mystic middle state I lay; + Seeing I saw not, hearing not I heard: + Though, if I saw not, yet they told me all + So often that I speak as having seen. + + For so it seemed, or so they said to me, + That all things grew more tragic and more strange; + That when our side was vanquished and my cause + For ever lost, there went up a great cry, + The Prince is slain. My father heard and ran + In on the lists, and there unlaced my casque + And grovelled on my body, and after him + Came Psyche, sorrowing for Aglaïa. + But high upon the palace Ida stood + With Psyche's babe in arm: there on the roofs + Like that great dame of Lapidoth she sang. + + + 'Our enemies have fallen, have fallen: the seed, + The little seed they laughed at in the dark, + Has risen and cleft the soil, and grown a bulk + Of spanless girth, that lays on every side + A thousand arms and rushes to the Sun. + + 'Our enemies have fallen, have fallen: they came; + The leaves were wet with women's tears: they heard + A noise of songs they would not understand: + They marked it with the red cross to the fall, + And would have strown it, and are fallen themselves. + + 'Our enemies have fallen, have fallen: they came, + The woodmen with their axes: lo the tree! + But we will make it faggots for the hearth, + And shape it plank and beam for roof and floor, + And boats and bridges for the use of men. + + 'Our enemies have fallen, have fallen: they struck; + With their own blows they hurt themselves, nor knew + There dwelt an iron nature in the grain: + The glittering axe was broken in their arms, + Their arms were shattered to the shoulder blade. + + 'Our enemies have fallen, but this shall grow + A night of Summer from the heat, a breadth + Of Autumn, dropping fruits of power: and rolled + With music in the growing breeze of Time, + The tops shall strike from star to star, the fangs + Shall move the stony bases of the world. + + 'And now, O maids, behold our sanctuary + Is violate, our laws broken: fear we not + To break them more in their behoof, whose arms + Championed our cause and won it with a day + Blanched in our annals, and perpetual feast, + When dames and heroines of the golden year + Shall strip a hundred hollows bare of Spring, + To rain an April of ovation round + Their statues, borne aloft, the three: but come, + We will be liberal, since our rights are won. + Let them not lie in the tents with coarse mankind, + Ill nurses; but descend, and proffer these + The brethren of our blood and cause, that there + Lie bruised and maimed, the tender ministries + Of female hands and hospitality.' + + She spoke, and with the babe yet in her arms, + Descending, burst the great bronze valves, and led + A hundred maids in train across the Park. + Some cowled, and some bare-headed, on they came, + Their feet in flowers, her loveliest: by them went + The enamoured air sighing, and on their curls + From the high tree the blossom wavering fell, + And over them the tremulous isles of light + Slided, they moving under shade: but Blanche + At distance followed: so they came: anon + Through open field into the lists they wound + Timorously; and as the leader of the herd + That holds a stately fretwork to the Sun, + And followed up by a hundred airy does, + Steps with a tender foot, light as on air, + The lovely, lordly creature floated on + To where her wounded brethren lay; there stayed; + Knelt on one knee,--the child on one,--and prest + Their hands, and called them dear deliverers, + And happy warriors, and immortal names, + And said 'You shall not lie in the tents but here, + And nursed by those for whom you fought, and served + With female hands and hospitality.' + + Then, whether moved by this, or was it chance, + She past my way. Up started from my side + The old lion, glaring with his whelpless eye, + Silent; but when she saw me lying stark, + Dishelmed and mute, and motionlessly pale, + Cold even to her, she sighed; and when she saw + The haggard father's face and reverend beard + Of grisly twine, all dabbled with the blood + Of his own son, shuddered, a twitch of pain + Tortured her mouth, and o'er her forehead past + A shadow, and her hue changed, and she said: + 'He saved my life: my brother slew him for it.' + No more: at which the king in bitter scorn + Drew from my neck the painting and the tress, + And held them up: she saw them, and a day + Rose from the distance on her memory, + When the good Queen, her mother, shore the tress + With kisses, ere the days of Lady Blanche: + And then once more she looked at my pale face: + Till understanding all the foolish work + Of Fancy, and the bitter close of all, + Her iron will was broken in her mind; + Her noble heart was molten in her breast; + She bowed, she set the child on the earth; she laid + A feeling finger on my brows, and presently + 'O Sire,' she said, 'he lives: he is not dead: + O let me have him with my brethren here + In our own palace: we will tend on him + Like one of these; if so, by any means, + To lighten this great clog of thanks, that make + Our progress falter to the woman's goal.' + + She said: but at the happy word 'he lives' + My father stooped, re-fathered o'er my wounds. + So those two foes above my fallen life, + With brow to brow like night and evening mixt + Their dark and gray, while Psyche ever stole + A little nearer, till the babe that by us, + Half-lapt in glowing gauze and golden brede, + Lay like a new-fallen meteor on the grass, + Uncared for, spied its mother and began + A blind and babbling laughter, and to dance + Its body, and reach its fatling innocent arms + And lazy lingering fingers. She the appeal + Brooked not, but clamouring out 'Mine--mine--not yours, + It is not yours, but mine: give me the child' + Ceased all on tremble: piteous was the cry: + So stood the unhappy mother open-mouthed, + And turned each face her way: wan was her cheek + With hollow watch, her blooming mantle torn, + Red grief and mother's hunger in her eye, + And down dead-heavy sank her curls, and half + The sacred mother's bosom, panting, burst + The laces toward her babe; but she nor cared + Nor knew it, clamouring on, till Ida heard, + Looked up, and rising slowly from me, stood + Erect and silent, striking with her glance + The mother, me, the child; but he that lay + Beside us, Cyril, battered as he was, + Trailed himself up on one knee: then he drew + Her robe to meet his lips, and down she looked + At the armed man sideways, pitying as it seemed, + Or self-involved; but when she learnt his face, + Remembering his ill-omened song, arose + Once more through all her height, and o'er him grew + Tall as a figure lengthened on the sand + When the tide ebbs in sunshine, and he said: + + 'O fair and strong and terrible! Lioness + That with your long locks play the Lion's mane! + But Love and Nature, these are two more terrible + And stronger. See, your foot is on our necks, + We vanquished, you the Victor of your will. + What would you more? Give her the child! remain + Orbed in your isolation: he is dead, + Or all as dead: henceforth we let you be: + Win you the hearts of women; and beware + Lest, where you seek the common love of these, + The common hate with the revolving wheel + Should drag you down, and some great Nemesis + Break from a darkened future, crowned with fire, + And tread you out for ever: but howso'er + Fixed in yourself, never in your own arms + To hold your own, deny not hers to her, + Give her the child! O if, I say, you keep + One pulse that beats true woman, if you loved + The breast that fed or arm that dandled you, + Or own one port of sense not flint to prayer, + Give her the child! or if you scorn to lay it, + Yourself, in hands so lately claspt with yours, + Or speak to her, your dearest, her one fault, + The tenderness, not yours, that could not kill, + Give _me_ it: _I_ will give it her. + He said: + At first her eye with slow dilation rolled + Dry flame, she listening; after sank and sank + And, into mournful twilight mellowing, dwelt + Full on the child; she took it: 'Pretty bud! + Lily of the vale! half opened bell of the woods! + Sole comfort of my dark hour, when a world + Of traitorous friend and broken system made + No purple in the distance, mystery, + Pledge of a love not to be mine, farewell; + These men are hard upon us as of old, + We two must part: and yet how fain was I + To dream thy cause embraced in mine, to think + I might be something to thee, when I felt + Thy helpless warmth about my barren breast + In the dead prime: but may thy mother prove + As true to thee as false, false, false to me! + And, if thou needs must needs bear the yoke, I wish it + Gentle as freedom'--here she kissed it: then-- + 'All good go with thee! take it Sir,' and so + Laid the soft babe in his hard-mailèd hands, + Who turned half-round to Psyche as she sprang + To meet it, with an eye that swum in thanks; + Then felt it sound and whole from head to foot, + And hugged and never hugged it close enough, + And in her hunger mouthed and mumbled it, + And hid her bosom with it; after that + Put on more calm and added suppliantly: + + 'We two were friends: I go to mine own land + For ever: find some other: as for me + I scarce am fit for your great plans: yet speak to me, + Say one soft word and let me part forgiven.' + + But Ida spoke not, rapt upon the child. + Then Arac. 'Ida--'sdeath! you blame the man; + You wrong yourselves--the woman is so hard + Upon the woman. Come, a grace to me! + I am your warrior: I and mine have fought + Your battle: kiss her; take her hand, she weeps: + 'Sdeath! I would sooner fight thrice o'er than see it.' + + But Ida spoke not, gazing on the ground, + And reddening in the furrows of his chin, + And moved beyond his custom, Gama said: + + 'I've heard that there is iron in the blood, + And I believe it. Not one word? not one? + Whence drew you this steel temper? not from me, + Not from your mother, now a saint with saints. + She said you had a heart--I heard her say it-- + "Our Ida has a heart"--just ere she died-- + "But see that some one with authority + Be near her still" and I--I sought for one-- + All people said she had authority-- + The Lady Blanche: much profit! Not one word; + No! though your father sues: see how you stand + Stiff as Lot's wife, and all the good knights maimed, + I trust that there is no one hurt to death, + For our wild whim: and was it then for this, + Was it for this we gave our palace up, + Where we withdrew from summer heats and state, + And had our wine and chess beneath the planes, + And many a pleasant hour with her that's gone, + Ere you were born to vex us? Is it kind? + Speak to her I say: is this not she of whom, + When first she came, all flushed you said to me + Now had you got a friend of your own age, + Now could you share your thought; now should men see + Two women faster welded in one love + Than pairs of wedlock; she you walked with, she + You talked with, whole nights long, up in the tower, + Of sine and arc, spheroïd and azimuth, + And right ascension, Heaven knows what; and now + A word, but one, one little kindly word, + Not one to spare her: out upon you, flint! + You love nor her, nor me, nor any; nay, + You shame your mother's judgment too. Not one? + You will not? well--no heart have you, or such + As fancies like the vermin in a nut + Have fretted all to dust and bitterness.' + So said the small king moved beyond his wont. + + But Ida stood nor spoke, drained of her force + By many a varying influence and so long. + Down through her limbs a drooping languor wept: + Her head a little bent; and on her mouth + A doubtful smile dwelt like a clouded moon + In a still water: then brake out my sire, + Lifted his grim head from my wounds. 'O you, + Woman, whom we thought woman even now, + And were half fooled to let you tend our son, + Because he might have wished it--but we see, + The accomplice of your madness unforgiven, + And think that you might mix his draught with death, + When your skies change again: the rougher hand + Is safer: on to the tents: take up the Prince.' + + He rose, and while each ear was pricked to attend + A tempest, through the cloud that dimmed her broke + A genial warmth and light once more, and shone + Through glittering drops on her sad friend. + 'Come hither. + O Psyche,' she cried out, 'embrace me, come, + Quick while I melt; make reconcilement sure + With one that cannot keep her mind an hour: + Come to the hollow hear they slander so! + Kiss and be friends, like children being chid! + _I_ seem no more: _I_ want forgiveness too: + I should have had to do with none but maids, + That have no links with men. Ah false but dear, + Dear traitor, too much loved, why?--why?--Yet see, + Before these kings we embrace you yet once more + With all forgiveness, all oblivion, + And trust, not love, you less. + And now, O sire, + Grant me your son, to nurse, to wait upon him, + Like mine own brother. For my debt to him, + This nightmare weight of gratitude, I know it; + Taunt me no more: yourself and yours shall have + Free adit; we will scatter all our maids + Till happier times each to her proper hearth: + What use to keep them here--now? grant my prayer. + Help, father, brother, help; speak to the king: + Thaw this male nature to some touch of that + Which kills me with myself, and drags me down + From my fixt height to mob me up with all + The soft and milky rabble of womankind, + Poor weakling even as they are.' + Passionate tears + Followed: the king replied not: Cyril said: + 'Your brother, Lady,--Florian,--ask for him + Of your great head--for he is wounded too-- + That you may tend upon him with the prince.' + 'Ay so,' said Ida with a bitter smile, + 'Our laws are broken: let him enter too.' + Then Violet, she that sang the mournful song, + And had a cousin tumbled on the plain, + Petitioned too for him. 'Ay so,' she said, + 'I stagger in the stream: I cannot keep + My heart an eddy from the brawling hour: + We break our laws with ease, but let it be.' + 'Ay so?' said Blanche: 'Amazed am I to her + Your Highness: but your Highness breaks with ease + The law your Highness did not make: 'twas I. + I had been wedded wife, I knew mankind, + And blocked them out; but these men came to woo + Your Highness--verily I think to win.' + + So she, and turned askance a wintry eye: + But Ida with a voice, that like a bell + Tolled by an earthquake in a trembling tower, + Rang ruin, answered full of grief and scorn. + + 'Fling our doors wide! all, all, not one, but all, + Not only he, but by my mother's soul, + Whatever man lies wounded, friend or foe, + Shall enter, if he will. Let our girls flit, + Till the storm die! but had you stood by us, + The roar that breaks the Pharos from his base + Had left us rock. She fain would sting us too, + But shall not. Pass, and mingle with your likes. + We brook no further insult but are gone.' + She turned; the very nape of her white neck + Was rosed with indignation: but the Prince + Her brother came; the king her father charmed + Her wounded soul with words: nor did mine own + Refuse her proffer, lastly gave his hand. + + Then us they lifted up, dead weights, and bare + Straight to the doors: to them the doors gave way + Groaning, and in the Vestal entry shrieked + The virgin marble under iron heels: + And on they moved and gained the hall, and there + Rested: but great the crush was, and each base, + To left and right, of those tall columns drowned + In silken fluctuation and the swarm + Of female whisperers: at the further end + Was Ida by the throne, the two great cats + Close by her, like supporters on a shield, + Bow-backed with fear: but in the centre stood + The common men with rolling eyes; amazed + They glared upon the women, and aghast + The women stared at these, all silent, save + When armour clashed or jingled, while the day, + Descending, struck athwart the hall, and shot + A flying splendour out of brass and steel, + That o'er the statues leapt from head to head, + Now fired an angry Pallas on the helm, + Now set a wrathful Dian's moon on flame, + And now and then an echo started up, + And shuddering fled from room to room, and died + Of fright in far apartments. + Then the voice + Of Ida sounded, issuing ordinance: + And me they bore up the broad stairs, and through + The long-laid galleries past a hundred doors + To one deep chamber shut from sound, and due + To languid limbs and sickness; left me in it; + And others otherwhere they laid; and all + That afternoon a sound arose of hoof + And chariot, many a maiden passing home + Till happier times; but some were left of those + Held sagest, and the great lords out and in, + From those two hosts that lay beside the walls, + Walked at their will, and everything was changed. + + + Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea; + The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape + With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape; + But O too fond, when have I answered thee? + Ask me no more. + + Ask me no more: what answer should I give? + I love not hollow cheek or faded eye: + Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die! + Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live; + Ask me no more. + + Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are sealed: + I strove against the stream and all in vain: + Let the great river take me to the main: + No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield; + Ask me no more. + + + + +VII + + + + So was their sanctuary violated, + So their fair college turned to hospital; + At first with all confusion: by and by + Sweet order lived again with other laws: + A kindlier influence reigned; and everywhere + Low voices with the ministering hand + Hung round the sick: the maidens came, they talked, + They sang, they read: till she not fair began + To gather light, and she that was, became + Her former beauty treble; and to and fro + With books, with flowers, with Angel offices, + Like creatures native unto gracious act, + And in their own clear element, they moved. + + But sadness on the soul of Ida fell, + And hatred of her weakness, blent with shame. + Old studies failed; seldom she spoke: but oft + Clomb to the roofs, and gazed alone for hours + On that disastrous leaguer, swarms of men + Darkening her female field: void was her use, + And she as one that climbs a peak to gaze + O'er land and main, and sees a great black cloud + Drag inward from the deeps, a wall of night, + Blot out the slope of sea from verge to shore, + And suck the blinding splendour from the sand, + And quenching lake by lake and tarn by tarn + Expunge the world: so fared she gazing there; + So blackened all her world in secret, blank + And waste it seemed and vain; till down she came, + And found fair peace once more among the sick. + + And twilight dawned; and morn by morn the lark + Shot up and shrilled in flickering gyres, but I + Lay silent in the muffled cage of life: + And twilight gloomed; and broader-grown the bowers + Drew the great night into themselves, and Heaven, + Star after Star, arose and fell; but I, + Deeper than those weird doubts could reach me, lay + Quite sundered from the moving Universe, + Nor knew what eye was on me, nor the hand + That nursed me, more than infants in their sleep. + + But Psyche tended Florian: with her oft, + Melissa came; for Blanche had gone, but left + Her child among us, willing she should keep + Court-favour: here and there the small bright head, + A light of healing, glanced about the couch, + Or through the parted silks the tender face + Peeped, shining in upon the wounded man + With blush and smile, a medicine in themselves + To wile the length from languorous hours, and draw + The sting from pain; nor seemed it strange that soon + He rose up whole, and those fair charities + Joined at her side; nor stranger seemed that hears + So gentle, so employed, should close in love, + Than when two dewdrops on the petals shake + To the same sweet air, and tremble deeper down, + And slip at once all-fragrant into one. + + Less prosperously the second suit obtained + At first with Psyche. Not though Blanche had sworn + That after that dark night among the fields + She needs must wed him for her own good name; + Not though he built upon the babe restored; + Nor though she liked him, yielded she, but feared + To incense the Head once more; till on a day + When Cyril pleaded, Ida came behind + Seen but of Psyche: on her foot she hung + A moment, and she heard, at which her face + A little flushed, and she past on; but each + Assumed from thence a half-consent involved + In stillness, plighted troth, and were at peace. + + Nor only these: Love in the sacred halls + Held carnival at will, and flying struck + With showers of random sweet on maid and man. + Nor did her father cease to press my claim, + Nor did mine own, now reconciled; nor yet + Did those twin-brothers, risen again and whole; + Nor Arac, satiate with his victory. + + But I lay still, and with me oft she sat: + Then came a change; for sometimes I would catch + Her hand in wild delirium, gripe it hard, + And fling it like a viper off, and shriek + 'You are not Ida;' clasp it once again, + And call her Ida, though I knew her not, + And call her sweet, as if in irony, + And call her hard and cold which seemed a truth: + And still she feared that I should lose my mind, + And often she believed that I should die: + Till out of long frustration of her care, + And pensive tendance in the all-weary noons, + And watches in the dead, the dark, when clocks + Throbbed thunder through the palace floors, or called + On flying Time from all their silver tongues-- + And out of memories of her kindlier days, + And sidelong glances at my father's grief, + And at the happy lovers heart in heart-- + And out of hauntings of my spoken love, + And lonely listenings to my muttered dream, + And often feeling of the helpless hands, + And wordless broodings on the wasted cheek-- + From all a closer interest flourished up, + Tenderness touch by touch, and last, to these, + Love, like an Alpine harebell hung with tears + By some cold morning glacier; frail at first + And feeble, all unconscious of itself, + But such as gathered colour day by day. + + Last I woke sane, but well-nigh close to death + For weakness: it was evening: silent light + Slept on the painted walls, wherein were wrought + Two grand designs; for on one side arose + The women up in wild revolt, and stormed + At the Oppian Law. Titanic shapes, they crammed + The forum, and half-crushed among the rest + A dwarf-like Cato cowered. On the other side + Hortensia spoke against the tax; behind, + A train of dames: by axe and eagle sat, + With all their foreheads drawn in Roman scowls, + And half the wolf's-milk curdled in their veins, + The fierce triumvirs; and before them paused + Hortensia pleading: angry was her face. + + I saw the forms: I knew not where I was: + They did but look like hollow shows; nor more + Sweet Ida: palm to palm she sat: the dew + Dwelt in her eyes, and softer all her shape + And rounder seemed: I moved: I sighed: a touch + Came round my wrist, and tears upon my hand: + Then all for languor and self-pity ran + Mine down my face, and with what life I had, + And like a flower that cannot all unfold, + So drenched it is with tempest, to the sun, + Yet, as it may, turns toward him, I on her + Fixt my faint eyes, and uttered whisperingly: + + 'If you be, what I think you, some sweet dream, + I would but ask you to fulfil yourself: + But if you be that Ida whom I knew, + I ask you nothing: only, if a dream, + Sweet dream, be perfect. I shall die tonight. + Stoop down and seem to kiss me ere I die.' + + I could no more, but lay like one in trance, + That hears his burial talked of by his friends, + And cannot speak, nor move, nor make one sign, + But lies and dreads his doom. She turned; she paused; + She stooped; and out of languor leapt a cry; + Leapt fiery Passion from the brinks of death; + And I believed that in the living world + My spirit closed with Ida's at the lips; + Till back I fell, and from mine arms she rose + Glowing all over noble shame; and all + Her falser self slipt from her like a robe, + And left her woman, lovelier in her mood + Than in her mould that other, when she came + From barren deeps to conquer all with love; + And down the streaming crystal dropt; and she + Far-fleeted by the purple island-sides, + Naked, a double light in air and wave, + To meet her Graces, where they decked her out + For worship without end; nor end of mine, + Stateliest, for thee! but mute she glided forth, + Nor glanced behind her, and I sank and slept, + Filled through and through with Love, a happy sleep. + + Deep in the night I woke: she, near me, held + A volume of the Poets of her land: + There to herself, all in low tones, she read. + + + 'Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white; + Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk; + Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font: + The fire-fly wakens: wake thou with me. + + Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost, + And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. + + Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars, + And all thy heart lies open unto me. + + Now lies the silent meteor on, and leaves + A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me. + + Now folds the lily all her sweetness up, + And slips into the bosom of the lake: + So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip + Into my bosom and be lost in me.' + + + I heard her turn the page; she found a small + Sweet Idyl, and once more, as low, she read: + + + 'Come down, O maid, from yonder mountain height: + What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang) + In height and cold, the splendour of the hills? + But cease to move so near the Heavens, and cease + To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine, + To sit a star upon the sparkling spire; + And come, for love is of the valley, come, + For love is of the valley, come thou down + And find him; by the happy threshold, he, + Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize, + Or red with spirted purple of the vats, + Or foxlike in the vine; nor cares to walk + With Death and Morning on the silver horns, + Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine, + Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice, + That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls + To roll the torrent out of dusky doors: + But follow; let the torrent dance thee down + To find him in the valley; let the wild + Lean-headed Eagles yelp alone, and leave + The monstrous ledges there to slope, and spill + Their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke, + That like a broken purpose waste in air: + So waste not thou; but come; for all the vales + Await thee; azure pillars of the hearth + Arise to thee; the children call, and I + Thy shepherd pipe, and sweet is every sound, + Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet; + Myriads of rivulets hurrying through the lawn, + The moan of doves in immemorial elms, + And murmuring of innumerable bees.' + + + So she low-toned; while with shut eyes I lay + Listening; then looked. Pale was the perfect face; + The bosom with long sighs laboured; and meek + Seemed the full lips, and mild the luminous eyes, + And the voice trembled and the hand. She said + Brokenly, that she knew it, she had failed + In sweet humility; had failed in all; + That all her labour was but as a block + Left in the quarry; but she still were loth, + She still were loth to yield herself to one + That wholly scorned to help their equal rights + Against the sons of men, and barbarous laws. + She prayed me not to judge their cause from her + That wronged it, sought far less for truth than power + In knowledge: something wild within her breast, + A greater than all knowledge, beat her down. + And she had nursed me there from week to week: + Much had she learnt in little time. In part + It was ill counsel had misled the girl + To vex true hearts: yet was she but a girl-- + 'Ah fool, and made myself a Queen of farce! + When comes another such? never, I think, + Till the Sun drop, dead, from the signs.' + Her voice + choked, and her forehead sank upon her hands, + And her great heart through all the faultful Past + Went sorrowing in a pause I dared not break; + Till notice of a change in the dark world + Was lispt about the acacias, and a bird, + That early woke to feed her little ones, + Sent from a dewy breast a cry for light: + She moved, and at her feet the volume fell. + + 'Blame not thyself too much,' I said, 'nor blame + Too much the sons of men and barbarous laws; + These were the rough ways of the world till now. + Henceforth thou hast a helper, me, that know + The woman's cause is man's: they rise or sink + Together, dwarfed or godlike, bond or free: + For she that out of Lethe scales with man + The shining steps of Nature, shares with man + His nights, his days, moves with him to one goal, + Stays all the fair young planet in her hands-- + If she be small, slight-natured, miserable, + How shall men grow? but work no more alone! + Our place is much: as far as in us lies + We two will serve them both in aiding her-- + Will clear away the parasitic forms + That seem to keep her up but drag her down-- + Will leave her space to burgeon out of all + Within her--let her make herself her own + To give or keep, to live and learn and be + All that not harms distinctive womanhood. + For woman is not undevelopt man, + But diverse: could we make her as the man, + Sweet Love were slain: his dearest bond is this, + Not like to like, but like in difference. + Yet in the long years liker must they grow; + The man be more of woman, she of man; + He gain in sweetness and in moral height, + Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world; + She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care, + Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind; + Till at the last she set herself to man, + Like perfect music unto noble words; + And so these twain, upon the skirts of Time, + Sit side by side, full-summed in all their powers, + Dispensing harvest, sowing the To-be, + Self-reverent each and reverencing each, + Distinct in individualities, + But like each other even as those who love. + Then comes the statelier Eden back to men: + Then reign the world's great bridals, chaste and calm: + Then springs the crowning race of humankind. + May these things be!' + Sighing she spoke 'I fear + They will not.' + 'Dear, but let us type them now + In our own lives, and this proud watchword rest + Of equal; seeing either sex alone + Is half itself, and in true marriage lies + Nor equal, nor unequal: each fulfils + Defect in each, and always thought in thought, + Purpose in purpose, will in will, they grow, + The single pure and perfect animal, + The two-celled heart beating, with one full stroke, + Life.' + And again sighing she spoke: 'A dream + That once was mine! what woman taught you this?' + + 'Alone,' I said, 'from earlier than I know, + Immersed in rich foreshadowings of the world, + I loved the woman: he, that doth not, lives + A drowning life, besotted in sweet self, + Or pines in sad experience worse than death, + Or keeps his winged affections clipt with crime: + Yet was there one through whom I loved her, one + Not learnèd, save in gracious household ways, + Not perfect, nay, but full of tender wants, + No Angel, but a dearer being, all dipt + In Angel instincts, breathing Paradise, + Interpreter between the Gods and men, + Who looked all native to her place, and yet + On tiptoe seemed to touch upon a sphere + Too gross to tread, and all male minds perforce + Swayed to her from their orbits as they moved, + And girdled her with music. Happy he + With such a mother! faith in womankind + Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high + Comes easy to him, and though he trip and fall + He shall not blind his soul with clay.' + 'But I,' + Said Ida, tremulously, 'so all unlike-- + It seems you love to cheat yourself with words: + This mother is your model. I have heard + of your strange doubts: they well might be: I seem + A mockery to my own self. Never, Prince; + You cannot love me.' + 'Nay but thee' I said + 'From yearlong poring on thy pictured eyes, + Ere seen I loved, and loved thee seen, and saw + Thee woman through the crust of iron moods + That masked thee from men's reverence up, and forced + Sweet love on pranks of saucy boyhood: now, + Given back to life, to life indeed, through thee, + Indeed I love: the new day comes, the light + Dearer for night, as dearer thou for faults + Lived over: lift thine eyes; my doubts are dead, + My haunting sense of hollow shows: the change, + This truthful change in thee has killed it. Dear, + Look up, and let thy nature strike on mine, + Like yonder morning on the blind half-world; + Approach and fear not; breathe upon my brows; + In that fine air I tremble, all the past + Melts mist-like into this bright hour, and this + Is morn to more, and all the rich to-come + Reels, as the golden Autumn woodland reels + Athwart the smoke of burning weeds. Forgive me, + I waste my heart in signs: let be. My bride, + My wife, my life. O we will walk this world, + Yoked in all exercise of noble end, + And so through those dark gates across the wild + That no man knows. Indeed I love thee: come, + Yield thyself up: my hopes and thine are one: + Accomplish thou my manhood and thyself; + Lay thy sweet hands in mine and trust to me.' + + + + +CONCLUSION + + + + So closed our tale, of which I give you all + The random scheme as wildly as it rose: + The words are mostly mine; for when we ceased + There came a minute's pause, and Walter said, + 'I wish she had not yielded!' then to me, + 'What, if you drest it up poetically?' + So prayed the men, the women: I gave assent: + Yet how to bind the scattered scheme of seven + Together in one sheaf? What style could suit? + The men required that I should give throughout + The sort of mock-heroic gigantesque, + With which we bantered little Lilia first: + The women--and perhaps they felt their power, + For something in the ballads which they sang, + Or in their silent influence as they sat, + Had ever seemed to wrestle with burlesque, + And drove us, last, to quite a solemn close-- + They hated banter, wished for something real, + A gallant fight, a noble princess--why + Not make her true-heroic--true-sublime? + Or all, they said, as earnest as the close? + Which yet with such a framework scarce could be. + Then rose a little feud betwixt the two, + Betwixt the mockers and the realists: + And I, betwixt them both, to please them both, + And yet to give the story as it rose, + I moved as in a strange diagonal, + And maybe neither pleased myself nor them. + + But Lilia pleased me, for she took no part + In our dispute: the sequel of the tale + Had touched her; and she sat, she plucked the grass, + She flung it from her, thinking: last, she fixt + A showery glance upon her aunt, and said, + 'You--tell us what we are' who might have told, + For she was crammed with theories out of books, + But that there rose a shout: the gates were closed + At sunset, and the crowd were swarming now, + To take their leave, about the garden rails. + + So I and some went out to these: we climbed + The slope to Vivian-place, and turning saw + The happy valleys, half in light, and half + Far-shadowing from the west, a land of peace; + Gray halls alone among their massive groves; + Trim hamlets; here and there a rustic tower + Half-lost in belts of hop and breadths of wheat; + The shimmering glimpses of a stream; the seas; + A red sail, or a white; and far beyond, + Imagined more than seen, the skirts of France. + + 'Look there, a garden!' said my college friend, + The Tory member's elder son, 'and there! + God bless the narrow sea which keeps her off, + And keeps our Britain, whole within herself, + A nation yet, the rulers and the ruled-- + Some sense of duty, something of a faith, + Some reverence for the laws ourselves have made, + Some patient force to change them when we will, + Some civic manhood firm against the crowd-- + But yonder, whiff! there comes a sudden heat, + The gravest citizen seems to lose his head, + The king is scared, the soldier will not fight, + The little boys begin to shoot and stab, + A kingdom topples over with a shriek + Like an old woman, and down rolls the world + In mock heroics stranger than our own; + Revolts, republics, revolutions, most + No graver than a schoolboys' barring out; + Too comic for the serious things they are, + Too solemn for the comic touches in them, + Like our wild Princess with as wise a dream + As some of theirs--God bless the narrow seas! + I wish they were a whole Atlantic broad.' + + 'Have patience,' I replied, 'ourselves are full + Of social wrong; and maybe wildest dreams + Are but the needful preludes of the truth: + For me, the genial day, the happy crowd, + The sport half-science, fill me with a faith. + This fine old world of ours is but a child + Yet in the go-cart. Patience! Give it time + To learn its limbs: there is a hand that guides.' + + In such discourse we gained the garden rails, + And there we saw Sir Walter where he stood, + Before a tower of crimson holly-hoaks, + Among six boys, head under head, and looked + No little lily-handed Baronet he, + A great broad-shouldered genial Englishman, + A lord of fat prize-oxen and of sheep, + A raiser of huge melons and of pine, + A patron of some thirty charities, + A pamphleteer on guano and on grain, + A quarter-sessions chairman, abler none; + Fair-haired and redder than a windy morn; + Now shaking hands with him, now him, of those + That stood the nearest--now addressed to speech-- + Who spoke few words and pithy, such as closed + Welcome, farewell, and welcome for the year + To follow: a shout rose again, and made + The long line of the approaching rookery swerve + From the elms, and shook the branches of the deer + From slope to slope through distant ferns, and rang + Beyond the bourn of sunset; O, a shout + More joyful than the city-roar that hails + Premier or king! Why should not these great Sirs + Give up their parks some dozen times a year + To let the people breathe? So thrice they cried, + I likewise, and in groups they streamed away. + + But we went back to the Abbey, and sat on, + So much the gathering darkness charmed: we sat + But spoke not, rapt in nameless reverie, + Perchance upon the future man: the walls + Blackened about us, bats wheeled, and owls whooped, + And gradually the powers of the night, + That range above the region of the wind, + Deepening the courts of twilight broke them up + Through all the silent spaces of the worlds, + Beyond all thought into the Heaven of Heavens. + + Last little Lilia, rising quietly, + Disrobed the glimmering statue of Sir Ralph + From those rich silks, and home well-pleased we went. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Princess, by Alfred Lord Tennyson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRINCESS *** + +***** This file should be named 791-8.txt or 791-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/9/791/ + +Produced by ddNg E-Ching + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/791-8.zip b/791-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2059436 --- /dev/null +++ b/791-8.zip diff --git a/791-h.zip b/791-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..affdae7 --- /dev/null +++ b/791-h.zip diff --git a/791-h/791-h.htm b/791-h/791-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..121de5a --- /dev/null +++ b/791-h/791-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4133 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Princess, by Alfred Lord Tennyson + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Princess, by Alfred Lord Tennyson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Princess + +Author: Alfred Lord Tennyson + +Release Date: August 2, 2008 [EBook #791] +Last Updated: February 7, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRINCESS *** + + + + +Produced by ddNg E-Ching, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE PRINCESS + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by Alfred Lord Tennyson + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkprologue"> Prologue </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_CONC"> CONCLUSION </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><a name="linkprologue" id="linkprologue"></a> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +PROLOGUE + + + Sir Walter Vivian all a summer's day + Gave his broad lawns until the set of sun + Up to the people: thither flocked at noon + His tenants, wife and child, and thither half + The neighbouring borough with their Institute + Of which he was the patron. I was there + From college, visiting the son,—the son + A Walter too,—with others of our set, + Five others: we were seven at Vivian-place. + + And me that morning Walter showed the house, + Greek, set with busts: from vases in the hall + Flowers of all heavens, and lovelier than their names, + Grew side by side; and on the pavement lay + Carved stones of the Abbey-ruin in the park, + Huge Ammonites, and the first bones of Time; + And on the tables every clime and age + Jumbled together; celts and calumets, + Claymore and snowshoe, toys in lava, fans + Of sandal, amber, ancient rosaries, + Laborious orient ivory sphere in sphere, + The cursed Malayan crease, and battle-clubs + From the isles of palm: and higher on the walls, + Betwixt the monstrous horns of elk and deer, + His own forefathers' arms and armour hung. + + And 'this' he said 'was Hugh's at Agincourt; + And that was old Sir Ralph's at Ascalon: + A good knight he! we keep a chronicle + With all about him'—which he brought, and I + Dived in a hoard of tales that dealt with knights, + Half-legend, half-historic, counts and kings + Who laid about them at their wills and died; + And mixt with these, a lady, one that armed + Her own fair head, and sallying through the gate, + Had beat her foes with slaughter from her walls. + + 'O miracle of women,' said the book, + 'O noble heart who, being strait-besieged + By this wild king to force her to his wish, + Nor bent, nor broke, nor shunned a soldier's death, + But now when all was lost or seemed as lost— + Her stature more than mortal in the burst + Of sunrise, her arm lifted, eyes on fire— + Brake with a blast of trumpets from the gate, + And, falling on them like a thunderbolt, + She trampled some beneath her horses' heels, + And some were whelmed with missiles of the wall, + And some were pushed with lances from the rock, + And part were drowned within the whirling brook: + O miracle of noble womanhood!' + + So sang the gallant glorious chronicle; + And, I all rapt in this, 'Come out,' he said, + 'To the Abbey: there is Aunt Elizabeth + And sister Lilia with the rest.' We went + (I kept the book and had my finger in it) + Down through the park: strange was the sight to me; + For all the sloping pasture murmured, sown + With happy faces and with holiday. + There moved the multitude, a thousand heads: + The patient leaders of their Institute + Taught them with facts. One reared a font of stone + And drew, from butts of water on the slope, + The fountain of the moment, playing, now + A twisted snake, and now a rain of pearls, + Or steep-up spout whereon the gilded ball + Danced like a wisp: and somewhat lower down + A man with knobs and wires and vials fired + A cannon: Echo answered in her sleep + From hollow fields: and here were telescopes + For azure views; and there a group of girls + In circle waited, whom the electric shock + Dislinked with shrieks and laughter: round the lake + A little clock-work steamer paddling plied + And shook the lilies: perched about the knolls + A dozen angry models jetted steam: + A petty railway ran: a fire-balloon + Rose gem-like up before the dusky groves + And dropt a fairy parachute and past: + And there through twenty posts of telegraph + They flashed a saucy message to and fro + Between the mimic stations; so that sport + Went hand in hand with Science; otherwhere + Pure sport; a herd of boys with clamour bowled + And stumped the wicket; babies rolled about + Like tumbled fruit in grass; and men and maids + Arranged a country dance, and flew through light + And shadow, while the twangling violin + Struck up with Soldier-laddie, and overhead + The broad ambrosial aisles of lofty lime + Made noise with bees and breeze from end to end. + + Strange was the sight and smacking of the time; + And long we gazed, but satiated at length + Came to the ruins. High-arched and ivy-claspt, + Of finest Gothic lighter than a fire, + Through one wide chasm of time and frost they gave + The park, the crowd, the house; but all within + The sward was trim as any garden lawn: + And here we lit on Aunt Elizabeth, + And Lilia with the rest, and lady friends + From neighbour seats: and there was Ralph himself, + A broken statue propt against the wall, + As gay as any. Lilia, wild with sport, + Half child half woman as she was, had wound + A scarf of orange round the stony helm, + And robed the shoulders in a rosy silk, + That made the old warrior from his ivied nook + Glow like a sunbeam: near his tomb a feast + Shone, silver-set; about it lay the guests, + And there we joined them: then the maiden Aunt + Took this fair day for text, and from it preached + An universal culture for the crowd, + And all things great; but we, unworthier, told + Of college: he had climbed across the spikes, + And he had squeezed himself betwixt the bars, + And he had breathed the Proctor's dogs; and one + Discussed his tutor, rough to common men, + But honeying at the whisper of a lord; + And one the Master, as a rogue in grain + Veneered with sanctimonious theory. + But while they talked, above their heads I saw + The feudal warrior lady-clad; which brought + My book to mind: and opening this I read + Of old Sir Ralph a page or two that rang + With tilt and tourney; then the tale of her + That drove her foes with slaughter from her walls, + And much I praised her nobleness, and 'Where,' + Asked Walter, patting Lilia's head (she lay + Beside him) 'lives there such a woman now?' + + Quick answered Lilia 'There are thousands now + Such women, but convention beats them down: + It is but bringing up; no more than that: + You men have done it: how I hate you all! + Ah, were I something great! I wish I were + Some might poetess, I would shame you then, + That love to keep us children! O I wish + That I were some great princess, I would build + Far off from men a college like a man's, + And I would teach them all that men are taught; + We are twice as quick!' And here she shook aside + The hand that played the patron with her curls. + + And one said smiling 'Pretty were the sight + If our old halls could change their sex, and flaunt + With prudes for proctors, dowagers for deans, + And sweet girl-graduates in their golden hair. + I think they should not wear our rusty gowns, + But move as rich as Emperor-moths, or Ralph + Who shines so in the corner; yet I fear, + If there were many Lilias in the brood, + However deep you might embower the nest, + Some boy would spy it.' + At this upon the sward + She tapt her tiny silken-sandaled foot: + 'That's your light way; but I would make it death + For any male thing but to peep at us.' + + Petulant she spoke, and at herself she laughed; + A rosebud set with little wilful thorns, + And sweet as English air could make her, she: + But Walter hailed a score of names upon her, + And 'petty Ogress', and 'ungrateful Puss', + And swore he longed at college, only longed, + All else was well, for she-society. + They boated and they cricketed; they talked + At wine, in clubs, of art, of politics; + They lost their weeks; they vext the souls of deans; + They rode; they betted; made a hundred friends, + And caught the blossom of the flying terms, + But missed the mignonette of Vivian-place, + The little hearth-flower Lilia. Thus he spoke, + Part banter, part affection. + 'True,' she said, + 'We doubt not that. O yes, you missed us much. + I'll stake my ruby ring upon it you did.' + + She held it out; and as a parrot turns + Up through gilt wires a crafty loving eye, + And takes a lady's finger with all care, + And bites it for true heart and not for harm, + So he with Lilia's. Daintily she shrieked + And wrung it. 'Doubt my word again!' he said. + 'Come, listen! here is proof that you were missed: + We seven stayed at Christmas up to read; + And there we took one tutor as to read: + The hard-grained Muses of the cube and square + Were out of season: never man, I think, + So mouldered in a sinecure as he: + For while our cloisters echoed frosty feet, + And our long walks were stript as bare as brooms, + We did but talk you over, pledge you all + In wassail; often, like as many girls— + Sick for the hollies and the yews of home— + As many little trifling Lilias—played + Charades and riddles as at Christmas here, + And <i>what's my thought</i> and <i>when</i> and <i>where</i> and <i>how</i>, + As here at Christmas.' + She remembered that: + A pleasant game, she thought: she liked it more + Than magic music, forfeits, all the rest. + But these—what kind of tales did men tell men, + She wondered, by themselves? + A half-disdain + Perched on the pouted blossom of her lips: + And Walter nodded at me; '<i>He</i> began, + The rest would follow, each in turn; and so + We forged a sevenfold story. Kind? what kind? + Chimeras, crotchets, Christmas solecisms, + Seven-headed monsters only made to kill + Time by the fire in winter.' + 'Kill him now, + The tyrant! kill him in the summer too,' + Said Lilia; 'Why not now?' the maiden Aunt. + 'Why not a summer's as a winter's tale? + A tale for summer as befits the time, + And something it should be to suit the place, + Heroic, for a hero lies beneath, + Grave, solemn!' + Walter warped his mouth at this + To something so mock-solemn, that I laughed + And Lilia woke with sudden-thrilling mirth + An echo like a ghostly woodpecker, + Hid in the ruins; till the maiden Aunt + (A little sense of wrong had touched her face + With colour) turned to me with 'As you will; + Heroic if you will, or what you will, + Or be yourself you hero if you will.' + + 'Take Lilia, then, for heroine' clamoured he, + 'And make her some great Princess, six feet high, + Grand, epic, homicidal; and be you + The Prince to win her!' + 'Then follow me, the Prince,' + I answered, 'each be hero in his turn! + Seven and yet one, like shadows in a dream.— + Heroic seems our Princess as required— + But something made to suit with Time and place, + A Gothic ruin and a Grecian house, + A talk of college and of ladies' rights, + A feudal knight in silken masquerade, + And, yonder, shrieks and strange experiments + For which the good Sir Ralph had burnt them all— + This <i>were</i> a medley! we should have him back + Who told the "Winter's tale" to do it for us. + No matter: we will say whatever comes. + And let the ladies sing us, if they will, + From time to time, some ballad or a song + To give us breathing-space.' + So I began, + And the rest followed: and the women sang + Between the rougher voices of the men, + Like linnets in the pauses of the wind: + And here I give the story and the songs. +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + I + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A prince I was, blue-eyed, and fair in face, + Of temper amorous, as the first of May, + With lengths of yellow ringlet, like a girl, + For on my cradle shone the Northern star. + + There lived an ancient legend in our house. + Some sorcerer, whom a far-off grandsire burnt + Because he cast no shadow, had foretold, + Dying, that none of all our blood should know + The shadow from the substance, and that one + Should come to fight with shadows and to fall. + For so, my mother said, the story ran. + And, truly, waking dreams were, more or less, + An old and strange affection of the house. + Myself too had weird seizures, Heaven knows what: + On a sudden in the midst of men and day, + And while I walked and talked as heretofore, + I seemed to move among a world of ghosts, + And feel myself the shadow of a dream. + Our great court-Galen poised his gilt-head cane, + And pawed his beard, and muttered 'catalepsy'. + My mother pitying made a thousand prayers; + My mother was as mild as any saint, + Half-canonized by all that looked on her, + So gracious was her tact and tenderness: + But my good father thought a king a king; + He cared not for the affection of the house; + He held his sceptre like a pedant's wand + To lash offence, and with long arms and hands + Reached out, and picked offenders from the mass + For judgment. + Now it chanced that I had been, + While life was yet in bud and blade, bethrothed + To one, a neighbouring Princess: she to me + Was proxy-wedded with a bootless calf + At eight years old; and still from time to time + Came murmurs of her beauty from the South, + And of her brethren, youths of puissance; + And still I wore her picture by my heart, + And one dark tress; and all around them both + Sweet thoughts would swarm as bees about their queen. + + But when the days drew nigh that I should wed, + My father sent ambassadors with furs + And jewels, gifts, to fetch her: these brought back + A present, a great labour of the loom; + And therewithal an answer vague as wind: + Besides, they saw the king; he took the gifts; + He said there was a compact; that was true: + But then she had a will; was he to blame? + And maiden fancies; loved to live alone + Among her women; certain, would not wed. + + That morning in the presence room I stood + With Cyril and with Florian, my two friends: + The first, a gentleman of broken means + (His father's fault) but given to starts and bursts + Of revel; and the last, my other heart, + And almost my half-self, for still we moved + Together, twinned as horse's ear and eye. + + Now, while they spake, I saw my father's face + Grow long and troubled like a rising moon, + Inflamed with wrath: he started on his feet, + Tore the king's letter, snowed it down, and rent + The wonder of the loom through warp and woof + From skirt to skirt; and at the last he sware + That he would send a hundred thousand men, + And bring her in a whirlwind: then he chewed + The thrice-turned cud of wrath, and cooked his spleen, + Communing with his captains of the war. + + At last I spoke. 'My father, let me go. + It cannot be but some gross error lies + In this report, this answer of a king, + Whom all men rate as kind and hospitable: + Or, maybe, I myself, my bride once seen, + Whate'er my grief to find her less than fame, + May rue the bargain made.' And Florian said: + 'I have a sister at the foreign court, + Who moves about the Princess; she, you know, + Who wedded with a nobleman from thence: + He, dying lately, left her, as I hear, + The lady of three castles in that land: + Through her this matter might be sifted clean.' + And Cyril whispered: 'Take me with you too.' + Then laughing 'what, if these weird seizures come + Upon you in those lands, and no one near + To point you out the shadow from the truth! + Take me: I'll serve you better in a strait; + I grate on rusty hinges here:' but 'No!' + Roared the rough king, 'you shall not; we ourself + Will crush her pretty maiden fancies dead + In iron gauntlets: break the council up.' + + But when the council broke, I rose and past + Through the wild woods that hung about the town; + Found a still place, and plucked her likeness out; + Laid it on flowers, and watched it lying bathed + In the green gleam of dewy-tasselled trees: + What were those fancies? wherefore break her troth? + Proud looked the lips: but while I meditated + A wind arose and rushed upon the South, + And shook the songs, the whispers, and the shrieks + Of the wild woods together; and a Voice + Went with it, 'Follow, follow, thou shalt win.' + + Then, ere the silver sickle of that month + Became her golden shield, I stole from court + With Cyril and with Florian, unperceived, + Cat-footed through the town and half in dread + To hear my father's clamour at our backs + With Ho! from some bay-window shake the night; + But all was quiet: from the bastioned walls + Like threaded spiders, one by one, we dropt, + And flying reached the frontier: then we crost + To a livelier land; and so by tilth and grange, + And vines, and blowing bosks of wilderness, + We gained the mother city thick with towers, + And in the imperial palace found the king. + + His name was Gama; cracked and small his voice, + But bland the smile that like a wrinkling wind + On glassy water drove his cheek in lines; + A little dry old man, without a star, + Not like a king: three days he feasted us, + And on the fourth I spake of why we came, + And my bethrothed. 'You do us, Prince,' he said, + Airing a snowy hand and signet gem, + 'All honour. We remember love ourselves + In our sweet youth: there did a compact pass + Long summers back, a kind of ceremony— + I think the year in which our olives failed. + I would you had her, Prince, with all my heart, + With my full heart: but there were widows here, + Two widows, Lady Psyche, Lady Blanche; + They fed her theories, in and out of place + Maintaining that with equal husbandry + The woman were an equal to the man. + They harped on this; with this our banquets rang; + Our dances broke and buzzed in knots of talk; + Nothing but this; my very ears were hot + To hear them: knowledge, so my daughter held, + Was all in all: they had but been, she thought, + As children; they must lose the child, assume + The woman: then, Sir, awful odes she wrote, + Too awful, sure, for what they treated of, + But all she is and does is awful; odes + About this losing of the child; and rhymes + And dismal lyrics, prophesying change + Beyond all reason: these the women sang; + And they that know such things—I sought but peace; + No critic I—would call them masterpieces: + They mastered <i>me</i>. At last she begged a boon, + A certain summer-palace which I have + Hard by your father's frontier: I said no, + Yet being an easy man, gave it: and there, + All wild to found an University + For maidens, on the spur she fled; and more + We know not,—only this: they see no men, + Not even her brother Arac, nor the twins + Her brethren, though they love her, look upon her + As on a kind of paragon; and I + (Pardon me saying it) were much loth to breed + Dispute betwixt myself and mine: but since + (And I confess with right) you think me bound + In some sort, I can give you letters to her; + And yet, to speak the truth, I rate your chance + Almost at naked nothing.' + Thus the king; + And I, though nettled that he seemed to slur + With garrulous ease and oily courtesies + Our formal compact, yet, not less (all frets + But chafing me on fire to find my bride) + Went forth again with both my friends. We rode + Many a long league back to the North. At last + From hills, that looked across a land of hope, + We dropt with evening on a rustic town + Set in a gleaming river's crescent-curve, + Close at the boundary of the liberties; + There, entered an old hostel, called mine host + To council, plied him with his richest wines, + And showed the late-writ letters of the king. + + He with a long low sibilation, stared + As blank as death in marble; then exclaimed + Averring it was clear against all rules + For any man to go: but as his brain + Began to mellow, 'If the king,' he said, + 'Had given us letters, was he bound to speak? + The king would bear him out;' and at the last— + The summer of the vine in all his veins— + 'No doubt that we might make it worth his while. + She once had past that way; he heard her speak; + She scared him; life! he never saw the like; + She looked as grand as doomsday and as grave: + And he, he reverenced his liege-lady there; + He always made a point to post with mares; + His daughter and his housemaid were the boys: + The land, he understood, for miles about + Was tilled by women; all the swine were sows, + And all the dogs'— + But while he jested thus, + A thought flashed through me which I clothed in act, + Remembering how we three presented Maid + Or Nymph, or Goddess, at high tide of feast, + In masque or pageant at my father's court. + We sent mine host to purchase female gear; + He brought it, and himself, a sight to shake + The midriff of despair with laughter, holp + To lace us up, till, each, in maiden plumes + We rustled: him we gave a costly bribe + To guerdon silence, mounted our good steeds, + And boldly ventured on the liberties. + + We followed up the river as we rode, + And rode till midnight when the college lights + Began to glitter firefly-like in copse + And linden alley: then we past an arch, + Whereon a woman-statue rose with wings + From four winged horses dark against the stars; + And some inscription ran along the front, + But deep in shadow: further on we gained + A little street half garden and half house; + But scarce could hear each other speak for noise + Of clocks and chimes, like silver hammers falling + On silver anvils, and the splash and stir + Of fountains spouted up and showering down + In meshes of the jasmine and the rose: + And all about us pealed the nightingale, + Rapt in her song, and careless of the snare. + + There stood a bust of Pallas for a sign, + By two sphere lamps blazoned like Heaven and Earth + With constellation and with continent, + Above an entry: riding in, we called; + A plump-armed Ostleress and a stable wench + Came running at the call, and helped us down. + Then stept a buxom hostess forth, and sailed, + Full-blown, before us into rooms which gave + Upon a pillared porch, the bases lost + In laurel: her we asked of that and this, + And who were tutors. 'Lady Blanche' she said, + 'And Lady Psyche.' 'Which was prettiest, + Best-natured?' 'Lady Psyche.' 'Hers are we,' + One voice, we cried; and I sat down and wrote, + In such a hand as when a field of corn + Bows all its ears before the roaring East; + + 'Three ladies of the Northern empire pray + Your Highness would enroll them with your own, + As Lady Psyche's pupils.' + This I sealed: + The seal was Cupid bent above a scroll, + And o'er his head Uranian Venus hung, + And raised the blinding bandage from his eyes: + I gave the letter to be sent with dawn; + And then to bed, where half in doze I seemed + To float about a glimmering night, and watch + A full sea glazed with muffled moonlight, swell + On some dark shore just seen that it was rich. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As through the land at eve we went, + And plucked the ripened ears, + We fell out, my wife and I, + O we fell out I know not why, + And kissed again with tears. + And blessings on the falling out + That all the more endears, + When we fall out with those we love + And kiss again with tears! + For when we came where lies the child + We lost in other years, + There above the little grave, + O there above the little grave, + We kissed again with tears. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + At break of day the College Portress came: + She brought us Academic silks, in hue + The lilac, with a silken hood to each, + And zoned with gold; and now when these were on, + And we as rich as moths from dusk cocoons, + She, curtseying her obeisance, let us know + The Princess Ida waited: out we paced, + I first, and following through the porch that sang + All round with laurel, issued in a court + Compact of lucid marbles, bossed with lengths + Of classic frieze, with ample awnings gay + Betwixt the pillars, and with great urns of flowers. + The Muses and the Graces, grouped in threes, + Enringed a billowing fountain in the midst; + And here and there on lattice edges lay + Or book or lute; but hastily we past, + And up a flight of stairs into the hall. + + There at a board by tome and paper sat, + With two tame leopards couched beside her throne, + All beauty compassed in a female form, + The Princess; liker to the inhabitant + Of some clear planet close upon the Sun, + Than our man's earth; such eyes were in her head, + And so much grace and power, breathing down + From over her arched brows, with every turn + Lived through her to the tips of her long hands, + And to her feet. She rose her height, and said: + + 'We give you welcome: not without redound + Of use and glory to yourselves ye come, + The first-fruits of the stranger: aftertime, + And that full voice which circles round the grave, + Will rank you nobly, mingled up with me. + What! are the ladies of your land so tall?' + 'We of the court' said Cyril. 'From the court' + She answered, 'then ye know the Prince?' and he: + 'The climax of his age! as though there were + One rose in all the world, your Highness that, + He worships your ideal:' she replied: + 'We scarcely thought in our own hall to hear + This barren verbiage, current among men, + Light coin, the tinsel clink of compliment. + Your flight from out your bookless wilds would seem + As arguing love of knowledge and of power; + Your language proves you still the child. Indeed, + We dream not of him: when we set our hand + To this great work, we purposed with ourself + Never to wed. You likewise will do well, + Ladies, in entering here, to cast and fling + The tricks, which make us toys of men, that so, + Some future time, if so indeed you will, + You may with those self-styled our lords ally + Your fortunes, justlier balanced, scale with scale.' + + At those high words, we conscious of ourselves, + Perused the matting: then an officer + Rose up, and read the statutes, such as these: + Not for three years to correspond with home; + Not for three years to cross the liberties; + Not for three years to speak with any men; + And many more, which hastily subscribed, + We entered on the boards: and 'Now,' she cried, + 'Ye are green wood, see ye warp not. Look, our hall! + Our statues!—not of those that men desire, + Sleek Odalisques, or oracles of mode, + Nor stunted squaws of West or East; but she + That taught the Sabine how to rule, and she + The foundress of the Babylonian wall, + The Carian Artemisia strong in war, + The Rhodope, that built the pyramid, + Clelia, Cornelia, with the Palmyrene + That fought Aurelian, and the Roman brows + Of Agrippina. Dwell with these, and lose + Convention, since to look on noble forms + Makes noble through the sensuous organism + That which is higher. O lift your natures up: + Embrace our aims: work out your freedom. Girls, + Knowledge is now no more a fountain sealed: + Drink deep, until the habits of the slave, + The sins of emptiness, gossip and spite + And slander, die. Better not be at all + Than not be noble. Leave us: you may go: + Today the Lady Psyche will harangue + The fresh arrivals of the week before; + For they press in from all the provinces, + And fill the hive.' + She spoke, and bowing waved + Dismissal: back again we crost the court + To Lady Psyche's: as we entered in, + There sat along the forms, like morning doves + That sun their milky bosoms on the thatch, + A patient range of pupils; she herself + Erect behind a desk of satin-wood, + A quick brunette, well-moulded, falcon-eyed, + And on the hither side, or so she looked, + Of twenty summers. At her left, a child, + In shining draperies, headed like a star, + Her maiden babe, a double April old, + Aglaïa slept. We sat: the Lady glanced: + Then Florian, but not livelier than the dame + That whispered 'Asses' ears', among the sedge, + 'My sister.' 'Comely, too, by all that's fair,' + Said Cyril. 'Oh hush, hush!' and she began. + + 'This world was once a fluid haze of light, + Till toward the centre set the starry tides, + And eddied into suns, that wheeling cast + The planets: then the monster, then the man; + Tattooed or woaded, winter-clad in skins, + Raw from the prime, and crushing down his mate; + As yet we find in barbarous isles, and here + Among the lowest.' + Thereupon she took + A bird's-eye-view of all the ungracious past; + Glanced at the legendary Amazon + As emblematic of a nobler age; + Appraised the Lycian custom, spoke of those + That lay at wine with Lar and Lucumo; + Ran down the Persian, Grecian, Roman lines + Of empire, and the woman's state in each, + How far from just; till warming with her theme + She fulmined out her scorn of laws Salique + And little-footed China, touched on Mahomet + With much contempt, and came to chivalry: + When some respect, however slight, was paid + To woman, superstition all awry: + However then commenced the dawn: a beam + Had slanted forward, falling in a land + Of promise; fruit would follow. Deep, indeed, + Their debt of thanks to her who first had dared + To leap the rotten pales of prejudice, + Disyoke their necks from custom, and assert + None lordlier than themselves but that which made + Woman and man. She had founded; they must build. + Here might they learn whatever men were taught: + Let them not fear: some said their heads were less: + Some men's were small; not they the least of men; + For often fineness compensated size: + Besides the brain was like the hand, and grew + With using; thence the man's, if more was more; + He took advantage of his strength to be + First in the field: some ages had been lost; + But woman ripened earlier, and her life + Was longer; and albeit their glorious names + Were fewer, scattered stars, yet since in truth + The highest is the measure of the man, + And not the Kaffir, Hottentot, Malay, + Nor those horn-handed breakers of the glebe, + But Homer, Plato, Verulam; even so + With woman: and in arts of government + Elizabeth and others; arts of war + The peasant Joan and others; arts of grace + Sappho and others vied with any man: + And, last not least, she who had left her place, + And bowed her state to them, that they might grow + To use and power on this Oasis, lapt + In the arms of leisure, sacred from the blight + Of ancient influence and scorn. + At last + She rose upon a wind of prophecy + Dilating on the future; 'everywhere + Who heads in council, two beside the hearth, + Two in the tangled business of the world, + Two in the liberal offices of life, + Two plummets dropt for one to sound the abyss + Of science, and the secrets of the mind: + Musician, painter, sculptor, critic, more: + And everywhere the broad and bounteous Earth + Should bear a double growth of those rare souls, + Poets, whose thoughts enrich the blood of the world.' + + She ended here, and beckoned us: the rest + Parted; and, glowing full-faced welcome, she + Began to address us, and was moving on + In gratulation, till as when a boat + Tacks, and the slackened sail flaps, all her voice + Faltering and fluttering in her throat, she cried + 'My brother!' 'Well, my sister.' 'O,' she said, + 'What do you here? and in this dress? and these? + Why who are these? a wolf within the fold! + A pack of wolves! the Lord be gracious to me! + A plot, a plot, a plot to ruin all!' + 'No plot, no plot,' he answered. 'Wretched boy, + How saw you not the inscription on the gate, + LET NO MAN ENTER IN ON PAIN OF DEATH?' + 'And if I had,' he answered, 'who could think + The softer Adams of your Academe, + O sister, Sirens though they be, were such + As chanted on the blanching bones of men?' + 'But you will find it otherwise' she said. + 'You jest: ill jesting with edge-tools! my vow + Binds me to speak, and O that iron will, + That axelike edge unturnable, our Head, + The Princess.' 'Well then, Psyche, take my life, + And nail me like a weasel on a grange + For warning: bury me beside the gate, + And cut this epitaph above my bones; + <i>Here lies a brother by a sister slain, + All for the common good of womankind.</i>' + 'Let me die too,' said Cyril, 'having seen + And heard the Lady Psyche.' + I struck in: + 'Albeit so masked, Madam, I love the truth; + Receive it; and in me behold the Prince + Your countryman, affianced years ago + To the Lady Ida: here, for here she was, + And thus (what other way was left) I came.' + 'O Sir, O Prince, I have no country; none; + If any, this; but none. Whate'er I was + Disrooted, what I am is grafted here. + Affianced, Sir? love-whispers may not breathe + Within this vestal limit, and how should I, + Who am not mine, say, live: the thunderbolt + Hangs silent; but prepare: I speak; it falls.' + 'Yet pause,' I said: 'for that inscription there, + I think no more of deadly lurks therein, + Than in a clapper clapping in a garth, + To scare the fowl from fruit: if more there be, + If more and acted on, what follows? war; + Your own work marred: for this your Academe, + Whichever side be Victor, in the halloo + Will topple to the trumpet down, and pass + With all fair theories only made to gild + A stormless summer.' 'Let the Princess judge + Of that' she said: 'farewell, Sir—and to you. + I shudder at the sequel, but I go.' + + 'Are you that Lady Psyche,' I rejoined, + 'The fifth in line from that old Florian, + Yet hangs his portrait in my father's hall + (The gaunt old Baron with his beetle brow + Sun-shaded in the heat of dusty fights) + As he bestrode my Grandsire, when he fell, + And all else fled? we point to it, and we say, + The loyal warmth of Florian is not cold, + But branches current yet in kindred veins.' + 'Are you that Psyche,' Florian added; 'she + With whom I sang about the morning hills, + Flung ball, flew kite, and raced the purple fly, + And snared the squirrel of the glen? are you + That Psyche, wont to bind my throbbing brow, + To smoothe my pillow, mix the foaming draught + Of fever, tell me pleasant tales, and read + My sickness down to happy dreams? are you + That brother-sister Psyche, both in one? + You were that Psyche, but what are you now?' + 'You are that Psyche,' said Cyril, 'for whom + I would be that for ever which I seem, + Woman, if I might sit beside your feet, + And glean your scattered sapience.' + Then once more, + 'Are you that Lady Psyche,' I began, + 'That on her bridal morn before she past + From all her old companions, when the kind + Kissed her pale cheek, declared that ancient ties + Would still be dear beyond the southern hills; + That were there any of our people there + In want or peril, there was one to hear + And help them? look! for such are these and I.' + 'Are you that Psyche,' Florian asked, 'to whom, + In gentler days, your arrow-wounded fawn + Came flying while you sat beside the well? + The creature laid his muzzle on your lap, + And sobbed, and you sobbed with it, and the blood + Was sprinkled on your kirtle, and you wept. + That was fawn's blood, not brother's, yet you wept. + O by the bright head of my little niece, + You were that Psyche, and what are you now?' + 'You are that Psyche,' Cyril said again, + 'The mother of the sweetest little maid, + That ever crowed for kisses.' + 'Out upon it!' + She answered, 'peace! and why should I not play + The Spartan Mother with emotion, be + The Lucius Junius Brutus of my kind? + Him you call great: he for the common weal, + The fading politics of mortal Rome, + As I might slay this child, if good need were, + Slew both his sons: and I, shall I, on whom + The secular emancipation turns + Of half this world, be swerved from right to save + A prince, a brother? a little will I yield. + Best so, perchance, for us, and well for you. + O hard, when love and duty clash! I fear + My conscience will not count me fleckless; yet— + Hear my conditions: promise (otherwise + You perish) as you came, to slip away + Today, tomorrow, soon: it shall be said, + These women were too barbarous, would not learn; + They fled, who might have shamed us: promise, all.' + + What could we else, we promised each; and she, + Like some wild creature newly-caged, commenced + A to-and-fro, so pacing till she paused + By Florian; holding out her lily arms + Took both his hands, and smiling faintly said: + 'I knew you at the first: though you have grown + You scarce have altered: I am sad and glad + To see you, Florian. <i>I</i> give thee to death + My brother! it was duty spoke, not I. + My needful seeming harshness, pardon it. + Our mother, is she well?' + With that she kissed + His forehead, then, a moment after, clung + About him, and betwixt them blossomed up + From out a common vein of memory + Sweet household talk, and phrases of the hearth, + And far allusion, till the gracious dews + Began to glisten and to fall: and while + They stood, so rapt, we gazing, came a voice, + 'I brought a message here from Lady Blanche.' + Back started she, and turning round we saw + The Lady Blanche's daughter where she stood, + Melissa, with her hand upon the lock, + A rosy blonde, and in a college gown, + That clad her like an April daffodilly + (Her mother's colour) with her lips apart, + And all her thoughts as fair within her eyes, + As bottom agates seen to wave and float + In crystal currents of clear morning seas. + + So stood that same fair creature at the door. + Then Lady Psyche, 'Ah—Melissa—you! + You heard us?' and Melissa, 'O pardon me + I heard, I could not help it, did not wish: + But, dearest Lady, pray you fear me not, + Nor think I bear that heart within my breast, + To give three gallant gentlemen to death.' + 'I trust you,' said the other, 'for we two + Were always friends, none closer, elm and vine: + But yet your mother's jealous temperament— + Let not your prudence, dearest, drowse, or prove + The Danaïd of a leaky vase, for fear + This whole foundation ruin, and I lose + My honour, these their lives.' 'Ah, fear me not' + Replied Melissa; 'no—I would not tell, + No, not for all Aspasia's cleverness, + No, not to answer, Madam, all those hard things + That Sheba came to ask of Solomon.' + 'Be it so' the other, 'that we still may lead + The new light up, and culminate in peace, + For Solomon may come to Sheba yet.' + Said Cyril, 'Madam, he the wisest man + Feasted the woman wisest then, in halls + Of Lebanonian cedar: nor should you + (Though, Madam, <i>you</i> should answer, <i>we</i> would ask) + Less welcome find among us, if you came + Among us, debtors for our lives to you, + Myself for something more.' He said not what, + But 'Thanks,' she answered 'Go: we have been too long + Together: keep your hoods about the face; + They do so that affect abstraction here. + Speak little; mix not with the rest; and hold + Your promise: all, I trust, may yet be well.' + + We turned to go, but Cyril took the child, + And held her round the knees against his waist, + And blew the swollen cheek of a trumpeter, + While Psyche watched them, smiling, and the child + Pushed her flat hand against his face and laughed; + And thus our conference closed. + And then we strolled + For half the day through stately theatres + Benched crescent-wise. In each we sat, we heard + The grave Professor. On the lecture slate + The circle rounded under female hands + With flawless demonstration: followed then + A classic lecture, rich in sentiment, + With scraps of thunderous Epic lilted out + By violet-hooded Doctors, elegies + And quoted odes, and jewels five-words-long + That on the stretched forefinger of all Time + Sparkle for ever: then we dipt in all + That treats of whatsoever is, the state, + The total chronicles of man, the mind, + The morals, something of the frame, the rock, + The star, the bird, the fish, the shell, the flower, + Electric, chemic laws, and all the rest, + And whatsoever can be taught and known; + Till like three horses that have broken fence, + And glutted all night long breast-deep in corn, + We issued gorged with knowledge, and I spoke: + 'Why, Sirs, they do all this as well as we.' + 'They hunt old trails' said Cyril 'very well; + But when did woman ever yet invent?' + 'Ungracious!' answered Florian; 'have you learnt + No more from Psyche's lecture, you that talked + The trash that made me sick, and almost sad?' + 'O trash' he said, 'but with a kernel in it. + Should I not call her wise, who made me wise? + And learnt? I learnt more from her in a flash, + Than in my brainpan were an empty hull, + And every Muse tumbled a science in. + A thousand hearts lie fallow in these halls, + And round these halls a thousand baby loves + Fly twanging headless arrows at the hearts, + Whence follows many a vacant pang; but O + With me, Sir, entered in the bigger boy, + The Head of all the golden-shafted firm, + The long-limbed lad that had a Psyche too; + He cleft me through the stomacher; and now + What think you of it, Florian? do I chase + The substance or the shadow? will it hold? + I have no sorcerer's malison on me, + No ghostly hauntings like his Highness. I + Flatter myself that always everywhere + I know the substance when I see it. Well, + Are castles shadows? Three of them? Is she + The sweet proprietress a shadow? If not, + Shall those three castles patch my tattered coat? + For dear are those three castles to my wants, + And dear is sister Psyche to my heart, + And two dear things are one of double worth, + And much I might have said, but that my zone + Unmanned me: then the Doctors! O to hear + The Doctors! O to watch the thirsty plants + Imbibing! once or twice I thought to roar, + To break my chain, to shake my mane: but thou, + Modulate me, Soul of mincing mimicry! + Make liquid treble of that bassoon, my throat; + Abase those eyes that ever loved to meet + Star-sisters answering under crescent brows; + Abate the stride, which speaks of man, and loose + A flying charm of blushes o'er this cheek, + Where they like swallows coming out of time + Will wonder why they came: but hark the bell + For dinner, let us go!' + And in we streamed + Among the columns, pacing staid and still + By twos and threes, till all from end to end + With beauties every shade of brown and fair + In colours gayer than the morning mist, + The long hall glittered like a bed of flowers. + How might a man not wander from his wits + Pierced through with eyes, but that I kept mine own + Intent on her, who rapt in glorious dreams, + The second-sight of some Astræan age, + Sat compassed with professors: they, the while, + Discussed a doubt and tost it to and fro: + A clamour thickened, mixt with inmost terms + Of art and science: Lady Blanche alone + Of faded form and haughtiest lineaments, + With all her autumn tresses falsely brown, + Shot sidelong daggers at us, a tiger-cat + In act to spring. + At last a solemn grace + Concluded, and we sought the gardens: there + One walked reciting by herself, and one + In this hand held a volume as to read, + And smoothed a petted peacock down with that: + Some to a low song oared a shallop by, + Or under arches of the marble bridge + Hung, shadowed from the heat: some hid and sought + In the orange thickets: others tost a ball + Above the fountain-jets, and back again + With laughter: others lay about the lawns, + Of the older sort, and murmured that their May + Was passing: what was learning unto them? + They wished to marry; they could rule a house; + Men hated learned women: but we three + Sat muffled like the Fates; and often came + Melissa hitting all we saw with shafts + Of gentle satire, kin to charity, + That harmed not: then day droopt; the chapel bells + Called us: we left the walks; we mixt with those + Six hundred maidens clad in purest white, + Before two streams of light from wall to wall, + While the great organ almost burst his pipes, + Groaning for power, and rolling through the court + A long melodious thunder to the sound + Of solemn psalms, and silver litanies, + The work of Ida, to call down from Heaven + A blessing on her labours for the world. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sweet and low, sweet and low, + Wind of the western sea, + Low, low, breathe and blow, + Wind of the western sea! + Over the rolling waters go, + Come from the dying moon, and blow, + Blow him again to me; + While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. + + Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, + Father will come to thee soon; + Rest, rest, on mother's breast, + Father will come to thee soon; + Father will come to his babe in the nest, + Silver sails all out of the west + Under the silver moon: + Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Morn in the wake of the morning star + Came furrowing all the orient into gold. + We rose, and each by other drest with care + Descended to the court that lay three parts + In shadow, but the Muses' heads were touched + Above the darkness from their native East. + + There while we stood beside the fount, and watched + Or seemed to watch the dancing bubble, approached + Melissa, tinged with wan from lack of sleep, + Or grief, and glowing round her dewy eyes + The circled Iris of a night of tears; + 'And fly,' she cried, 'O fly, while yet you may! + My mother knows:' and when I asked her 'how,' + 'My fault' she wept 'my fault! and yet not mine; + Yet mine in part. O hear me, pardon me. + My mother, 'tis her wont from night to night + To rail at Lady Psyche and her side. + She says the Princess should have been the Head, + Herself and Lady Psyche the two arms; + And so it was agreed when first they came; + But Lady Psyche was the right hand now, + And the left, or not, or seldom used; + Hers more than half the students, all the love. + And so last night she fell to canvass you: + <i>Her</i> countrywomen! she did not envy her. + "Who ever saw such wild barbarians? + Girls?—more like men!" and at these words the snake, + My secret, seemed to stir within my breast; + And oh, Sirs, could I help it, but my cheek + Began to burn and burn, and her lynx eye + To fix and make me hotter, till she laughed: + "O marvellously modest maiden, you! + Men! girls, like men! why, if they had been men + You need not set your thoughts in rubric thus + For wholesale comment." Pardon, I am shamed + That I must needs repeat for my excuse + What looks so little graceful: "men" (for still + My mother went revolving on the word) + "And so they are,—very like men indeed— + And with that woman closeted for hours!" + Then came these dreadful words out one by one, + "Why—these—<i>are</i>—men:" I shuddered: "and you know it." + "O ask me nothing," I said: "And she knows too, + And she conceals it." So my mother clutched + The truth at once, but with no word from me; + And now thus early risen she goes to inform + The Princess: Lady Psyche will be crushed; + But you may yet be saved, and therefore fly; + But heal me with your pardon ere you go.' + + 'What pardon, sweet Melissa, for a blush?' + Said Cyril: 'Pale one, blush again: than wear + Those lilies, better blush our lives away. + Yet let us breathe for one hour more in Heaven' + He added, 'lest some classic Angel speak + In scorn of us, "They mounted, Ganymedes, + To tumble, Vulcans, on the second morn." + But I will melt this marble into wax + To yield us farther furlough:' and he went. + + Melissa shook her doubtful curls, and thought + He scarce would prosper. 'Tell us,' Florian asked, + 'How grew this feud betwixt the right and left.' + 'O long ago,' she said, 'betwixt these two + Division smoulders hidden; 'tis my mother, + Too jealous, often fretful as the wind + Pent in a crevice: much I bear with her: + I never knew my father, but she says + (God help her) she was wedded to a fool; + And still she railed against the state of things. + She had the care of Lady Ida's youth, + And from the Queen's decease she brought her up. + But when your sister came she won the heart + Of Ida: they were still together, grew + (For so they said themselves) inosculated; + Consonant chords that shiver to one note; + One mind in all things: yet my mother still + Affirms your Psyche thieved her theories, + And angled with them for her pupil's love: + She calls her plagiarist; I know not what: + But I must go: I dare not tarry,' and light, + As flies the shadow of a bird, she fled. + + Then murmured Florian gazing after her, + 'An open-hearted maiden, true and pure. + If I could love, why this were she: how pretty + Her blushing was, and how she blushed again, + As if to close with Cyril's random wish: + Not like your Princess crammed with erring pride, + Nor like poor Psyche whom she drags in tow.' + + 'The crane,' I said, 'may chatter of the crane, + The dove may murmur of the dove, but I + An eagle clang an eagle to the sphere. + My princess, O my princess! true she errs, + But in her own grand way: being herself + Three times more noble than three score of men, + She sees herself in every woman else, + And so she wears her error like a crown + To blind the truth and me: for her, and her, + Hebes are they to hand ambrosia, mix + The nectar; but—ah she—whene'er she moves + The Samian Herè rises and she speaks + A Memnon smitten with the morning Sun.' + + So saying from the court we paced, and gained + The terrace ranged along the Northern front, + And leaning there on those balusters, high + Above the empurpled champaign, drank the gale + That blown about the foliage underneath, + And sated with the innumerable rose, + Beat balm upon our eyelids. Hither came + Cyril, and yawning 'O hard task,' he cried; + 'No fighting shadows here! I forced a way + Through opposition crabbed and gnarled. + Better to clear prime forests, heave and thump + A league of street in summer solstice down, + Than hammer at this reverend gentlewoman. + I knocked and, bidden, entered; found her there + At point to move, and settled in her eyes + The green malignant light of coming storm. + Sir, I was courteous, every phrase well-oiled, + As man's could be; yet maiden-meek I prayed + Concealment: she demanded who we were, + And why we came? I fabled nothing fair, + But, your example pilot, told her all. + Up went the hushed amaze of hand and eye. + But when I dwelt upon your old affiance, + She answered sharply that I talked astray. + I urged the fierce inscription on the gate, + And our three lives. True—we had limed ourselves + With open eyes, and we must take the chance. + But such extremes, I told her, well might harm + The woman's cause. "Not more than now," she said, + "So puddled as it is with favouritism." + I tried the mother's heart. Shame might befall + Melissa, knowing, saying not she knew: + Her answer was "Leave me to deal with that." + I spoke of war to come and many deaths, + And she replied, her duty was to speak, + And duty duty, clear of consequences. + I grew discouraged, Sir; but since I knew + No rock so hard but that a little wave + May beat admission in a thousand years, + I recommenced; "Decide not ere you pause. + I find you here but in the second place, + Some say the third—the authentic foundress you. + I offer boldly: we will seat you highest: + Wink at our advent: help my prince to gain + His rightful bride, and here I promise you + Some palace in our land, where you shall reign + The head and heart of all our fair she-world, + And your great name flow on with broadening time + For ever." Well, she balanced this a little, + And told me she would answer us today, + meantime be mute: thus much, nor more I gained.' + + He ceasing, came a message from the Head. + 'That afternoon the Princess rode to take + The dip of certain strata to the North. + Would we go with her? we should find the land + Worth seeing; and the river made a fall + Out yonder:' then she pointed on to where + A double hill ran up his furrowy forks + Beyond the thick-leaved platans of the vale. + + Agreed to, this, the day fled on through all + Its range of duties to the appointed hour. + Then summoned to the porch we went. She stood + Among her maidens, higher by the head, + Her back against a pillar, her foot on one + Of those tame leopards. Kittenlike he rolled + And pawed about her sandal. I drew near; + I gazed. On a sudden my strange seizure came + Upon me, the weird vision of our house: + The Princess Ida seemed a hollow show, + Her gay-furred cats a painted fantasy, + Her college and her maidens, empty masks, + And I myself the shadow of a dream, + For all things were and were not. Yet I felt + My heart beat thick with passion and with awe; + Then from my breast the involuntary sigh + Brake, as she smote me with the light of eyes + That lent my knee desire to kneel, and shook + My pulses, till to horse we got, and so + Went forth in long retinue following up + The river as it narrowed to the hills. + + I rode beside her and to me she said: + 'O friend, we trust that you esteemed us not + Too harsh to your companion yestermorn; + Unwillingly we spake.' 'No—not to her,' + I answered, 'but to one of whom we spake + Your Highness might have seemed the thing you say.' + 'Again?' she cried, 'are you ambassadresses + From him to me? we give you, being strange, + A license: speak, and let the topic die.' + + I stammered that I knew him—could have wished— + 'Our king expects—was there no precontract? + There is no truer-hearted—ah, you seem + All he prefigured, and he could not see + The bird of passage flying south but longed + To follow: surely, if your Highness keep + Your purport, you will shock him even to death, + Or baser courses, children of despair.' + + 'Poor boy,' she said, 'can he not read—no books? + Quoit, tennis, ball—no games? nor deals in that + Which men delight in, martial exercise? + To nurse a blind ideal like a girl, + Methinks he seems no better than a girl; + As girls were once, as we ourself have been: + We had our dreams; perhaps he mixt with them: + We touch on our dead self, nor shun to do it, + Being other—since we learnt our meaning here, + To lift the woman's fallen divinity + Upon an even pedestal with man.' + + She paused, and added with a haughtier smile + 'And as to precontracts, we move, my friend, + At no man's beck, but know ourself and thee, + O Vashti, noble Vashti! Summoned out + She kept her state, and left the drunken king + To brawl at Shushan underneath the palms.' + + 'Alas your Highness breathes full East,' I said, + 'On that which leans to you. I know the Prince, + I prize his truth: and then how vast a work + To assail this gray preëminence of man! + You grant me license; might I use it? think; + Ere half be done perchance your life may fail; + Then comes the feebler heiress of your plan, + And takes and ruins all; and thus your pains + May only make that footprint upon sand + Which old-recurring waves of prejudice + Resmooth to nothing: might I dread that you, + With only Fame for spouse and your great deeds + For issue, yet may live in vain, and miss, + Meanwhile, what every woman counts her due, + Love, children, happiness?' + And she exclaimed, + 'Peace, you young savage of the Northern wild! + What! though your Prince's love were like a God's, + Have we not made ourself the sacrifice? + You are bold indeed: we are not talked to thus: + Yet will we say for children, would they grew + Like field-flowers everywhere! we like them well: + But children die; and let me tell you, girl, + Howe'er you babble, great deeds cannot die; + They with the sun and moon renew their light + For ever, blessing those that look on them. + Children—that men may pluck them from our hearts, + Kill us with pity, break us with ourselves— + O—children—there is nothing upon earth + More miserable than she that has a son + And sees him err: nor would we work for fame; + Though she perhaps might reap the applause of Great, + Who earns the one POU STO whence after-hands + May move the world, though she herself effect + But little: wherefore up and act, nor shrink + For fear our solid aim be dissipated + By frail successors. Would, indeed, we had been, + In lieu of many mortal flies, a race + Of giants living, each, a thousand years, + That we might see our own work out, and watch + The sandy footprint harden into stone.' + + I answered nothing, doubtful in myself + If that strange Poet-princess with her grand + Imaginations might at all be won. + And she broke out interpreting my thoughts: + + 'No doubt we seem a kind of monster to you; + We are used to that: for women, up till this + Cramped under worse than South-sea-isle taboo, + Dwarfs of the gynæceum, fail so far + In high desire, they know not, cannot guess + How much their welfare is a passion to us. + If we could give them surer, quicker proof— + Oh if our end were less achievable + By slow approaches, than by single act + Of immolation, any phase of death, + We were as prompt to spring against the pikes, + Or down the fiery gulf as talk of it, + To compass our dear sisters' liberties.' + + She bowed as if to veil a noble tear; + And up we came to where the river sloped + To plunge in cataract, shattering on black blocks + A breadth of thunder. O'er it shook the woods, + And danced the colour, and, below, stuck out + The bones of some vast bulk that lived and roared + Before man was. She gazed awhile and said, + 'As these rude bones to us, are we to her + That will be.' 'Dare we dream of that,' I asked, + 'Which wrought us, as the workman and his work, + That practice betters?' 'How,' she cried, 'you love + The metaphysics! read and earn our prize, + A golden brooch: beneath an emerald plane + Sits Diotima, teaching him that died + Of hemlock; our device; wrought to the life; + She rapt upon her subject, he on her: + For there are schools for all.' 'And yet' I said + 'Methinks I have not found among them all + One anatomic.' 'Nay, we thought of that,' + She answered, 'but it pleased us not: in truth + We shudder but to dream our maids should ape + Those monstrous males that carve the living hound, + And cram him with the fragments of the grave, + Or in the dark dissolving human heart, + And holy secrets of this microcosm, + Dabbling a shameless hand with shameful jest, + Encarnalize their spirits: yet we know + Knowledge is knowledge, and this matter hangs: + Howbeit ourself, foreseeing casualty, + Nor willing men should come among us, learnt, + For many weary moons before we came, + This craft of healing. Were you sick, ourself + Would tend upon you. To your question now, + Which touches on the workman and his work. + Let there be light and there was light: 'tis so: + For was, and is, and will be, are but is; + And all creation is one act at once, + The birth of light: but we that are not all, + As parts, can see but parts, now this, now that, + And live, perforce, from thought to thought, and make + One act a phantom of succession: thus + Our weakness somehow shapes the shadow, Time; + But in the shadow will we work, and mould + The woman to the fuller day.' + She spake + With kindled eyes; we rode a league beyond, + And, o'er a bridge of pinewood crossing, came + On flowery levels underneath the crag, + Full of all beauty. 'O how sweet' I said + (For I was half-oblivious of my mask) + 'To linger here with one that loved us.' 'Yea,' + She answered, 'or with fair philosophies + That lift the fancy; for indeed these fields + Are lovely, lovelier not the Elysian lawns, + Where paced the Demigods of old, and saw + The soft white vapour streak the crownèd towers + Built to the Sun:' then, turning to her maids, + 'Pitch our pavilion here upon the sward; + Lay out the viands.' At the word, they raised + A tent of satin, elaborately wrought + With fair Corinna's triumph; here she stood, + Engirt with many a florid maiden-cheek, + The woman-conqueror; woman-conquered there + The bearded Victor of ten-thousand hymns, + And all the men mourned at his side: but we + Set forth to climb; then, climbing, Cyril kept + With Psyche, with Melissa Florian, I + With mine affianced. Many a little hand + Glanced like a touch of sunshine on the rocks, + Many a light foot shone like a jewel set + In the dark crag: and then we turned, we wound + About the cliffs, the copses, out and in, + Hammering and clinking, chattering stony names + Of shales and hornblende, rag and trap and tuff, + Amygdaloid and trachyte, till the Sun + Grew broader toward his death and fell, and all + The rosy heights came out above the lawns. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The splendour falls on castle walls + And snowy summits old in story: + The long light shakes across the lakes, + And the wild cataract leaps in glory. + Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, + Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. + + O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, + And thinner, clearer, farther going! + O sweet and far from cliff and scar + The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! + Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: + Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. + + O love, they die in yon rich sky, + They faint on hill or field or river: + Our echoes roll from soul to soul, + And grow for ever and for ever. + Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, + And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'There sinks the nebulous star we call the Sun, + If that hypothesis of theirs be sound' + Said Ida; 'let us down and rest;' and we + Down from the lean and wrinkled precipices, + By every coppice-feathered chasm and cleft, + Dropt through the ambrosial gloom to where below + No bigger than a glow-worm shone the tent + Lamp-lit from the inner. Once she leaned on me, + Descending; once or twice she lent her hand, + And blissful palpitations in the blood, + Stirring a sudden transport rose and fell. + + But when we planted level feet, and dipt + Beneath the satin dome and entered in, + There leaning deep in broidered down we sank + Our elbows: on a tripod in the midst + A fragrant flame rose, and before us glowed + Fruit, blossom, viand, amber wine, and gold. + + Then she, 'Let some one sing to us: lightlier move + The minutes fledged with music:' and a maid, + Of those beside her, smote her harp, and sang. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, + Tears from the depth of some divine despair + Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, + In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, + And thinking of the days that are no more. + + 'Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, + That brings our friends up from the underworld, + Sad as the last which reddens over one + That sinks with all we love below the verge; + So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. + + 'Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns + The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds + To dying ears, when unto dying eyes + The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; + So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. + + 'Dear as remembered kisses after death, + And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned + On lips that are for others; deep as love, + Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; + O Death in Life, the days that are no more.' +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + She ended with such passion that the tear, + She sang of, shook and fell, an erring pearl + Lost in her bosom: but with some disdain + Answered the Princess, 'If indeed there haunt + About the mouldered lodges of the Past + So sweet a voice and vague, fatal to men, + Well needs it we should cram our ears with wool + And so pace by: but thine are fancies hatched + In silken-folded idleness; nor is it + Wiser to weep a true occasion lost, + But trim our sails, and let old bygones be, + While down the streams that float us each and all + To the issue, goes, like glittering bergs of ice, + Throne after throne, and molten on the waste + Becomes a cloud: for all things serve their time + Toward that great year of equal mights and rights, + Nor would I fight with iron laws, in the end + Found golden: let the past be past; let be + Their cancelled Babels: though the rough kex break + The starred mosaic, and the beard-blown goat + Hang on the shaft, and the wild figtree split + Their monstrous idols, care not while we hear + A trumpet in the distance pealing news + Of better, and Hope, a poising eagle, burns + Above the unrisen morrow:' then to me; + 'Know you no song of your own land,' she said, + 'Not such as moans about the retrospect, + But deals with the other distance and the hues + Of promise; not a death's-head at the wine.' + + Then I remembered one myself had made, + What time I watched the swallow winging south + From mine own land, part made long since, and part + Now while I sang, and maidenlike as far + As I could ape their treble, did I sing. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South, + Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves, + And tell her, tell her, what I tell to thee. + + 'O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each, + That bright and fierce and fickle is the South, + And dark and true and tender is the North. + + 'O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and light + Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill, + And cheep and twitter twenty million loves. + + 'O were I thou that she might take me in, + And lay me on her bosom, and her heart + Would rock the snowy cradle till I died. + + 'Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love, + Delaying as the tender ash delays + To clothe herself, when all the woods are green? + + 'O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown: + Say to her, I do but wanton in the South, + But in the North long since my nest is made. + + 'O tell her, brief is life but love is long, + And brief the sun of summer in the North, + And brief the moon of beauty in the South. + + 'O Swallow, flying from the golden woods, + Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine, + And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee.' +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I ceased, and all the ladies, each at each, + Like the Ithacensian suitors in old time, + Stared with great eyes, and laughed with alien lips, + And knew not what they meant; for still my voice + Rang false: but smiling 'Not for thee,' she said, + 'O Bulbul, any rose of Gulistan + Shall burst her veil: marsh-divers, rather, maid, + Shall croak thee sister, or the meadow-crake + Grate her harsh kindred in the grass: and this + A mere love-poem! O for such, my friend, + We hold them slight: they mind us of the time + When we made bricks in Egypt. Knaves are men, + That lute and flute fantastic tenderness, + And dress the victim to the offering up, + And paint the gates of Hell with Paradise, + And play the slave to gain the tyranny. + Poor soul! I had a maid of honour once; + She wept her true eyes blind for such a one, + A rogue of canzonets and serenades. + I loved her. Peace be with her. She is dead. + So they blaspheme the muse! But great is song + Used to great ends: ourself have often tried + Valkyrian hymns, or into rhythm have dashed + The passion of the prophetess; for song + Is duer unto freedom, force and growth + Of spirit than to junketing and love. + Love is it? Would this same mock-love, and this + Mock-Hymen were laid up like winter bats, + Till all men grew to rate us at our worth, + Not vassals to be beat, nor pretty babes + To be dandled, no, but living wills, and sphered + Whole in ourselves and owed to none. Enough! + But now to leaven play with profit, you, + Know you no song, the true growth of your soil, + That gives the manners of your country-women?' + + She spoke and turned her sumptuous head with eyes + Of shining expectation fixt on mine. + Then while I dragged my brains for such a song, + Cyril, with whom the bell-mouthed glass had wrought, + Or mastered by the sense of sport, began + To troll a careless, careless tavern-catch + Of Moll and Meg, and strange experiences + Unmeet for ladies. Florian nodded at him, + I frowning; Psyche flushed and wanned and shook; + The lilylike Melissa drooped her brows; + 'Forbear,' the Princess cried; 'Forbear, Sir' I; + And heated through and through with wrath and love, + I smote him on the breast; he started up; + There rose a shriek as of a city sacked; + Melissa clamoured 'Flee the death;' 'To horse' + Said Ida; 'home! to horse!' and fled, as flies + A troop of snowy doves athwart the dusk, + When some one batters at the dovecote-doors, + Disorderly the women. Alone I stood + With Florian, cursing Cyril, vext at heart, + In the pavilion: there like parting hopes + I heard them passing from me: hoof by hoof, + And every hoof a knell to my desires, + Clanged on the bridge; and then another shriek, + 'The Head, the Head, the Princess, O the Head!' + For blind with rage she missed the plank, and rolled + In the river. Out I sprang from glow to gloom: + There whirled her white robe like a blossomed branch + Rapt to the horrible fall: a glance I gave, + No more; but woman-vested as I was + Plunged; and the flood drew; yet I caught her; then + Oaring one arm, and bearing in my left + The weight of all the hopes of half the world, + Strove to buffet to land in vain. A tree + Was half-disrooted from his place and stooped + To wrench his dark locks in the gurgling wave + Mid-channel. Right on this we drove and caught, + And grasping down the boughs I gained the shore. + + There stood her maidens glimmeringly grouped + In the hollow bank. One reaching forward drew + My burthen from mine arms; they cried 'she lives:' + They bore her back into the tent: but I, + So much a kind of shame within me wrought, + Not yet endured to meet her opening eyes, + Nor found my friends; but pushed alone on foot + (For since her horse was lost I left her mine) + Across the woods, and less from Indian craft + Than beelike instinct hiveward, found at length + The garden portals. Two great statues, Art + And Science, Caryatids, lifted up + A weight of emblem, and betwixt were valves + Of open-work in which the hunter rued + His rash intrusion, manlike, but his brows + Had sprouted, and the branches thereupon + Spread out at top, and grimly spiked the gates. + + A little space was left between the horns, + Through which I clambered o'er at top with pain, + Dropt on the sward, and up the linden walks, + And, tost on thoughts that changed from hue to hue, + Now poring on the glowworm, now the star, + I paced the terrace, till the Bear had wheeled + Through a great arc his seven slow suns. + A step + Of lightest echo, then a loftier form + Than female, moving through the uncertain gloom, + Disturbed me with the doubt 'if this were she,' + But it was Florian. 'Hist O Hist,' he said, + 'They seek us: out so late is out of rules. + Moreover "seize the strangers" is the cry. + How came you here?' I told him: 'I' said he, + 'Last of the train, a moral leper, I, + To whom none spake, half-sick at heart, returned. + Arriving all confused among the rest + With hooded brows I crept into the hall, + And, couched behind a Judith, underneath + The head of Holofernes peeped and saw. + Girl after girl was called to trial: each + Disclaimed all knowledge of us: last of all, + Melissa: trust me, Sir, I pitied her. + She, questioned if she knew us men, at first + Was silent; closer prest, denied it not: + And then, demanded if her mother knew, + Or Psyche, she affirmed not, or denied: + From whence the Royal mind, familiar with her, + Easily gathered either guilt. She sent + For Psyche, but she was not there; she called + For Psyche's child to cast it from the doors; + She sent for Blanche to accuse her face to face; + And I slipt out: but whither will you now? + And where are Psyche, Cyril? both are fled: + What, if together? that were not so well. + Would rather we had never come! I dread + His wildness, and the chances of the dark.' + + 'And yet,' I said, 'you wrong him more than I + That struck him: this is proper to the clown, + Though smocked, or furred and purpled, still the clown, + To harm the thing that trusts him, and to shame + That which he says he loves: for Cyril, howe'er + He deal in frolic, as tonight—the song + Might have been worse and sinned in grosser lips + Beyond all pardon—as it is, I hold + These flashes on the surface are not he. + He has a solid base of temperament: + But as the waterlily starts and slides + Upon the level in little puffs of wind, + Though anchored to the bottom, such is he.' + + Scarce had I ceased when from a tamarisk near + Two Proctors leapt upon us, crying, 'Names:' + He, standing still, was clutched; but I began + To thrid the musky-circled mazes, wind + And double in and out the boles, and race + By all the fountains: fleet I was of foot: + Before me showered the rose in flakes; behind + I heard the puffed pursuer; at mine ear + Bubbled the nightingale and heeded not, + And secret laughter tickled all my soul. + At last I hooked my ankle in a vine, + That claspt the feet of a Mnemosyne, + And falling on my face was caught and known. + + They haled us to the Princess where she sat + High in the hall: above her drooped a lamp, + And made the single jewel on her brow + Burn like the mystic fire on a mast-head, + Prophet of storm: a handmaid on each side + Bowed toward her, combing out her long black hair + Damp from the river; and close behind her stood + Eight daughters of the plough, stronger than men, + Huge women blowzed with health, and wind, and rain, + And labour. Each was like a Druid rock; + Or like a spire of land that stands apart + Cleft from the main, and wailed about with mews. + + Then, as we came, the crowd dividing clove + An advent to the throne: and therebeside, + Half-naked as if caught at once from bed + And tumbled on the purple footcloth, lay + The lily-shining child; and on the left, + Bowed on her palms and folded up from wrong, + Her round white shoulder shaken with her sobs, + Melissa knelt; but Lady Blanche erect + Stood up and spake, an affluent orator. + + 'It was not thus, O Princess, in old days: + You prized my counsel, lived upon my lips: + I led you then to all the Castalies; + I fed you with the milk of every Muse; + I loved you like this kneeler, and you me + Your second mother: those were gracious times. + Then came your new friend: you began to change— + I saw it and grieved—to slacken and to cool; + Till taken with her seeming openness + You turned your warmer currents all to her, + To me you froze: this was my meed for all. + Yet I bore up in part from ancient love, + And partly that I hoped to win you back, + And partly conscious of my own deserts, + And partly that you were my civil head, + And chiefly you were born for something great, + In which I might your fellow-worker be, + When time should serve; and thus a noble scheme + Grew up from seed we two long since had sown; + In us true growth, in her a Jonah's gourd, + Up in one night and due to sudden sun: + We took this palace; but even from the first + You stood in your own light and darkened mine. + What student came but that you planed her path + To Lady Psyche, younger, not so wise, + A foreigner, and I your countrywoman, + I your old friend and tried, she new in all? + But still her lists were swelled and mine were lean; + Yet I bore up in hope she would be known: + Then came these wolves: <i>they</i> knew her: <i>they</i> endured, + Long-closeted with her the yestermorn, + To tell her what they were, and she to hear: + And me none told: not less to an eye like mine + A lidless watcher of the public weal, + Last night, their mask was patent, and my foot + Was to you: but I thought again: I feared + To meet a cold "We thank you, we shall hear of it + From Lady Psyche:" you had gone to her, + She told, perforce; and winning easy grace + No doubt, for slight delay, remained among us + In our young nursery still unknown, the stem + Less grain than touchwood, while my honest heat + Were all miscounted as malignant haste + To push my rival out of place and power. + But public use required she should be known; + And since my oath was ta'en for public use, + I broke the letter of it to keep the sense. + I spoke not then at first, but watched them well, + Saw that they kept apart, no mischief done; + And yet this day (though you should hate me for it) + I came to tell you; found that you had gone, + Ridden to the hills, she likewise: now, I thought, + That surely she will speak; if not, then I: + Did she? These monsters blazoned what they were, + According to the coarseness of their kind, + For thus I hear; and known at last (my work) + And full of cowardice and guilty shame, + I grant in her some sense of shame, she flies; + And I remain on whom to wreak your rage, + I, that have lent my life to build up yours, + I that have wasted here health, wealth, and time, + And talent, I—you know it—I will not boast: + Dismiss me, and I prophesy your plan, + Divorced from my experience, will be chaff + For every gust of chance, and men will say + We did not know the real light, but chased + The wisp that flickers where no foot can tread.' + + She ceased: the Princess answered coldly, 'Good: + Your oath is broken: we dismiss you: go. + For this lost lamb (she pointed to the child) + Our mind is changed: we take it to ourself.' + + Thereat the Lady stretched a vulture throat, + And shot from crooked lips a haggard smile. + 'The plan was mine. I built the nest' she said + 'To hatch the cuckoo. Rise!' and stooped to updrag + Melissa: she, half on her mother propt, + Half-drooping from her, turned her face, and cast + A liquid look on Ida, full of prayer, + Which melted Florian's fancy as she hung, + A Niobëan daughter, one arm out, + Appealing to the bolts of Heaven; and while + We gazed upon her came a little stir + About the doors, and on a sudden rushed + Among us, out of breath as one pursued, + A woman-post in flying raiment. Fear + Stared in her eyes, and chalked her face, and winged + Her transit to the throne, whereby she fell + Delivering sealed dispatches which the Head + Took half-amazed, and in her lion's mood + Tore open, silent we with blind surmise + Regarding, while she read, till over brow + And cheek and bosom brake the wrathful bloom + As of some fire against a stormy cloud, + When the wild peasant rights himself, the rick + Flames, and his anger reddens in the heavens; + For anger most it seemed, while now her breast, + Beaten with some great passion at her heart, + Palpitated, her hand shook, and we heard + In the dead hush the papers that she held + Rustle: at once the lost lamb at her feet + Sent out a bitter bleating for its dam; + The plaintive cry jarred on her ire; she crushed + The scrolls together, made a sudden turn + As if to speak, but, utterance failing her, + She whirled them on to me, as who should say + 'Read,' and I read—two letters—one her sire's. + + 'Fair daughter, when we sent the Prince your way, + We knew not your ungracious laws, which learnt, + We, conscious of what temper you are built, + Came all in haste to hinder wrong, but fell + Into his father's hands, who has this night, + You lying close upon his territory, + Slipt round and in the dark invested you, + And here he keeps me hostage for his son.' + + The second was my father's running thus: + 'You have our son: touch not a hair of his head: + Render him up unscathed: give him your hand: + Cleave to your contract: though indeed we hear + You hold the woman is the better man; + A rampant heresy, such as if it spread + Would make all women kick against their Lords + Through all the world, and which might well deserve + That we this night should pluck your palace down; + And we will do it, unless you send us back + Our son, on the instant, whole.' + So far I read; + And then stood up and spoke impetuously. + + 'O not to pry and peer on your reserve, + But led by golden wishes, and a hope + The child of regal compact, did I break + Your precinct; not a scorner of your sex + But venerator, zealous it should be + All that it might be: hear me, for I bear, + Though man, yet human, whatsoe'er your wrongs, + From the flaxen curl to the gray lock a life + Less mine than yours: my nurse would tell me of you; + I babbled for you, as babies for the moon, + Vague brightness; when a boy, you stooped to me + From all high places, lived in all fair lights, + Came in long breezes rapt from inmost south + And blown to inmost north; at eve and dawn + With Ida, Ida, Ida, rang the woods; + The leader wildswan in among the stars + Would clang it, and lapt in wreaths of glowworm light + The mellow breaker murmured Ida. Now, + Because I would have reached you, had you been + Sphered up with Cassiopëia, or the enthroned + Persephonè in Hades, now at length, + Those winters of abeyance all worn out, + A man I came to see you: but indeed, + Not in this frequence can I lend full tongue, + O noble Ida, to those thoughts that wait + On you, their centre: let me say but this, + That many a famous man and woman, town + And landskip, have I heard of, after seen + The dwarfs of presage: though when known, there grew + Another kind of beauty in detail + Made them worth knowing; but in you I found + My boyish dream involved and dazzled down + And mastered, while that after-beauty makes + Such head from act to act, from hour to hour, + Within me, that except you slay me here, + According to your bitter statute-book, + I cannot cease to follow you, as they say + The seal does music; who desire you more + Than growing boys their manhood; dying lips, + With many thousand matters left to do, + The breath of life; O more than poor men wealth, + Than sick men health—yours, yours, not mine—but half + Without you; with you, whole; and of those halves + You worthiest; and howe'er you block and bar + Your heart with system out from mine, I hold + That it becomes no man to nurse despair, + But in the teeth of clenched antagonisms + To follow up the worthiest till he die: + Yet that I came not all unauthorized + Behold your father's letter.' + On one knee + Kneeling, I gave it, which she caught, and dashed + Unopened at her feet: a tide of fierce + Invective seemed to wait behind her lips, + As waits a river level with the dam + Ready to burst and flood the world with foam: + And so she would have spoken, but there rose + A hubbub in the court of half the maids + Gathered together: from the illumined hall + Long lanes of splendour slanted o'er a press + Of snowy shoulders, thick as herded ewes, + And rainbow robes, and gems and gemlike eyes, + And gold and golden heads; they to and fro + Fluctuated, as flowers in storm, some red, some pale, + All open-mouthed, all gazing to the light, + Some crying there was an army in the land, + And some that men were in the very walls, + And some they cared not; till a clamour grew + As of a new-world Babel, woman-built, + And worse-confounded: high above them stood + The placid marble Muses, looking peace. + + Not peace she looked, the Head: but rising up + Robed in the long night of her deep hair, so + To the open window moved, remaining there + Fixt like a beacon-tower above the waves + Of tempest, when the crimson-rolling eye + Glares ruin, and the wild birds on the light + Dash themselves dead. She stretched her arms and called + Across the tumult and the tumult fell. + + 'What fear ye, brawlers? am not I your Head? + On me, me, me, the storm first breaks: <i>I</i> dare + All these male thunderbolts: what is it ye fear? + Peace! there are those to avenge us and they come: + If not,—myself were like enough, O girls, + To unfurl the maiden banner of our rights, + And clad in iron burst the ranks of war, + Or, falling, promartyr of our cause, + Die: yet I blame you not so much for fear: + Six thousand years of fear have made you that + From which I would redeem you: but for those + That stir this hubbub—you and you—I know + Your faces there in the crowd—tomorrow morn + We hold a great convention: then shall they + That love their voices more than duty, learn + With whom they deal, dismissed in shame to live + No wiser than their mothers, household stuff, + Live chattels, mincers of each other's fame, + Full of weak poison, turnspits for the clown, + The drunkard's football, laughing-stocks of Time, + Whose brains are in their hands and in their heels + But fit to flaunt, to dress, to dance, to thrum, + To tramp, to scream, to burnish, and to scour, + For ever slaves at home and fools abroad.' + + She, ending, waved her hands: thereat the crowd + Muttering, dissolved: then with a smile, that looked + A stroke of cruel sunshine on the cliff, + When all the glens are drowned in azure gloom + Of thunder-shower, she floated to us and said: + + 'You have done well and like a gentleman, + And like a prince: you have our thanks for all: + And you look well too in your woman's dress: + Well have you done and like a gentleman. + You saved our life: we owe you bitter thanks: + Better have died and spilt our bones in the flood— + Then men had said—but now—What hinders me + To take such bloody vengeance on you both?— + Yet since our father—Wasps in our good hive, + You would-be quenchers of the light to be, + Barbarians, grosser than your native bears— + O would I had his sceptre for one hour! + You that have dared to break our bound, and gulled + Our servants, wronged and lied and thwarted us— + <i>I</i> wed with thee! <i>I</i> bound by precontract + Your bride, your bondslave! not though all the gold + That veins the world were packed to make your crown, + And every spoken tongue should lord you. Sir, + Your falsehood and yourself are hateful to us: + I trample on your offers and on you: + Begone: we will not look upon you more. + Here, push them out at gates.' + In wrath she spake. + Then those eight mighty daughters of the plough + Bent their broad faces toward us and addressed + Their motion: twice I sought to plead my cause, + But on my shoulder hung their heavy hands, + The weight of destiny: so from her face + They pushed us, down the steps, and through the court, + And with grim laughter thrust us out at gates. + + We crossed the street and gained a petty mound + Beyond it, whence we saw the lights and heard the voices murmuring. + While I listened, came + On a sudden the weird seizure and the doubt: + I seemed to move among a world of ghosts; + The Princess with her monstrous woman-guard, + The jest and earnest working side by side, + The cataract and the tumult and the kings + Were shadows; and the long fantastic night + With all its doings had and had not been, + And all things were and were not. + This went by + As strangely as it came, and on my spirits + Settled a gentle cloud of melancholy; + Not long; I shook it off; for spite of doubts + And sudden ghostly shadowings I was one + To whom the touch of all mischance but came + As night to him that sitting on a hill + Sees the midsummer, midnight, Norway sun + Set into sunrise; then we moved away. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Thy voice is heard through rolling drums, + That beat to battle where he stands; + Thy face across his fancy comes, + And gives the battle to his hands: + A moment, while the trumpets blow, + He sees his brood about thy knee; + The next, like fire he meets the foe, + And strikes him dead for thine and thee. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + So Lilia sang: we thought her half-possessed, + She struck such warbling fury through the words; + And, after, feigning pique at what she called + The raillery, or grotesque, or false sublime— + Like one that wishes at a dance to change + The music—clapt her hands and cried for war, + Or some grand fight to kill and make an end: + And he that next inherited the tale + Half turning to the broken statue, said, + 'Sir Ralph has got your colours: if I prove + Your knight, and fight your battle, what for me?' + It chanced, her empty glove upon the tomb + Lay by her like a model of her hand. + She took it and she flung it. 'Fight' she said, + 'And make us all we would be, great and good.' + He knightlike in his cap instead of casque, + A cap of Tyrol borrowed from the hall, + Arranged the favour, and assumed the Prince. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Now, scarce three paces measured from the mound, + We stumbled on a stationary voice, + And 'Stand, who goes?' 'Two from the palace' I. + 'The second two: they wait,' he said, 'pass on; + His Highness wakes:' and one, that clashed in arms, + By glimmering lanes and walls of canvas led + Threading the soldier-city, till we heard + The drowsy folds of our great ensign shake + From blazoned lions o'er the imperial tent + Whispers of war. + Entering, the sudden light + Dazed me half-blind: I stood and seemed to hear, + As in a poplar grove when a light wind wakes + A lisping of the innumerous leaf and dies, + Each hissing in his neighbour's ear; and then + A strangled titter, out of which there brake + On all sides, clamouring etiquette to death, + Unmeasured mirth; while now the two old kings + Began to wag their baldness up and down, + The fresh young captains flashed their glittering teeth, + The huge bush-bearded Barons heaved and blew, + And slain with laughter rolled the gilded Squire. + + At length my Sire, his rough cheek wet with tears, + Panted from weary sides 'King, you are free! + We did but keep you surety for our son, + If this be he,—or a dragged mawkin, thou, + That tends to her bristled grunters in the sludge:' + For I was drenched with ooze, and torn with briers, + More crumpled than a poppy from the sheath, + And all one rag, disprinced from head to heel. + Then some one sent beneath his vaulted palm + A whispered jest to some one near him, 'Look, + He has been among his shadows.' 'Satan take + The old women and their shadows! (thus the King + Roared) make yourself a man to fight with men. + Go: Cyril told us all.' + As boys that slink + From ferule and the trespass-chiding eye, + Away we stole, and transient in a trice + From what was left of faded woman-slough + To sheathing splendours and the golden scale + Of harness, issued in the sun, that now + Leapt from the dewy shoulders of the Earth, + And hit the Northern hills. Here Cyril met us. + A little shy at first, but by and by + We twain, with mutual pardon asked and given + For stroke and song, resoldered peace, whereon + Followed his tale. Amazed he fled away + Through the dark land, and later in the night + Had come on Psyche weeping: 'then we fell + Into your father's hand, and there she lies, + But will not speak, or stir.' + He showed a tent + A stone-shot off: we entered in, and there + Among piled arms and rough accoutrements, + Pitiful sight, wrapped in a soldier's cloak, + Like some sweet sculpture draped from head to foot, + And pushed by rude hands from its pedestal, + All her fair length upon the ground she lay: + And at her head a follower of the camp, + A charred and wrinkled piece of womanhood, + Sat watching like the watcher by the dead. + + Then Florian knelt, and 'Come' he whispered to her, + 'Lift up your head, sweet sister: lie not thus. + What have you done but right? you could not slay + Me, nor your prince: look up: be comforted: + Sweet is it to have done the thing one ought, + When fallen in darker ways.' And likewise I: + 'Be comforted: have I not lost her too, + In whose least act abides the nameless charm + That none has else for me?' She heard, she moved, + She moaned, a folded voice; and up she sat, + And raised the cloak from brows as pale and smooth + As those that mourn half-shrouded over death + In deathless marble. 'Her,' she said, 'my friend— + Parted from her—betrayed her cause and mine— + Where shall I breathe? why kept ye not your faith? + O base and bad! what comfort? none for me!' + To whom remorseful Cyril, 'Yet I pray + Take comfort: live, dear lady, for your child!' + At which she lifted up her voice and cried. + + 'Ah me, my babe, my blossom, ah, my child, + My one sweet child, whom I shall see no more! + For now will cruel Ida keep her back; + And either she will die from want of care, + Or sicken with ill-usage, when they say + The child is hers—for every little fault, + The child is hers; and they will beat my girl + Remembering her mother: O my flower! + Or they will take her, they will make her hard, + And she will pass me by in after-life + With some cold reverence worse than were she dead. + Ill mother that I was to leave her there, + To lag behind, scared by the cry they made, + The horror of the shame among them all: + But I will go and sit beside the doors, + And make a wild petition night and day, + Until they hate to hear me like a wind + Wailing for ever, till they open to me, + And lay my little blossom at my feet, + My babe, my sweet Aglaïa, my one child: + And I will take her up and go my way, + And satisfy my soul with kissing her: + Ah! what might that man not deserve of me + Who gave me back my child?' 'Be comforted,' + Said Cyril, 'you shall have it:' but again + She veiled her brows, and prone she sank, and so + Like tender things that being caught feign death, + Spoke not, nor stirred. + By this a murmur ran + Through all the camp and inward raced the scouts + With rumour of Prince Arab hard at hand. + We left her by the woman, and without + Found the gray kings at parle: and 'Look you' cried + My father 'that our compact be fulfilled: + You have spoilt this child; she laughs at you and man: + She wrongs herself, her sex, and me, and him: + But red-faced war has rods of steel and fire; + She yields, or war.' + Then Gama turned to me: + 'We fear, indeed, you spent a stormy time + With our strange girl: and yet they say that still + You love her. Give us, then, your mind at large: + How say you, war or not?' + 'Not war, if possible, + O king,' I said, 'lest from the abuse of war, + The desecrated shrine, the trampled year, + The smouldering homestead, and the household flower + Torn from the lintel—all the common wrong— + A smoke go up through which I loom to her + Three times a monster: now she lightens scorn + At him that mars her plan, but then would hate + (And every voice she talked with ratify it, + And every face she looked on justify it) + The general foe. More soluble is this knot, + By gentleness than war. I want her love. + What were I nigher this although we dashed + Your cities into shards with catapults, + She would not love;—or brought her chained, a slave, + The lifting of whose eyelash is my lord, + Not ever would she love; but brooding turn + The book of scorn, till all my flitting chance + Were caught within the record of her wrongs, + And crushed to death: and rather, Sire, than this + I would the old God of war himself were dead, + Forgotten, rusting on his iron hills, + Rotting on some wild shore with ribs of wreck, + Or like an old-world mammoth bulked in ice, + Not to be molten out.' + And roughly spake + My father, 'Tut, you know them not, the girls. + Boy, when I hear you prate I almost think + That idiot legend credible. Look you, Sir! + Man is the hunter; woman is his game: + The sleek and shining creatures of the chase, + We hunt them for the beauty of their skins; + They love us for it, and we ride them down. + Wheedling and siding with them! Out! for shame! + Boy, there's no rose that's half so dear to them + As he that does the thing they dare not do, + Breathing and sounding beauteous battle, comes + With the air of the trumpet round him, and leaps in + Among the women, snares them by the score + Flattered and flustered, wins, though dashed with death + He reddens what he kisses: thus I won + You mother, a good mother, a good wife, + Worth winning; but this firebrand—gentleness + To such as her! if Cyril spake her true, + To catch a dragon in a cherry net, + To trip a tigress with a gossamer + Were wisdom to it.' + 'Yea but Sire,' I cried, + 'Wild natures need wise curbs. The soldier? No: + What dares not Ida do that she should prize + The soldier? I beheld her, when she rose + The yesternight, and storming in extremes, + Stood for her cause, and flung defiance down + Gagelike to man, and had not shunned the death, + No, not the soldier's: yet I hold her, king, + True woman: you clash them all in one, + That have as many differences as we. + The violet varies from the lily as far + As oak from elm: one loves the soldier, one + The silken priest of peace, one this, one that, + And some unworthily; their sinless faith, + A maiden moon that sparkles on a sty, + Glorifying clown and satyr; whence they need + More breadth of culture: is not Ida right? + They worth it? truer to the law within? + Severer in the logic of a life? + Twice as magnetic to sweet influences + Of earth and heaven? and she of whom you speak, + My mother, looks as whole as some serene + Creation minted in the golden moods + Of sovereign artists; not a thought, a touch, + But pure as lines of green that streak the white + Of the first snowdrop's inner leaves; I say, + Not like the piebald miscellany, man, + Bursts of great heart and slips in sensual mire, + But whole and one: and take them all-in-all, + Were we ourselves but half as good, as kind, + As truthful, much that Ida claims as right + Had ne'er been mooted, but as frankly theirs + As dues of Nature. To our point: not war: + Lest I lose all.' + 'Nay, nay, you spake but sense' + Said Gama. 'We remember love ourself + In our sweet youth; we did not rate him then + This red-hot iron to be shaped with blows. + You talk almost like Ida: <i>she</i> can talk; + And there is something in it as you say: + But you talk kindlier: we esteem you for it.— + He seems a gracious and a gallant Prince, + I would he had our daughter: for the rest, + Our own detention, why, the causes weighed, + Fatherly fears—you used us courteously— + We would do much to gratify your Prince— + We pardon it; and for your ingress here + Upon the skirt and fringe of our fair land, + you did but come as goblins in the night, + Nor in the furrow broke the ploughman's head, + Nor burnt the grange, nor bussed the milking-maid, + Nor robbed the farmer of his bowl of cream: + But let your Prince (our royal word upon it, + He comes back safe) ride with us to our lines, + And speak with Arac: Arac's word is thrice + As ours with Ida: something may be done— + I know not what—and ours shall see us friends. + You, likewise, our late guests, if so you will, + Follow us: who knows? we four may build some plan + Foursquare to opposition.' + Here he reached + White hands of farewell to my sire, who growled + An answer which, half-muffled in his beard, + Let so much out as gave us leave to go. + + Then rode we with the old king across the lawns + Beneath huge trees, a thousand rings of Spring + In every bole, a song on every spray + Of birds that piped their Valentines, and woke + Desire in me to infuse my tale of love + In the old king's ears, who promised help, and oozed + All o'er with honeyed answer as we rode + And blossom-fragrant slipt the heavy dews + Gathered by night and peace, with each light air + On our mailed heads: but other thoughts than Peace + Burnt in us, when we saw the embattled squares, + And squadrons of the Prince, trampling the flowers + With clamour: for among them rose a cry + As if to greet the king; they made a halt; + The horses yelled; they clashed their arms; the drum + Beat; merrily-blowing shrilled the martial fife; + And in the blast and bray of the long horn + And serpent-throated bugle, undulated + The banner: anon to meet us lightly pranced + Three captains out; nor ever had I seen + Such thews of men: the midmost and the highest + Was Arac: all about his motion clung + The shadow of his sister, as the beam + Of the East, that played upon them, made them glance + Like those three stars of the airy Giant's zone, + That glitter burnished by the frosty dark; + And as the fiery Sirius alters hue, + And bickers into red and emerald, shone + Their morions, washed with morning, as they came. + + And I that prated peace, when first I heard + War-music, felt the blind wildbeast of force, + Whose home is in the sinews of a man, + Stir in me as to strike: then took the king + His three broad sons; with now a wandering hand + And now a pointed finger, told them all: + A common light of smiles at our disguise + Broke from their lips, and, ere the windy jest + Had laboured down within his ample lungs, + The genial giant, Arac, rolled himself + Thrice in the saddle, then burst out in words. + + 'Our land invaded, 'sdeath! and he himself + Your captive, yet my father wills not war: + And, 'sdeath! myself, what care I, war or no? + but then this question of your troth remains: + And there's a downright honest meaning in her; + She flies too high, she flies too high! and yet + She asked but space and fairplay for her scheme; + She prest and prest it on me—I myself, + What know I of these things? but, life and soul! + I thought her half-right talking of her wrongs; + I say she flies too high, 'sdeath! what of that? + I take her for the flower of womankind, + And so I often told her, right or wrong, + And, Prince, she can be sweet to those she loves, + And, right or wrong, I care not: this is all, + I stand upon her side: she made me swear it— + 'Sdeath—and with solemn rites by candle-light— + Swear by St something—I forget her name— + Her that talked down the fifty wisest men; + <i>She</i> was a princess too; and so I swore. + Come, this is all; she will not: waive your claim: + If not, the foughten field, what else, at once + Decides it, 'sdeath! against my father's will.' + + I lagged in answer loth to render up + My precontract, and loth by brainless war + To cleave the rift of difference deeper yet; + Till one of those two brothers, half aside + And fingering at the hair about his lip, + To prick us on to combat 'Like to like! + The woman's garment hid the woman's heart.' + A taunt that clenched his purpose like a blow! + For fiery-short was Cyril's counter-scoff, + And sharp I answered, touched upon the point + Where idle boys are cowards to their shame, + 'Decide it here: why not? we are three to three.' + + Then spake the third 'But three to three? no more? + No more, and in our noble sister's cause? + More, more, for honour: every captain waits + Hungry for honour, angry for his king. + More, more some fifty on a side, that each + May breathe himself, and quick! by overthrow + Of these or those, the question settled die.' + + 'Yea,' answered I, 'for this wreath of air, + This flake of rainbow flying on the highest + Foam of men's deeds—this honour, if ye will. + It needs must be for honour if at all: + Since, what decision? if we fail, we fail, + And if we win, we fail: she would not keep + Her compact.' ''Sdeath! but we will send to her,' + Said Arac, 'worthy reasons why she should + Bide by this issue: let our missive through, + And you shall have her answer by the word.' + + 'Boys!' shrieked the old king, but vainlier than a hen + To her false daughters in the pool; for none + Regarded; neither seemed there more to say: + Back rode we to my father's camp, and found + He thrice had sent a herald to the gates, + To learn if Ida yet would cede our claim, + Or by denial flush her babbling wells + With her own people's life: three times he went: + The first, he blew and blew, but none appeared: + He battered at the doors; none came: the next, + An awful voice within had warned him thence: + The third, and those eight daughters of the plough + Came sallying through the gates, and caught his hair, + And so belaboured him on rib and cheek + They made him wild: not less one glance he caught + Through open doors of Ida stationed there + Unshaken, clinging to her purpose, firm + Though compassed by two armies and the noise + Of arms; and standing like a stately Pine + Set in a cataract on an island-crag, + When storm is on the heights, and right and left + Sucked from the dark heart of the long hills roll + The torrents, dashed to the vale: and yet her will + Bred will in me to overcome it or fall. + + But when I told the king that I was pledged + To fight in tourney for my bride, he clashed + His iron palms together with a cry; + Himself would tilt it out among the lads: + But overborne by all his bearded lords + With reasons drawn from age and state, perforce + He yielded, wroth and red, with fierce demur: + And many a bold knight started up in heat, + And sware to combat for my claim till death. + + All on this side the palace ran the field + Flat to the garden-wall: and likewise here, + Above the garden's glowing blossom-belts, + A columned entry shone and marble stairs, + And great bronze valves, embossed with Tomyris + And what she did to Cyrus after fight, + But now fast barred: so here upon the flat + All that long morn the lists were hammered up, + And all that morn the heralds to and fro, + With message and defiance, went and came; + Last, Ida's answer, in a royal hand, + But shaken here and there, and rolling words + Oration-like. I kissed it and I read. + + 'O brother, you have known the pangs we felt, + What heats of indignation when we heard + Of those that iron-cramped their women's feet; + Of lands in which at the altar the poor bride + Gives her harsh groom for bridal-gift a scourge; + Of living hearts that crack within the fire + Where smoulder their dead despots; and of those,— + Mothers,—that, with all prophetic pity, fling + Their pretty maids in the running flood, and swoops + The vulture, beak and talon, at the heart + Made for all noble motion: and I saw + That equal baseness lived in sleeker times + With smoother men: the old leaven leavened all: + Millions of throats would bawl for civil rights, + No woman named: therefore I set my face + Against all men, and lived but for mine own. + Far off from men I built a fold for them: + I stored it full of rich memorial: + I fenced it round with gallant institutes, + And biting laws to scare the beasts of prey + And prospered; till a rout of saucy boys + Brake on us at our books, and marred our peace, + Masked like our maids, blustering I know not what + Of insolence and love, some pretext held + Of baby troth, invalid, since my will + Sealed not the bond—the striplings! for their sport!— + I tamed my leopards: shall I not tame these? + Or you? or I? for since you think me touched + In honour—what, I would not aught of false— + Is not our case pure? and whereas I know + Your prowess, Arac, and what mother's blood + You draw from, fight; you failing, I abide + What end soever: fail you will not. Still + Take not his life: he risked it for my own; + His mother lives: yet whatsoe'er you do, + Fight and fight well; strike and strike him. O dear + Brothers, the woman's Angel guards you, you + The sole men to be mingled with our cause, + The sole men we shall prize in the after-time, + Your very armour hallowed, and your statues + Reared, sung to, when, this gad-fly brushed aside, + We plant a solid foot into the Time, + And mould a generation strong to move + With claim on claim from right to right, till she + Whose name is yoked with children's, know herself; + And Knowledge in our own land make her free, + And, ever following those two crownèd twins, + Commerce and conquest, shower the fiery grain + Of freedom broadcast over all the orbs + Between the Northern and the Southern morn.' + + Then came a postscript dashed across the rest. + 'See that there be no traitors in your camp: + We seem a nest of traitors—none to trust + Since our arms failed—this Egypt-plague of men! + Almost our maids were better at their homes, + Than thus man-girdled here: indeed I think + Our chiefest comfort is the little child + Of one unworthy mother; which she left: + She shall not have it back: the child shall grow + To prize the authentic mother of her mind. + I took it for an hour in mine own bed + This morning: there the tender orphan hands + Felt at my heart, and seemed to charm from thence + The wrath I nursed against the world: farewell.' + + I ceased; he said, 'Stubborn, but she may sit + Upon a king's right hand in thunder-storms, + And breed up warriors! See now, though yourself + Be dazzled by the wildfire Love to sloughs + That swallow common sense, the spindling king, + This Gama swamped in lazy tolerance. + When the man wants weight, the woman takes it up, + And topples down the scales; but this is fixt + As are the roots of earth and base of all; + Man for the field and woman for the hearth: + Man for the sword and for the needle she: + Man with the head and woman with the heart: + Man to command and woman to obey; + All else confusion. Look you! the gray mare + Is ill to live with, when her whinny shrills + From tile to scullery, and her small goodman + Shrinks in his arm-chair while the fires of Hell + Mix with his hearth: but you—she's yet a colt— + Take, break her: strongly groomed and straitly curbed + She might not rank with those detestable + That let the bantling scald at home, and brawl + Their rights and wrongs like potherbs in the street. + They say she's comely; there's the fairer chance: + <i>I</i> like her none the less for rating at her! + Besides, the woman wed is not as we, + But suffers change of frame. A lusty brace + Of twins may weed her of her folly. Boy, + The bearing and the training of a child + Is woman's wisdom.' + Thus the hard old king: + I took my leave, for it was nearly noon: + I pored upon her letter which I held, + And on the little clause 'take not his life:' + I mused on that wild morning in the woods, + And on the 'Follow, follow, thou shalt win:' + I thought on all the wrathful king had said, + And how the strange betrothment was to end: + Then I remembered that burnt sorcerer's curse + That one should fight with shadows and should fall; + And like a flash the weird affection came: + King, camp and college turned to hollow shows; + I seemed to move in old memorial tilts, + And doing battle with forgotten ghosts, + To dream myself the shadow of a dream: + And ere I woke it was the point of noon, + The lists were ready. Empanoplied and plumed + We entered in, and waited, fifty there + Opposed to fifty, till the trumpet blared + At the barrier like a wild horn in a land + Of echoes, and a moment, and once more + The trumpet, and again: at which the storm + Of galloping hoofs bare on the ridge of spears + And riders front to front, until they closed + In conflict with the crash of shivering points, + And thunder. Yet it seemed a dream, I dreamed + Of fighting. On his haunches rose the steed, + And into fiery splinters leapt the lance, + And out of stricken helmets sprang the fire. + Part sat like rocks: part reeled but kept their seats: + Part rolled on the earth and rose again and drew: + Part stumbled mixt with floundering horses. Down + From those two bulks at Arac's side, and down + From Arac's arm, as from a giant's flail, + The large blows rained, as here and everywhere + He rode the mellay, lord of the ringing lists, + And all the plain,—brand, mace, and shaft, and shield— + Shocked, like an iron-clanging anvil banged + With hammers; till I thought, can this be he + From Gama's dwarfish loins? if this be so, + The mother makes us most—and in my dream + I glanced aside, and saw the palace-front + Alive with fluttering scarfs and ladies' eyes, + And highest, among the statues, statuelike, + Between a cymballed Miriam and a Jael, + With Psyche's babe, was Ida watching us, + A single band of gold about her hair, + Like a Saint's glory up in heaven: but she + No saint—inexorable—no tenderness— + Too hard, too cruel: yet she sees me fight, + Yea, let her see me fall! and with that I drave + Among the thickest and bore down a Prince, + And Cyril, one. Yea, let me make my dream + All that I would. But that large-moulded man, + His visage all agrin as at a wake, + Made at me through the press, and, staggering back + With stroke on stroke the horse and horseman, came + As comes a pillar of electric cloud, + Flaying the roofs and sucking up the drains, + And shadowing down the champaign till it strikes + On a wood, and takes, and breaks, and cracks, and splits, + And twists the grain with such a roar that Earth + Reels, and the herdsmen cry; for everything + Gave way before him: only Florian, he + That loved me closer than his own right eye, + Thrust in between; but Arac rode him down: + And Cyril seeing it, pushed against the Prince, + With Psyche's colour round his helmet, tough, + Strong, supple, sinew-corded, apt at arms; + But tougher, heavier, stronger, he that smote + And threw him: last I spurred; I felt my veins + Stretch with fierce heat; a moment hand to hand, + And sword to sword, and horse to horse we hung, + Till I struck out and shouted; the blade glanced, + I did but shear a feather, and dream and truth + Flowed from me; darkness closed me; and I fell. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Home they brought her warrior dead: + She nor swooned, nor uttered cry: + All her maidens, watching, said, + 'She must weep or she will die.' + + Then they praised him, soft and low, + Called him worthy to be loved, + Truest friend and noblest foe; + Yet she neither spoke nor moved. + + Stole a maiden from her place, + Lightly to the warrior stept, + Took the face-cloth from the face; + Yet she neither moved nor wept. + + Rose a nurse of ninety years, + Set his child upon her knee— + Like summer tempest came her tears— + 'Sweet my child, I live for thee.' +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + My dream had never died or lived again. + As in some mystic middle state I lay; + Seeing I saw not, hearing not I heard: + Though, if I saw not, yet they told me all + So often that I speak as having seen. + + For so it seemed, or so they said to me, + That all things grew more tragic and more strange; + That when our side was vanquished and my cause + For ever lost, there went up a great cry, + The Prince is slain. My father heard and ran + In on the lists, and there unlaced my casque + And grovelled on my body, and after him + Came Psyche, sorrowing for Aglaïa. + But high upon the palace Ida stood + With Psyche's babe in arm: there on the roofs + Like that great dame of Lapidoth she sang. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Our enemies have fallen, have fallen: the seed, + The little seed they laughed at in the dark, + Has risen and cleft the soil, and grown a bulk + Of spanless girth, that lays on every side + A thousand arms and rushes to the Sun. + + 'Our enemies have fallen, have fallen: they came; + The leaves were wet with women's tears: they heard + A noise of songs they would not understand: + They marked it with the red cross to the fall, + And would have strown it, and are fallen themselves. + + 'Our enemies have fallen, have fallen: they came, + The woodmen with their axes: lo the tree! + But we will make it faggots for the hearth, + And shape it plank and beam for roof and floor, + And boats and bridges for the use of men. + + 'Our enemies have fallen, have fallen: they struck; + With their own blows they hurt themselves, nor knew + There dwelt an iron nature in the grain: + The glittering axe was broken in their arms, + Their arms were shattered to the shoulder blade. + + 'Our enemies have fallen, but this shall grow + A night of Summer from the heat, a breadth + Of Autumn, dropping fruits of power: and rolled + With music in the growing breeze of Time, + The tops shall strike from star to star, the fangs + Shall move the stony bases of the world. + + 'And now, O maids, behold our sanctuary + Is violate, our laws broken: fear we not + To break them more in their behoof, whose arms + Championed our cause and won it with a day + Blanched in our annals, and perpetual feast, + When dames and heroines of the golden year + Shall strip a hundred hollows bare of Spring, + To rain an April of ovation round + Their statues, borne aloft, the three: but come, + We will be liberal, since our rights are won. + Let them not lie in the tents with coarse mankind, + Ill nurses; but descend, and proffer these + The brethren of our blood and cause, that there + Lie bruised and maimed, the tender ministries + Of female hands and hospitality.' + + She spoke, and with the babe yet in her arms, + Descending, burst the great bronze valves, and led + A hundred maids in train across the Park. + Some cowled, and some bare-headed, on they came, + Their feet in flowers, her loveliest: by them went + The enamoured air sighing, and on their curls + From the high tree the blossom wavering fell, + And over them the tremulous isles of light + Slided, they moving under shade: but Blanche + At distance followed: so they came: anon + Through open field into the lists they wound + Timorously; and as the leader of the herd + That holds a stately fretwork to the Sun, + And followed up by a hundred airy does, + Steps with a tender foot, light as on air, + The lovely, lordly creature floated on + To where her wounded brethren lay; there stayed; + Knelt on one knee,—the child on one,—and prest + Their hands, and called them dear deliverers, + And happy warriors, and immortal names, + And said 'You shall not lie in the tents but here, + And nursed by those for whom you fought, and served + With female hands and hospitality.' + + Then, whether moved by this, or was it chance, + She past my way. Up started from my side + The old lion, glaring with his whelpless eye, + Silent; but when she saw me lying stark, + Dishelmed and mute, and motionlessly pale, + Cold even to her, she sighed; and when she saw + The haggard father's face and reverend beard + Of grisly twine, all dabbled with the blood + Of his own son, shuddered, a twitch of pain + Tortured her mouth, and o'er her forehead past + A shadow, and her hue changed, and she said: + 'He saved my life: my brother slew him for it.' + No more: at which the king in bitter scorn + Drew from my neck the painting and the tress, + And held them up: she saw them, and a day + Rose from the distance on her memory, + When the good Queen, her mother, shore the tress + With kisses, ere the days of Lady Blanche: + And then once more she looked at my pale face: + Till understanding all the foolish work + Of Fancy, and the bitter close of all, + Her iron will was broken in her mind; + Her noble heart was molten in her breast; + She bowed, she set the child on the earth; she laid + A feeling finger on my brows, and presently + 'O Sire,' she said, 'he lives: he is not dead: + O let me have him with my brethren here + In our own palace: we will tend on him + Like one of these; if so, by any means, + To lighten this great clog of thanks, that make + Our progress falter to the woman's goal.' + + She said: but at the happy word 'he lives' + My father stooped, re-fathered o'er my wounds. + So those two foes above my fallen life, + With brow to brow like night and evening mixt + Their dark and gray, while Psyche ever stole + A little nearer, till the babe that by us, + Half-lapt in glowing gauze and golden brede, + Lay like a new-fallen meteor on the grass, + Uncared for, spied its mother and began + A blind and babbling laughter, and to dance + Its body, and reach its fatling innocent arms + And lazy lingering fingers. She the appeal + Brooked not, but clamouring out 'Mine—mine—not yours, + It is not yours, but mine: give me the child' + Ceased all on tremble: piteous was the cry: + So stood the unhappy mother open-mouthed, + And turned each face her way: wan was her cheek + With hollow watch, her blooming mantle torn, + Red grief and mother's hunger in her eye, + And down dead-heavy sank her curls, and half + The sacred mother's bosom, panting, burst + The laces toward her babe; but she nor cared + Nor knew it, clamouring on, till Ida heard, + Looked up, and rising slowly from me, stood + Erect and silent, striking with her glance + The mother, me, the child; but he that lay + Beside us, Cyril, battered as he was, + Trailed himself up on one knee: then he drew + Her robe to meet his lips, and down she looked + At the armed man sideways, pitying as it seemed, + Or self-involved; but when she learnt his face, + Remembering his ill-omened song, arose + Once more through all her height, and o'er him grew + Tall as a figure lengthened on the sand + When the tide ebbs in sunshine, and he said: + + 'O fair and strong and terrible! Lioness + That with your long locks play the Lion's mane! + But Love and Nature, these are two more terrible + And stronger. See, your foot is on our necks, + We vanquished, you the Victor of your will. + What would you more? Give her the child! remain + Orbed in your isolation: he is dead, + Or all as dead: henceforth we let you be: + Win you the hearts of women; and beware + Lest, where you seek the common love of these, + The common hate with the revolving wheel + Should drag you down, and some great Nemesis + Break from a darkened future, crowned with fire, + And tread you out for ever: but howso'er + Fixed in yourself, never in your own arms + To hold your own, deny not hers to her, + Give her the child! O if, I say, you keep + One pulse that beats true woman, if you loved + The breast that fed or arm that dandled you, + Or own one port of sense not flint to prayer, + Give her the child! or if you scorn to lay it, + Yourself, in hands so lately claspt with yours, + Or speak to her, your dearest, her one fault, + The tenderness, not yours, that could not kill, + Give <i>me</i> it: <i>I</i> will give it her. + He said: + At first her eye with slow dilation rolled + Dry flame, she listening; after sank and sank + And, into mournful twilight mellowing, dwelt + Full on the child; she took it: 'Pretty bud! + Lily of the vale! half opened bell of the woods! + Sole comfort of my dark hour, when a world + Of traitorous friend and broken system made + No purple in the distance, mystery, + Pledge of a love not to be mine, farewell; + These men are hard upon us as of old, + We two must part: and yet how fain was I + To dream thy cause embraced in mine, to think + I might be something to thee, when I felt + Thy helpless warmth about my barren breast + In the dead prime: but may thy mother prove + As true to thee as false, false, false to me! + And, if thou needs must needs bear the yoke, I wish it + Gentle as freedom'—here she kissed it: then— + 'All good go with thee! take it Sir,' and so + Laid the soft babe in his hard-mailèd hands, + Who turned half-round to Psyche as she sprang + To meet it, with an eye that swum in thanks; + Then felt it sound and whole from head to foot, + And hugged and never hugged it close enough, + And in her hunger mouthed and mumbled it, + And hid her bosom with it; after that + Put on more calm and added suppliantly: + + 'We two were friends: I go to mine own land + For ever: find some other: as for me + I scarce am fit for your great plans: yet speak to me, + Say one soft word and let me part forgiven.' + + But Ida spoke not, rapt upon the child. + Then Arac. 'Ida—'sdeath! you blame the man; + You wrong yourselves—the woman is so hard + Upon the woman. Come, a grace to me! + I am your warrior: I and mine have fought + Your battle: kiss her; take her hand, she weeps: + 'Sdeath! I would sooner fight thrice o'er than see it.' + + But Ida spoke not, gazing on the ground, + And reddening in the furrows of his chin, + And moved beyond his custom, Gama said: + + 'I've heard that there is iron in the blood, + And I believe it. Not one word? not one? + Whence drew you this steel temper? not from me, + Not from your mother, now a saint with saints. + She said you had a heart—I heard her say it— + "Our Ida has a heart"—just ere she died— + "But see that some one with authority + Be near her still" and I—I sought for one— + All people said she had authority— + The Lady Blanche: much profit! Not one word; + No! though your father sues: see how you stand + Stiff as Lot's wife, and all the good knights maimed, + I trust that there is no one hurt to death, + For our wild whim: and was it then for this, + Was it for this we gave our palace up, + Where we withdrew from summer heats and state, + And had our wine and chess beneath the planes, + And many a pleasant hour with her that's gone, + Ere you were born to vex us? Is it kind? + Speak to her I say: is this not she of whom, + When first she came, all flushed you said to me + Now had you got a friend of your own age, + Now could you share your thought; now should men see + Two women faster welded in one love + Than pairs of wedlock; she you walked with, she + You talked with, whole nights long, up in the tower, + Of sine and arc, spheroïd and azimuth, + And right ascension, Heaven knows what; and now + A word, but one, one little kindly word, + Not one to spare her: out upon you, flint! + You love nor her, nor me, nor any; nay, + You shame your mother's judgment too. Not one? + You will not? well—no heart have you, or such + As fancies like the vermin in a nut + Have fretted all to dust and bitterness.' + So said the small king moved beyond his wont. + + But Ida stood nor spoke, drained of her force + By many a varying influence and so long. + Down through her limbs a drooping languor wept: + Her head a little bent; and on her mouth + A doubtful smile dwelt like a clouded moon + In a still water: then brake out my sire, + Lifted his grim head from my wounds. 'O you, + Woman, whom we thought woman even now, + And were half fooled to let you tend our son, + Because he might have wished it—but we see, + The accomplice of your madness unforgiven, + And think that you might mix his draught with death, + When your skies change again: the rougher hand + Is safer: on to the tents: take up the Prince.' + + He rose, and while each ear was pricked to attend + A tempest, through the cloud that dimmed her broke + A genial warmth and light once more, and shone + Through glittering drops on her sad friend. + 'Come hither. + O Psyche,' she cried out, 'embrace me, come, + Quick while I melt; make reconcilement sure + With one that cannot keep her mind an hour: + Come to the hollow hear they slander so! + Kiss and be friends, like children being chid! + <i>I</i> seem no more: <i>I</i> want forgiveness too: + I should have had to do with none but maids, + That have no links with men. Ah false but dear, + Dear traitor, too much loved, why?—why?—Yet see, + Before these kings we embrace you yet once more + With all forgiveness, all oblivion, + And trust, not love, you less. + And now, O sire, + Grant me your son, to nurse, to wait upon him, + Like mine own brother. For my debt to him, + This nightmare weight of gratitude, I know it; + Taunt me no more: yourself and yours shall have + Free adit; we will scatter all our maids + Till happier times each to her proper hearth: + What use to keep them here—now? grant my prayer. + Help, father, brother, help; speak to the king: + Thaw this male nature to some touch of that + Which kills me with myself, and drags me down + From my fixt height to mob me up with all + The soft and milky rabble of womankind, + Poor weakling even as they are.' + Passionate tears + Followed: the king replied not: Cyril said: + 'Your brother, Lady,—Florian,—ask for him + Of your great head—for he is wounded too— + That you may tend upon him with the prince.' + 'Ay so,' said Ida with a bitter smile, + 'Our laws are broken: let him enter too.' + Then Violet, she that sang the mournful song, + And had a cousin tumbled on the plain, + Petitioned too for him. 'Ay so,' she said, + 'I stagger in the stream: I cannot keep + My heart an eddy from the brawling hour: + We break our laws with ease, but let it be.' + 'Ay so?' said Blanche: 'Amazed am I to her + Your Highness: but your Highness breaks with ease + The law your Highness did not make: 'twas I. + I had been wedded wife, I knew mankind, + And blocked them out; but these men came to woo + Your Highness—verily I think to win.' + + So she, and turned askance a wintry eye: + But Ida with a voice, that like a bell + Tolled by an earthquake in a trembling tower, + Rang ruin, answered full of grief and scorn. + + 'Fling our doors wide! all, all, not one, but all, + Not only he, but by my mother's soul, + Whatever man lies wounded, friend or foe, + Shall enter, if he will. Let our girls flit, + Till the storm die! but had you stood by us, + The roar that breaks the Pharos from his base + Had left us rock. She fain would sting us too, + But shall not. Pass, and mingle with your likes. + We brook no further insult but are gone.' + She turned; the very nape of her white neck + Was rosed with indignation: but the Prince + Her brother came; the king her father charmed + Her wounded soul with words: nor did mine own + Refuse her proffer, lastly gave his hand. + + Then us they lifted up, dead weights, and bare + Straight to the doors: to them the doors gave way + Groaning, and in the Vestal entry shrieked + The virgin marble under iron heels: + And on they moved and gained the hall, and there + Rested: but great the crush was, and each base, + To left and right, of those tall columns drowned + In silken fluctuation and the swarm + Of female whisperers: at the further end + Was Ida by the throne, the two great cats + Close by her, like supporters on a shield, + Bow-backed with fear: but in the centre stood + The common men with rolling eyes; amazed + They glared upon the women, and aghast + The women stared at these, all silent, save + When armour clashed or jingled, while the day, + Descending, struck athwart the hall, and shot + A flying splendour out of brass and steel, + That o'er the statues leapt from head to head, + Now fired an angry Pallas on the helm, + Now set a wrathful Dian's moon on flame, + And now and then an echo started up, + And shuddering fled from room to room, and died + Of fright in far apartments. + Then the voice + Of Ida sounded, issuing ordinance: + And me they bore up the broad stairs, and through + The long-laid galleries past a hundred doors + To one deep chamber shut from sound, and due + To languid limbs and sickness; left me in it; + And others otherwhere they laid; and all + That afternoon a sound arose of hoof + And chariot, many a maiden passing home + Till happier times; but some were left of those + Held sagest, and the great lords out and in, + From those two hosts that lay beside the walls, + Walked at their will, and everything was changed. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea; + The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape + With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape; + But O too fond, when have I answered thee? + Ask me no more. + + Ask me no more: what answer should I give? + I love not hollow cheek or faded eye: + Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die! + Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live; + Ask me no more. + + Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are sealed: + I strove against the stream and all in vain: + Let the great river take me to the main: + No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield; + Ask me no more. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + So was their sanctuary violated, + So their fair college turned to hospital; + At first with all confusion: by and by + Sweet order lived again with other laws: + A kindlier influence reigned; and everywhere + Low voices with the ministering hand + Hung round the sick: the maidens came, they talked, + They sang, they read: till she not fair began + To gather light, and she that was, became + Her former beauty treble; and to and fro + With books, with flowers, with Angel offices, + Like creatures native unto gracious act, + And in their own clear element, they moved. + + But sadness on the soul of Ida fell, + And hatred of her weakness, blent with shame. + Old studies failed; seldom she spoke: but oft + Clomb to the roofs, and gazed alone for hours + On that disastrous leaguer, swarms of men + Darkening her female field: void was her use, + And she as one that climbs a peak to gaze + O'er land and main, and sees a great black cloud + Drag inward from the deeps, a wall of night, + Blot out the slope of sea from verge to shore, + And suck the blinding splendour from the sand, + And quenching lake by lake and tarn by tarn + Expunge the world: so fared she gazing there; + So blackened all her world in secret, blank + And waste it seemed and vain; till down she came, + And found fair peace once more among the sick. + + And twilight dawned; and morn by morn the lark + Shot up and shrilled in flickering gyres, but I + Lay silent in the muffled cage of life: + And twilight gloomed; and broader-grown the bowers + Drew the great night into themselves, and Heaven, + Star after Star, arose and fell; but I, + Deeper than those weird doubts could reach me, lay + Quite sundered from the moving Universe, + Nor knew what eye was on me, nor the hand + That nursed me, more than infants in their sleep. + + But Psyche tended Florian: with her oft, + Melissa came; for Blanche had gone, but left + Her child among us, willing she should keep + Court-favour: here and there the small bright head, + A light of healing, glanced about the couch, + Or through the parted silks the tender face + Peeped, shining in upon the wounded man + With blush and smile, a medicine in themselves + To wile the length from languorous hours, and draw + The sting from pain; nor seemed it strange that soon + He rose up whole, and those fair charities + Joined at her side; nor stranger seemed that hears + So gentle, so employed, should close in love, + Than when two dewdrops on the petals shake + To the same sweet air, and tremble deeper down, + And slip at once all-fragrant into one. + + Less prosperously the second suit obtained + At first with Psyche. Not though Blanche had sworn + That after that dark night among the fields + She needs must wed him for her own good name; + Not though he built upon the babe restored; + Nor though she liked him, yielded she, but feared + To incense the Head once more; till on a day + When Cyril pleaded, Ida came behind + Seen but of Psyche: on her foot she hung + A moment, and she heard, at which her face + A little flushed, and she past on; but each + Assumed from thence a half-consent involved + In stillness, plighted troth, and were at peace. + + Nor only these: Love in the sacred halls + Held carnival at will, and flying struck + With showers of random sweet on maid and man. + Nor did her father cease to press my claim, + Nor did mine own, now reconciled; nor yet + Did those twin-brothers, risen again and whole; + Nor Arac, satiate with his victory. + + But I lay still, and with me oft she sat: + Then came a change; for sometimes I would catch + Her hand in wild delirium, gripe it hard, + And fling it like a viper off, and shriek + 'You are not Ida;' clasp it once again, + And call her Ida, though I knew her not, + And call her sweet, as if in irony, + And call her hard and cold which seemed a truth: + And still she feared that I should lose my mind, + And often she believed that I should die: + Till out of long frustration of her care, + And pensive tendance in the all-weary noons, + And watches in the dead, the dark, when clocks + Throbbed thunder through the palace floors, or called + On flying Time from all their silver tongues— + And out of memories of her kindlier days, + And sidelong glances at my father's grief, + And at the happy lovers heart in heart— + And out of hauntings of my spoken love, + And lonely listenings to my muttered dream, + And often feeling of the helpless hands, + And wordless broodings on the wasted cheek— + From all a closer interest flourished up, + Tenderness touch by touch, and last, to these, + Love, like an Alpine harebell hung with tears + By some cold morning glacier; frail at first + And feeble, all unconscious of itself, + But such as gathered colour day by day. + + Last I woke sane, but well-nigh close to death + For weakness: it was evening: silent light + Slept on the painted walls, wherein were wrought + Two grand designs; for on one side arose + The women up in wild revolt, and stormed + At the Oppian Law. Titanic shapes, they crammed + The forum, and half-crushed among the rest + A dwarf-like Cato cowered. On the other side + Hortensia spoke against the tax; behind, + A train of dames: by axe and eagle sat, + With all their foreheads drawn in Roman scowls, + And half the wolf's-milk curdled in their veins, + The fierce triumvirs; and before them paused + Hortensia pleading: angry was her face. + + I saw the forms: I knew not where I was: + They did but look like hollow shows; nor more + Sweet Ida: palm to palm she sat: the dew + Dwelt in her eyes, and softer all her shape + And rounder seemed: I moved: I sighed: a touch + Came round my wrist, and tears upon my hand: + Then all for languor and self-pity ran + Mine down my face, and with what life I had, + And like a flower that cannot all unfold, + So drenched it is with tempest, to the sun, + Yet, as it may, turns toward him, I on her + Fixt my faint eyes, and uttered whisperingly: + + 'If you be, what I think you, some sweet dream, + I would but ask you to fulfil yourself: + But if you be that Ida whom I knew, + I ask you nothing: only, if a dream, + Sweet dream, be perfect. I shall die tonight. + Stoop down and seem to kiss me ere I die.' + + I could no more, but lay like one in trance, + That hears his burial talked of by his friends, + And cannot speak, nor move, nor make one sign, + But lies and dreads his doom. She turned; she paused; + She stooped; and out of languor leapt a cry; + Leapt fiery Passion from the brinks of death; + And I believed that in the living world + My spirit closed with Ida's at the lips; + Till back I fell, and from mine arms she rose + Glowing all over noble shame; and all + Her falser self slipt from her like a robe, + And left her woman, lovelier in her mood + Than in her mould that other, when she came + From barren deeps to conquer all with love; + And down the streaming crystal dropt; and she + Far-fleeted by the purple island-sides, + Naked, a double light in air and wave, + To meet her Graces, where they decked her out + For worship without end; nor end of mine, + Stateliest, for thee! but mute she glided forth, + Nor glanced behind her, and I sank and slept, + Filled through and through with Love, a happy sleep. + + Deep in the night I woke: she, near me, held + A volume of the Poets of her land: + There to herself, all in low tones, she read. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white; + Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk; + Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font: + The fire-fly wakens: wake thou with me. + + Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost, + And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. + + Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars, + And all thy heart lies open unto me. + + Now lies the silent meteor on, and leaves + A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me. + + Now folds the lily all her sweetness up, + And slips into the bosom of the lake: + So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip + Into my bosom and be lost in me.' +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I heard her turn the page; she found a small + Sweet Idyl, and once more, as low, she read: +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Come down, O maid, from yonder mountain height: + What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang) + In height and cold, the splendour of the hills? + But cease to move so near the Heavens, and cease + To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine, + To sit a star upon the sparkling spire; + And come, for love is of the valley, come, + For love is of the valley, come thou down + And find him; by the happy threshold, he, + Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize, + Or red with spirted purple of the vats, + Or foxlike in the vine; nor cares to walk + With Death and Morning on the silver horns, + Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine, + Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice, + That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls + To roll the torrent out of dusky doors: + But follow; let the torrent dance thee down + To find him in the valley; let the wild + Lean-headed Eagles yelp alone, and leave + The monstrous ledges there to slope, and spill + Their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke, + That like a broken purpose waste in air: + So waste not thou; but come; for all the vales + Await thee; azure pillars of the hearth + Arise to thee; the children call, and I + Thy shepherd pipe, and sweet is every sound, + Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet; + Myriads of rivulets hurrying through the lawn, + The moan of doves in immemorial elms, + And murmuring of innumerable bees.' +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + So she low-toned; while with shut eyes I lay + Listening; then looked. Pale was the perfect face; + The bosom with long sighs laboured; and meek + Seemed the full lips, and mild the luminous eyes, + And the voice trembled and the hand. She said + Brokenly, that she knew it, she had failed + In sweet humility; had failed in all; + That all her labour was but as a block + Left in the quarry; but she still were loth, + She still were loth to yield herself to one + That wholly scorned to help their equal rights + Against the sons of men, and barbarous laws. + She prayed me not to judge their cause from her + That wronged it, sought far less for truth than power + In knowledge: something wild within her breast, + A greater than all knowledge, beat her down. + And she had nursed me there from week to week: + Much had she learnt in little time. In part + It was ill counsel had misled the girl + To vex true hearts: yet was she but a girl— + 'Ah fool, and made myself a Queen of farce! + When comes another such? never, I think, + Till the Sun drop, dead, from the signs.' + Her voice + choked, and her forehead sank upon her hands, + And her great heart through all the faultful Past + Went sorrowing in a pause I dared not break; + Till notice of a change in the dark world + Was lispt about the acacias, and a bird, + That early woke to feed her little ones, + Sent from a dewy breast a cry for light: + She moved, and at her feet the volume fell. + + 'Blame not thyself too much,' I said, 'nor blame + Too much the sons of men and barbarous laws; + These were the rough ways of the world till now. + Henceforth thou hast a helper, me, that know + The woman's cause is man's: they rise or sink + Together, dwarfed or godlike, bond or free: + For she that out of Lethe scales with man + The shining steps of Nature, shares with man + His nights, his days, moves with him to one goal, + Stays all the fair young planet in her hands— + If she be small, slight-natured, miserable, + How shall men grow? but work no more alone! + Our place is much: as far as in us lies + We two will serve them both in aiding her— + Will clear away the parasitic forms + That seem to keep her up but drag her down— + Will leave her space to burgeon out of all + Within her—let her make herself her own + To give or keep, to live and learn and be + All that not harms distinctive womanhood. + For woman is not undevelopt man, + But diverse: could we make her as the man, + Sweet Love were slain: his dearest bond is this, + Not like to like, but like in difference. + Yet in the long years liker must they grow; + The man be more of woman, she of man; + He gain in sweetness and in moral height, + Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world; + She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care, + Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind; + Till at the last she set herself to man, + Like perfect music unto noble words; + And so these twain, upon the skirts of Time, + Sit side by side, full-summed in all their powers, + Dispensing harvest, sowing the To-be, + Self-reverent each and reverencing each, + Distinct in individualities, + But like each other even as those who love. + Then comes the statelier Eden back to men: + Then reign the world's great bridals, chaste and calm: + Then springs the crowning race of humankind. + May these things be!' + Sighing she spoke 'I fear + They will not.' + 'Dear, but let us type them now + In our own lives, and this proud watchword rest + Of equal; seeing either sex alone + Is half itself, and in true marriage lies + Nor equal, nor unequal: each fulfils + Defect in each, and always thought in thought, + Purpose in purpose, will in will, they grow, + The single pure and perfect animal, + The two-celled heart beating, with one full stroke, + Life.' + And again sighing she spoke: 'A dream + That once was mine! what woman taught you this?' + + 'Alone,' I said, 'from earlier than I know, + Immersed in rich foreshadowings of the world, + I loved the woman: he, that doth not, lives + A drowning life, besotted in sweet self, + Or pines in sad experience worse than death, + Or keeps his winged affections clipt with crime: + Yet was there one through whom I loved her, one + Not learnèd, save in gracious household ways, + Not perfect, nay, but full of tender wants, + No Angel, but a dearer being, all dipt + In Angel instincts, breathing Paradise, + Interpreter between the Gods and men, + Who looked all native to her place, and yet + On tiptoe seemed to touch upon a sphere + Too gross to tread, and all male minds perforce + Swayed to her from their orbits as they moved, + And girdled her with music. Happy he + With such a mother! faith in womankind + Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high + Comes easy to him, and though he trip and fall + He shall not blind his soul with clay.' + 'But I,' + Said Ida, tremulously, 'so all unlike— + It seems you love to cheat yourself with words: + This mother is your model. I have heard + of your strange doubts: they well might be: I seem + A mockery to my own self. Never, Prince; + You cannot love me.' + 'Nay but thee' I said + 'From yearlong poring on thy pictured eyes, + Ere seen I loved, and loved thee seen, and saw + Thee woman through the crust of iron moods + That masked thee from men's reverence up, and forced + Sweet love on pranks of saucy boyhood: now, + Given back to life, to life indeed, through thee, + Indeed I love: the new day comes, the light + Dearer for night, as dearer thou for faults + Lived over: lift thine eyes; my doubts are dead, + My haunting sense of hollow shows: the change, + This truthful change in thee has killed it. Dear, + Look up, and let thy nature strike on mine, + Like yonder morning on the blind half-world; + Approach and fear not; breathe upon my brows; + In that fine air I tremble, all the past + Melts mist-like into this bright hour, and this + Is morn to more, and all the rich to-come + Reels, as the golden Autumn woodland reels + Athwart the smoke of burning weeds. Forgive me, + I waste my heart in signs: let be. My bride, + My wife, my life. O we will walk this world, + Yoked in all exercise of noble end, + And so through those dark gates across the wild + That no man knows. Indeed I love thee: come, + Yield thyself up: my hopes and thine are one: + Accomplish thou my manhood and thyself; + Lay thy sweet hands in mine and trust to me.' +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_CONC" id="link2H_CONC"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CONCLUSION + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + So closed our tale, of which I give you all + The random scheme as wildly as it rose: + The words are mostly mine; for when we ceased + There came a minute's pause, and Walter said, + 'I wish she had not yielded!' then to me, + 'What, if you drest it up poetically?' + So prayed the men, the women: I gave assent: + Yet how to bind the scattered scheme of seven + Together in one sheaf? What style could suit? + The men required that I should give throughout + The sort of mock-heroic gigantesque, + With which we bantered little Lilia first: + The women—and perhaps they felt their power, + For something in the ballads which they sang, + Or in their silent influence as they sat, + Had ever seemed to wrestle with burlesque, + And drove us, last, to quite a solemn close— + They hated banter, wished for something real, + A gallant fight, a noble princess—why + Not make her true-heroic—true-sublime? + Or all, they said, as earnest as the close? + Which yet with such a framework scarce could be. + Then rose a little feud betwixt the two, + Betwixt the mockers and the realists: + And I, betwixt them both, to please them both, + And yet to give the story as it rose, + I moved as in a strange diagonal, + And maybe neither pleased myself nor them. + + But Lilia pleased me, for she took no part + In our dispute: the sequel of the tale + Had touched her; and she sat, she plucked the grass, + She flung it from her, thinking: last, she fixt + A showery glance upon her aunt, and said, + 'You—tell us what we are' who might have told, + For she was crammed with theories out of books, + But that there rose a shout: the gates were closed + At sunset, and the crowd were swarming now, + To take their leave, about the garden rails. + + So I and some went out to these: we climbed + The slope to Vivian-place, and turning saw + The happy valleys, half in light, and half + Far-shadowing from the west, a land of peace; + Gray halls alone among their massive groves; + Trim hamlets; here and there a rustic tower + Half-lost in belts of hop and breadths of wheat; + The shimmering glimpses of a stream; the seas; + A red sail, or a white; and far beyond, + Imagined more than seen, the skirts of France. + + 'Look there, a garden!' said my college friend, + The Tory member's elder son, 'and there! + God bless the narrow sea which keeps her off, + And keeps our Britain, whole within herself, + A nation yet, the rulers and the ruled— + Some sense of duty, something of a faith, + Some reverence for the laws ourselves have made, + Some patient force to change them when we will, + Some civic manhood firm against the crowd— + But yonder, whiff! there comes a sudden heat, + The gravest citizen seems to lose his head, + The king is scared, the soldier will not fight, + The little boys begin to shoot and stab, + A kingdom topples over with a shriek + Like an old woman, and down rolls the world + In mock heroics stranger than our own; + Revolts, republics, revolutions, most + No graver than a schoolboys' barring out; + Too comic for the serious things they are, + Too solemn for the comic touches in them, + Like our wild Princess with as wise a dream + As some of theirs—God bless the narrow seas! + I wish they were a whole Atlantic broad.' + + 'Have patience,' I replied, 'ourselves are full + Of social wrong; and maybe wildest dreams + Are but the needful preludes of the truth: + For me, the genial day, the happy crowd, + The sport half-science, fill me with a faith. + This fine old world of ours is but a child + Yet in the go-cart. Patience! Give it time + To learn its limbs: there is a hand that guides.' + + In such discourse we gained the garden rails, + And there we saw Sir Walter where he stood, + Before a tower of crimson holly-hoaks, + Among six boys, head under head, and looked + No little lily-handed Baronet he, + A great broad-shouldered genial Englishman, + A lord of fat prize-oxen and of sheep, + A raiser of huge melons and of pine, + A patron of some thirty charities, + A pamphleteer on guano and on grain, + A quarter-sessions chairman, abler none; + Fair-haired and redder than a windy morn; + Now shaking hands with him, now him, of those + That stood the nearest—now addressed to speech— + Who spoke few words and pithy, such as closed + Welcome, farewell, and welcome for the year + To follow: a shout rose again, and made + The long line of the approaching rookery swerve + From the elms, and shook the branches of the deer + From slope to slope through distant ferns, and rang + Beyond the bourn of sunset; O, a shout + More joyful than the city-roar that hails + Premier or king! Why should not these great Sirs + Give up their parks some dozen times a year + To let the people breathe? So thrice they cried, + I likewise, and in groups they streamed away. + + But we went back to the Abbey, and sat on, + So much the gathering darkness charmed: we sat + But spoke not, rapt in nameless reverie, + Perchance upon the future man: the walls + Blackened about us, bats wheeled, and owls whooped, + And gradually the powers of the night, + That range above the region of the wind, + Deepening the courts of twilight broke them up + Through all the silent spaces of the worlds, + Beyond all thought into the Heaven of Heavens. + + Last little Lilia, rising quietly, + Disrobed the glimmering statue of Sir Ralph + From those rich silks, and home well-pleased we went. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Princess, by Alfred Lord Tennyson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRINCESS *** + +***** This file should be named 791-h.htm or 791-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/9/791/ + +Produced by ddNg E-Ching, and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Princess + +Author: Alfred Lord Tennyson + +Posting Date: August 2, 2008 [EBook #791] +Release Date: January, 1997 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRINCESS *** + + + + +Produced by ddNg E-Ching + + + + + +THE PRINCESS + +by Alfred Lord Tennyson + + + + +PROLOGUE + + + Sir Walter Vivian all a summer's day + Gave his broad lawns until the set of sun + Up to the people: thither flocked at noon + His tenants, wife and child, and thither half + The neighbouring borough with their Institute + Of which he was the patron. I was there + From college, visiting the son,--the son + A Walter too,--with others of our set, + Five others: we were seven at Vivian-place. + + And me that morning Walter showed the house, + Greek, set with busts: from vases in the hall + Flowers of all heavens, and lovelier than their names, + Grew side by side; and on the pavement lay + Carved stones of the Abbey-ruin in the park, + Huge Ammonites, and the first bones of Time; + And on the tables every clime and age + Jumbled together; celts and calumets, + Claymore and snowshoe, toys in lava, fans + Of sandal, amber, ancient rosaries, + Laborious orient ivory sphere in sphere, + The cursed Malayan crease, and battle-clubs + From the isles of palm: and higher on the walls, + Betwixt the monstrous horns of elk and deer, + His own forefathers' arms and armour hung. + + And 'this' he said 'was Hugh's at Agincourt; + And that was old Sir Ralph's at Ascalon: + A good knight he! we keep a chronicle + With all about him'--which he brought, and I + Dived in a hoard of tales that dealt with knights, + Half-legend, half-historic, counts and kings + Who laid about them at their wills and died; + And mixt with these, a lady, one that armed + Her own fair head, and sallying through the gate, + Had beat her foes with slaughter from her walls. + + 'O miracle of women,' said the book, + 'O noble heart who, being strait-besieged + By this wild king to force her to his wish, + Nor bent, nor broke, nor shunned a soldier's death, + But now when all was lost or seemed as lost-- + Her stature more than mortal in the burst + Of sunrise, her arm lifted, eyes on fire-- + Brake with a blast of trumpets from the gate, + And, falling on them like a thunderbolt, + She trampled some beneath her horses' heels, + And some were whelmed with missiles of the wall, + And some were pushed with lances from the rock, + And part were drowned within the whirling brook: + O miracle of noble womanhood!' + + So sang the gallant glorious chronicle; + And, I all rapt in this, 'Come out,' he said, + 'To the Abbey: there is Aunt Elizabeth + And sister Lilia with the rest.' We went + (I kept the book and had my finger in it) + Down through the park: strange was the sight to me; + For all the sloping pasture murmured, sown + With happy faces and with holiday. + There moved the multitude, a thousand heads: + The patient leaders of their Institute + Taught them with facts. One reared a font of stone + And drew, from butts of water on the slope, + The fountain of the moment, playing, now + A twisted snake, and now a rain of pearls, + Or steep-up spout whereon the gilded ball + Danced like a wisp: and somewhat lower down + A man with knobs and wires and vials fired + A cannon: Echo answered in her sleep + From hollow fields: and here were telescopes + For azure views; and there a group of girls + In circle waited, whom the electric shock + Dislinked with shrieks and laughter: round the lake + A little clock-work steamer paddling plied + And shook the lilies: perched about the knolls + A dozen angry models jetted steam: + A petty railway ran: a fire-balloon + Rose gem-like up before the dusky groves + And dropt a fairy parachute and past: + And there through twenty posts of telegraph + They flashed a saucy message to and fro + Between the mimic stations; so that sport + Went hand in hand with Science; otherwhere + Pure sport; a herd of boys with clamour bowled + And stumped the wicket; babies rolled about + Like tumbled fruit in grass; and men and maids + Arranged a country dance, and flew through light + And shadow, while the twangling violin + Struck up with Soldier-laddie, and overhead + The broad ambrosial aisles of lofty lime + Made noise with bees and breeze from end to end. + + Strange was the sight and smacking of the time; + And long we gazed, but satiated at length + Came to the ruins. High-arched and ivy-claspt, + Of finest Gothic lighter than a fire, + Through one wide chasm of time and frost they gave + The park, the crowd, the house; but all within + The sward was trim as any garden lawn: + And here we lit on Aunt Elizabeth, + And Lilia with the rest, and lady friends + From neighbour seats: and there was Ralph himself, + A broken statue propt against the wall, + As gay as any. Lilia, wild with sport, + Half child half woman as she was, had wound + A scarf of orange round the stony helm, + And robed the shoulders in a rosy silk, + That made the old warrior from his ivied nook + Glow like a sunbeam: near his tomb a feast + Shone, silver-set; about it lay the guests, + And there we joined them: then the maiden Aunt + Took this fair day for text, and from it preached + An universal culture for the crowd, + And all things great; but we, unworthier, told + Of college: he had climbed across the spikes, + And he had squeezed himself betwixt the bars, + And he had breathed the Proctor's dogs; and one + Discussed his tutor, rough to common men, + But honeying at the whisper of a lord; + And one the Master, as a rogue in grain + Veneered with sanctimonious theory. + But while they talked, above their heads I saw + The feudal warrior lady-clad; which brought + My book to mind: and opening this I read + Of old Sir Ralph a page or two that rang + With tilt and tourney; then the tale of her + That drove her foes with slaughter from her walls, + And much I praised her nobleness, and 'Where,' + Asked Walter, patting Lilia's head (she lay + Beside him) 'lives there such a woman now?' + + Quick answered Lilia 'There are thousands now + Such women, but convention beats them down: + It is but bringing up; no more than that: + You men have done it: how I hate you all! + Ah, were I something great! I wish I were + Some might poetess, I would shame you then, + That love to keep us children! O I wish + That I were some great princess, I would build + Far off from men a college like a man's, + And I would teach them all that men are taught; + We are twice as quick!' And here she shook aside + The hand that played the patron with her curls. + + And one said smiling 'Pretty were the sight + If our old halls could change their sex, and flaunt + With prudes for proctors, dowagers for deans, + And sweet girl-graduates in their golden hair. + I think they should not wear our rusty gowns, + But move as rich as Emperor-moths, or Ralph + Who shines so in the corner; yet I fear, + If there were many Lilias in the brood, + However deep you might embower the nest, + Some boy would spy it.' + At this upon the sward + She tapt her tiny silken-sandaled foot: + 'That's your light way; but I would make it death + For any male thing but to peep at us.' + + Petulant she spoke, and at herself she laughed; + A rosebud set with little wilful thorns, + And sweet as English air could make her, she: + But Walter hailed a score of names upon her, + And 'petty Ogress', and 'ungrateful Puss', + And swore he longed at college, only longed, + All else was well, for she-society. + They boated and they cricketed; they talked + At wine, in clubs, of art, of politics; + They lost their weeks; they vext the souls of deans; + They rode; they betted; made a hundred friends, + And caught the blossom of the flying terms, + But missed the mignonette of Vivian-place, + The little hearth-flower Lilia. Thus he spoke, + Part banter, part affection. + 'True,' she said, + 'We doubt not that. O yes, you missed us much. + I'll stake my ruby ring upon it you did.' + + She held it out; and as a parrot turns + Up through gilt wires a crafty loving eye, + And takes a lady's finger with all care, + And bites it for true heart and not for harm, + So he with Lilia's. Daintily she shrieked + And wrung it. 'Doubt my word again!' he said. + 'Come, listen! here is proof that you were missed: + We seven stayed at Christmas up to read; + And there we took one tutor as to read: + The hard-grained Muses of the cube and square + Were out of season: never man, I think, + So mouldered in a sinecure as he: + For while our cloisters echoed frosty feet, + And our long walks were stript as bare as brooms, + We did but talk you over, pledge you all + In wassail; often, like as many girls-- + Sick for the hollies and the yews of home-- + As many little trifling Lilias--played + Charades and riddles as at Christmas here, + And _what's my thought_ and _when_ and _where_ and _how_, + As here at Christmas.' + She remembered that: + A pleasant game, she thought: she liked it more + Than magic music, forfeits, all the rest. + But these--what kind of tales did men tell men, + She wondered, by themselves? + A half-disdain + Perched on the pouted blossom of her lips: + And Walter nodded at me; '_He_ began, + The rest would follow, each in turn; and so + We forged a sevenfold story. Kind? what kind? + Chimeras, crotchets, Christmas solecisms, + Seven-headed monsters only made to kill + Time by the fire in winter.' + 'Kill him now, + The tyrant! kill him in the summer too,' + Said Lilia; 'Why not now?' the maiden Aunt. + 'Why not a summer's as a winter's tale? + A tale for summer as befits the time, + And something it should be to suit the place, + Heroic, for a hero lies beneath, + Grave, solemn!' + Walter warped his mouth at this + To something so mock-solemn, that I laughed + And Lilia woke with sudden-thrilling mirth + An echo like a ghostly woodpecker, + Hid in the ruins; till the maiden Aunt + (A little sense of wrong had touched her face + With colour) turned to me with 'As you will; + Heroic if you will, or what you will, + Or be yourself you hero if you will.' + + 'Take Lilia, then, for heroine' clamoured he, + 'And make her some great Princess, six feet high, + Grand, epic, homicidal; and be you + The Prince to win her!' + 'Then follow me, the Prince,' + I answered, 'each be hero in his turn! + Seven and yet one, like shadows in a dream.-- + Heroic seems our Princess as required-- + But something made to suit with Time and place, + A Gothic ruin and a Grecian house, + A talk of college and of ladies' rights, + A feudal knight in silken masquerade, + And, yonder, shrieks and strange experiments + For which the good Sir Ralph had burnt them all-- + This _were_ a medley! we should have him back + Who told the "Winter's tale" to do it for us. + No matter: we will say whatever comes. + And let the ladies sing us, if they will, + From time to time, some ballad or a song + To give us breathing-space.' + So I began, + And the rest followed: and the women sang + Between the rougher voices of the men, + Like linnets in the pauses of the wind: + And here I give the story and the songs. + + + + +I + + + + A prince I was, blue-eyed, and fair in face, + Of temper amorous, as the first of May, + With lengths of yellow ringlet, like a girl, + For on my cradle shone the Northern star. + + There lived an ancient legend in our house. + Some sorcerer, whom a far-off grandsire burnt + Because he cast no shadow, had foretold, + Dying, that none of all our blood should know + The shadow from the substance, and that one + Should come to fight with shadows and to fall. + For so, my mother said, the story ran. + And, truly, waking dreams were, more or less, + An old and strange affection of the house. + Myself too had weird seizures, Heaven knows what: + On a sudden in the midst of men and day, + And while I walked and talked as heretofore, + I seemed to move among a world of ghosts, + And feel myself the shadow of a dream. + Our great court-Galen poised his gilt-head cane, + And pawed his beard, and muttered 'catalepsy'. + My mother pitying made a thousand prayers; + My mother was as mild as any saint, + Half-canonized by all that looked on her, + So gracious was her tact and tenderness: + But my good father thought a king a king; + He cared not for the affection of the house; + He held his sceptre like a pedant's wand + To lash offence, and with long arms and hands + Reached out, and picked offenders from the mass + For judgment. + Now it chanced that I had been, + While life was yet in bud and blade, bethrothed + To one, a neighbouring Princess: she to me + Was proxy-wedded with a bootless calf + At eight years old; and still from time to time + Came murmurs of her beauty from the South, + And of her brethren, youths of puissance; + And still I wore her picture by my heart, + And one dark tress; and all around them both + Sweet thoughts would swarm as bees about their queen. + + But when the days drew nigh that I should wed, + My father sent ambassadors with furs + And jewels, gifts, to fetch her: these brought back + A present, a great labour of the loom; + And therewithal an answer vague as wind: + Besides, they saw the king; he took the gifts; + He said there was a compact; that was true: + But then she had a will; was he to blame? + And maiden fancies; loved to live alone + Among her women; certain, would not wed. + + That morning in the presence room I stood + With Cyril and with Florian, my two friends: + The first, a gentleman of broken means + (His father's fault) but given to starts and bursts + Of revel; and the last, my other heart, + And almost my half-self, for still we moved + Together, twinned as horse's ear and eye. + + Now, while they spake, I saw my father's face + Grow long and troubled like a rising moon, + Inflamed with wrath: he started on his feet, + Tore the king's letter, snowed it down, and rent + The wonder of the loom through warp and woof + From skirt to skirt; and at the last he sware + That he would send a hundred thousand men, + And bring her in a whirlwind: then he chewed + The thrice-turned cud of wrath, and cooked his spleen, + Communing with his captains of the war. + + At last I spoke. 'My father, let me go. + It cannot be but some gross error lies + In this report, this answer of a king, + Whom all men rate as kind and hospitable: + Or, maybe, I myself, my bride once seen, + Whate'er my grief to find her less than fame, + May rue the bargain made.' And Florian said: + 'I have a sister at the foreign court, + Who moves about the Princess; she, you know, + Who wedded with a nobleman from thence: + He, dying lately, left her, as I hear, + The lady of three castles in that land: + Through her this matter might be sifted clean.' + And Cyril whispered: 'Take me with you too.' + Then laughing 'what, if these weird seizures come + Upon you in those lands, and no one near + To point you out the shadow from the truth! + Take me: I'll serve you better in a strait; + I grate on rusty hinges here:' but 'No!' + Roared the rough king, 'you shall not; we ourself + Will crush her pretty maiden fancies dead + In iron gauntlets: break the council up.' + + But when the council broke, I rose and past + Through the wild woods that hung about the town; + Found a still place, and plucked her likeness out; + Laid it on flowers, and watched it lying bathed + In the green gleam of dewy-tasselled trees: + What were those fancies? wherefore break her troth? + Proud looked the lips: but while I meditated + A wind arose and rushed upon the South, + And shook the songs, the whispers, and the shrieks + Of the wild woods together; and a Voice + Went with it, 'Follow, follow, thou shalt win.' + + Then, ere the silver sickle of that month + Became her golden shield, I stole from court + With Cyril and with Florian, unperceived, + Cat-footed through the town and half in dread + To hear my father's clamour at our backs + With Ho! from some bay-window shake the night; + But all was quiet: from the bastioned walls + Like threaded spiders, one by one, we dropt, + And flying reached the frontier: then we crost + To a livelier land; and so by tilth and grange, + And vines, and blowing bosks of wilderness, + We gained the mother city thick with towers, + And in the imperial palace found the king. + + His name was Gama; cracked and small his voice, + But bland the smile that like a wrinkling wind + On glassy water drove his cheek in lines; + A little dry old man, without a star, + Not like a king: three days he feasted us, + And on the fourth I spake of why we came, + And my bethrothed. 'You do us, Prince,' he said, + Airing a snowy hand and signet gem, + 'All honour. We remember love ourselves + In our sweet youth: there did a compact pass + Long summers back, a kind of ceremony-- + I think the year in which our olives failed. + I would you had her, Prince, with all my heart, + With my full heart: but there were widows here, + Two widows, Lady Psyche, Lady Blanche; + They fed her theories, in and out of place + Maintaining that with equal husbandry + The woman were an equal to the man. + They harped on this; with this our banquets rang; + Our dances broke and buzzed in knots of talk; + Nothing but this; my very ears were hot + To hear them: knowledge, so my daughter held, + Was all in all: they had but been, she thought, + As children; they must lose the child, assume + The woman: then, Sir, awful odes she wrote, + Too awful, sure, for what they treated of, + But all she is and does is awful; odes + About this losing of the child; and rhymes + And dismal lyrics, prophesying change + Beyond all reason: these the women sang; + And they that know such things--I sought but peace; + No critic I--would call them masterpieces: + They mastered _me_. At last she begged a boon, + A certain summer-palace which I have + Hard by your father's frontier: I said no, + Yet being an easy man, gave it: and there, + All wild to found an University + For maidens, on the spur she fled; and more + We know not,--only this: they see no men, + Not even her brother Arac, nor the twins + Her brethren, though they love her, look upon her + As on a kind of paragon; and I + (Pardon me saying it) were much loth to breed + Dispute betwixt myself and mine: but since + (And I confess with right) you think me bound + In some sort, I can give you letters to her; + And yet, to speak the truth, I rate your chance + Almost at naked nothing.' + Thus the king; + And I, though nettled that he seemed to slur + With garrulous ease and oily courtesies + Our formal compact, yet, not less (all frets + But chafing me on fire to find my bride) + Went forth again with both my friends. We rode + Many a long league back to the North. At last + From hills, that looked across a land of hope, + We dropt with evening on a rustic town + Set in a gleaming river's crescent-curve, + Close at the boundary of the liberties; + There, entered an old hostel, called mine host + To council, plied him with his richest wines, + And showed the late-writ letters of the king. + + He with a long low sibilation, stared + As blank as death in marble; then exclaimed + Averring it was clear against all rules + For any man to go: but as his brain + Began to mellow, 'If the king,' he said, + 'Had given us letters, was he bound to speak? + The king would bear him out;' and at the last-- + The summer of the vine in all his veins-- + 'No doubt that we might make it worth his while. + She once had past that way; he heard her speak; + She scared him; life! he never saw the like; + She looked as grand as doomsday and as grave: + And he, he reverenced his liege-lady there; + He always made a point to post with mares; + His daughter and his housemaid were the boys: + The land, he understood, for miles about + Was tilled by women; all the swine were sows, + And all the dogs'-- + But while he jested thus, + A thought flashed through me which I clothed in act, + Remembering how we three presented Maid + Or Nymph, or Goddess, at high tide of feast, + In masque or pageant at my father's court. + We sent mine host to purchase female gear; + He brought it, and himself, a sight to shake + The midriff of despair with laughter, holp + To lace us up, till, each, in maiden plumes + We rustled: him we gave a costly bribe + To guerdon silence, mounted our good steeds, + And boldly ventured on the liberties. + + We followed up the river as we rode, + And rode till midnight when the college lights + Began to glitter firefly-like in copse + And linden alley: then we past an arch, + Whereon a woman-statue rose with wings + From four winged horses dark against the stars; + And some inscription ran along the front, + But deep in shadow: further on we gained + A little street half garden and half house; + But scarce could hear each other speak for noise + Of clocks and chimes, like silver hammers falling + On silver anvils, and the splash and stir + Of fountains spouted up and showering down + In meshes of the jasmine and the rose: + And all about us pealed the nightingale, + Rapt in her song, and careless of the snare. + + There stood a bust of Pallas for a sign, + By two sphere lamps blazoned like Heaven and Earth + With constellation and with continent, + Above an entry: riding in, we called; + A plump-armed Ostleress and a stable wench + Came running at the call, and helped us down. + Then stept a buxom hostess forth, and sailed, + Full-blown, before us into rooms which gave + Upon a pillared porch, the bases lost + In laurel: her we asked of that and this, + And who were tutors. 'Lady Blanche' she said, + 'And Lady Psyche.' 'Which was prettiest, + Best-natured?' 'Lady Psyche.' 'Hers are we,' + One voice, we cried; and I sat down and wrote, + In such a hand as when a field of corn + Bows all its ears before the roaring East; + + 'Three ladies of the Northern empire pray + Your Highness would enroll them with your own, + As Lady Psyche's pupils.' + This I sealed: + The seal was Cupid bent above a scroll, + And o'er his head Uranian Venus hung, + And raised the blinding bandage from his eyes: + I gave the letter to be sent with dawn; + And then to bed, where half in doze I seemed + To float about a glimmering night, and watch + A full sea glazed with muffled moonlight, swell + On some dark shore just seen that it was rich. + + + As through the land at eve we went, + And plucked the ripened ears, + We fell out, my wife and I, + O we fell out I know not why, + And kissed again with tears. + And blessings on the falling out + That all the more endears, + When we fall out with those we love + And kiss again with tears! + For when we came where lies the child + We lost in other years, + There above the little grave, + O there above the little grave, + We kissed again with tears. + + + + +II + + + + At break of day the College Portress came: + She brought us Academic silks, in hue + The lilac, with a silken hood to each, + And zoned with gold; and now when these were on, + And we as rich as moths from dusk cocoons, + She, curtseying her obeisance, let us know + The Princess Ida waited: out we paced, + I first, and following through the porch that sang + All round with laurel, issued in a court + Compact of lucid marbles, bossed with lengths + Of classic frieze, with ample awnings gay + Betwixt the pillars, and with great urns of flowers. + The Muses and the Graces, grouped in threes, + Enringed a billowing fountain in the midst; + And here and there on lattice edges lay + Or book or lute; but hastily we past, + And up a flight of stairs into the hall. + + There at a board by tome and paper sat, + With two tame leopards couched beside her throne, + All beauty compassed in a female form, + The Princess; liker to the inhabitant + Of some clear planet close upon the Sun, + Than our man's earth; such eyes were in her head, + And so much grace and power, breathing down + From over her arched brows, with every turn + Lived through her to the tips of her long hands, + And to her feet. She rose her height, and said: + + 'We give you welcome: not without redound + Of use and glory to yourselves ye come, + The first-fruits of the stranger: aftertime, + And that full voice which circles round the grave, + Will rank you nobly, mingled up with me. + What! are the ladies of your land so tall?' + 'We of the court' said Cyril. 'From the court' + She answered, 'then ye know the Prince?' and he: + 'The climax of his age! as though there were + One rose in all the world, your Highness that, + He worships your ideal:' she replied: + 'We scarcely thought in our own hall to hear + This barren verbiage, current among men, + Light coin, the tinsel clink of compliment. + Your flight from out your bookless wilds would seem + As arguing love of knowledge and of power; + Your language proves you still the child. Indeed, + We dream not of him: when we set our hand + To this great work, we purposed with ourself + Never to wed. You likewise will do well, + Ladies, in entering here, to cast and fling + The tricks, which make us toys of men, that so, + Some future time, if so indeed you will, + You may with those self-styled our lords ally + Your fortunes, justlier balanced, scale with scale.' + + At those high words, we conscious of ourselves, + Perused the matting: then an officer + Rose up, and read the statutes, such as these: + Not for three years to correspond with home; + Not for three years to cross the liberties; + Not for three years to speak with any men; + And many more, which hastily subscribed, + We entered on the boards: and 'Now,' she cried, + 'Ye are green wood, see ye warp not. Look, our hall! + Our statues!--not of those that men desire, + Sleek Odalisques, or oracles of mode, + Nor stunted squaws of West or East; but she + That taught the Sabine how to rule, and she + The foundress of the Babylonian wall, + The Carian Artemisia strong in war, + The Rhodope, that built the pyramid, + Clelia, Cornelia, with the Palmyrene + That fought Aurelian, and the Roman brows + Of Agrippina. Dwell with these, and lose + Convention, since to look on noble forms + Makes noble through the sensuous organism + That which is higher. O lift your natures up: + Embrace our aims: work out your freedom. Girls, + Knowledge is now no more a fountain sealed: + Drink deep, until the habits of the slave, + The sins of emptiness, gossip and spite + And slander, die. Better not be at all + Than not be noble. Leave us: you may go: + Today the Lady Psyche will harangue + The fresh arrivals of the week before; + For they press in from all the provinces, + And fill the hive.' + She spoke, and bowing waved + Dismissal: back again we crost the court + To Lady Psyche's: as we entered in, + There sat along the forms, like morning doves + That sun their milky bosoms on the thatch, + A patient range of pupils; she herself + Erect behind a desk of satin-wood, + A quick brunette, well-moulded, falcon-eyed, + And on the hither side, or so she looked, + Of twenty summers. At her left, a child, + In shining draperies, headed like a star, + Her maiden babe, a double April old, + Aglaia slept. We sat: the Lady glanced: + Then Florian, but not livelier than the dame + That whispered 'Asses' ears', among the sedge, + 'My sister.' 'Comely, too, by all that's fair,' + Said Cyril. 'Oh hush, hush!' and she began. + + 'This world was once a fluid haze of light, + Till toward the centre set the starry tides, + And eddied into suns, that wheeling cast + The planets: then the monster, then the man; + Tattooed or woaded, winter-clad in skins, + Raw from the prime, and crushing down his mate; + As yet we find in barbarous isles, and here + Among the lowest.' + Thereupon she took + A bird's-eye-view of all the ungracious past; + Glanced at the legendary Amazon + As emblematic of a nobler age; + Appraised the Lycian custom, spoke of those + That lay at wine with Lar and Lucumo; + Ran down the Persian, Grecian, Roman lines + Of empire, and the woman's state in each, + How far from just; till warming with her theme + She fulmined out her scorn of laws Salique + And little-footed China, touched on Mahomet + With much contempt, and came to chivalry: + When some respect, however slight, was paid + To woman, superstition all awry: + However then commenced the dawn: a beam + Had slanted forward, falling in a land + Of promise; fruit would follow. Deep, indeed, + Their debt of thanks to her who first had dared + To leap the rotten pales of prejudice, + Disyoke their necks from custom, and assert + None lordlier than themselves but that which made + Woman and man. She had founded; they must build. + Here might they learn whatever men were taught: + Let them not fear: some said their heads were less: + Some men's were small; not they the least of men; + For often fineness compensated size: + Besides the brain was like the hand, and grew + With using; thence the man's, if more was more; + He took advantage of his strength to be + First in the field: some ages had been lost; + But woman ripened earlier, and her life + Was longer; and albeit their glorious names + Were fewer, scattered stars, yet since in truth + The highest is the measure of the man, + And not the Kaffir, Hottentot, Malay, + Nor those horn-handed breakers of the glebe, + But Homer, Plato, Verulam; even so + With woman: and in arts of government + Elizabeth and others; arts of war + The peasant Joan and others; arts of grace + Sappho and others vied with any man: + And, last not least, she who had left her place, + And bowed her state to them, that they might grow + To use and power on this Oasis, lapt + In the arms of leisure, sacred from the blight + Of ancient influence and scorn. + At last + She rose upon a wind of prophecy + Dilating on the future; 'everywhere + Who heads in council, two beside the hearth, + Two in the tangled business of the world, + Two in the liberal offices of life, + Two plummets dropt for one to sound the abyss + Of science, and the secrets of the mind: + Musician, painter, sculptor, critic, more: + And everywhere the broad and bounteous Earth + Should bear a double growth of those rare souls, + Poets, whose thoughts enrich the blood of the world.' + + She ended here, and beckoned us: the rest + Parted; and, glowing full-faced welcome, she + Began to address us, and was moving on + In gratulation, till as when a boat + Tacks, and the slackened sail flaps, all her voice + Faltering and fluttering in her throat, she cried + 'My brother!' 'Well, my sister.' 'O,' she said, + 'What do you here? and in this dress? and these? + Why who are these? a wolf within the fold! + A pack of wolves! the Lord be gracious to me! + A plot, a plot, a plot to ruin all!' + 'No plot, no plot,' he answered. 'Wretched boy, + How saw you not the inscription on the gate, + LET NO MAN ENTER IN ON PAIN OF DEATH?' + 'And if I had,' he answered, 'who could think + The softer Adams of your Academe, + O sister, Sirens though they be, were such + As chanted on the blanching bones of men?' + 'But you will find it otherwise' she said. + 'You jest: ill jesting with edge-tools! my vow + Binds me to speak, and O that iron will, + That axelike edge unturnable, our Head, + The Princess.' 'Well then, Psyche, take my life, + And nail me like a weasel on a grange + For warning: bury me beside the gate, + And cut this epitaph above my bones; + _Here lies a brother by a sister slain, + All for the common good of womankind._' + 'Let me die too,' said Cyril, 'having seen + And heard the Lady Psyche.' + I struck in: + 'Albeit so masked, Madam, I love the truth; + Receive it; and in me behold the Prince + Your countryman, affianced years ago + To the Lady Ida: here, for here she was, + And thus (what other way was left) I came.' + 'O Sir, O Prince, I have no country; none; + If any, this; but none. Whate'er I was + Disrooted, what I am is grafted here. + Affianced, Sir? love-whispers may not breathe + Within this vestal limit, and how should I, + Who am not mine, say, live: the thunderbolt + Hangs silent; but prepare: I speak; it falls.' + 'Yet pause,' I said: 'for that inscription there, + I think no more of deadly lurks therein, + Than in a clapper clapping in a garth, + To scare the fowl from fruit: if more there be, + If more and acted on, what follows? war; + Your own work marred: for this your Academe, + Whichever side be Victor, in the halloo + Will topple to the trumpet down, and pass + With all fair theories only made to gild + A stormless summer.' 'Let the Princess judge + Of that' she said: 'farewell, Sir--and to you. + I shudder at the sequel, but I go.' + + 'Are you that Lady Psyche,' I rejoined, + 'The fifth in line from that old Florian, + Yet hangs his portrait in my father's hall + (The gaunt old Baron with his beetle brow + Sun-shaded in the heat of dusty fights) + As he bestrode my Grandsire, when he fell, + And all else fled? we point to it, and we say, + The loyal warmth of Florian is not cold, + But branches current yet in kindred veins.' + 'Are you that Psyche,' Florian added; 'she + With whom I sang about the morning hills, + Flung ball, flew kite, and raced the purple fly, + And snared the squirrel of the glen? are you + That Psyche, wont to bind my throbbing brow, + To smoothe my pillow, mix the foaming draught + Of fever, tell me pleasant tales, and read + My sickness down to happy dreams? are you + That brother-sister Psyche, both in one? + You were that Psyche, but what are you now?' + 'You are that Psyche,' said Cyril, 'for whom + I would be that for ever which I seem, + Woman, if I might sit beside your feet, + And glean your scattered sapience.' + Then once more, + 'Are you that Lady Psyche,' I began, + 'That on her bridal morn before she past + From all her old companions, when the kind + Kissed her pale cheek, declared that ancient ties + Would still be dear beyond the southern hills; + That were there any of our people there + In want or peril, there was one to hear + And help them? look! for such are these and I.' + 'Are you that Psyche,' Florian asked, 'to whom, + In gentler days, your arrow-wounded fawn + Came flying while you sat beside the well? + The creature laid his muzzle on your lap, + And sobbed, and you sobbed with it, and the blood + Was sprinkled on your kirtle, and you wept. + That was fawn's blood, not brother's, yet you wept. + O by the bright head of my little niece, + You were that Psyche, and what are you now?' + 'You are that Psyche,' Cyril said again, + 'The mother of the sweetest little maid, + That ever crowed for kisses.' + 'Out upon it!' + She answered, 'peace! and why should I not play + The Spartan Mother with emotion, be + The Lucius Junius Brutus of my kind? + Him you call great: he for the common weal, + The fading politics of mortal Rome, + As I might slay this child, if good need were, + Slew both his sons: and I, shall I, on whom + The secular emancipation turns + Of half this world, be swerved from right to save + A prince, a brother? a little will I yield. + Best so, perchance, for us, and well for you. + O hard, when love and duty clash! I fear + My conscience will not count me fleckless; yet-- + Hear my conditions: promise (otherwise + You perish) as you came, to slip away + Today, tomorrow, soon: it shall be said, + These women were too barbarous, would not learn; + They fled, who might have shamed us: promise, all.' + + What could we else, we promised each; and she, + Like some wild creature newly-caged, commenced + A to-and-fro, so pacing till she paused + By Florian; holding out her lily arms + Took both his hands, and smiling faintly said: + 'I knew you at the first: though you have grown + You scarce have altered: I am sad and glad + To see you, Florian. _I_ give thee to death + My brother! it was duty spoke, not I. + My needful seeming harshness, pardon it. + Our mother, is she well?' + With that she kissed + His forehead, then, a moment after, clung + About him, and betwixt them blossomed up + From out a common vein of memory + Sweet household talk, and phrases of the hearth, + And far allusion, till the gracious dews + Began to glisten and to fall: and while + They stood, so rapt, we gazing, came a voice, + 'I brought a message here from Lady Blanche.' + Back started she, and turning round we saw + The Lady Blanche's daughter where she stood, + Melissa, with her hand upon the lock, + A rosy blonde, and in a college gown, + That clad her like an April daffodilly + (Her mother's colour) with her lips apart, + And all her thoughts as fair within her eyes, + As bottom agates seen to wave and float + In crystal currents of clear morning seas. + + So stood that same fair creature at the door. + Then Lady Psyche, 'Ah--Melissa--you! + You heard us?' and Melissa, 'O pardon me + I heard, I could not help it, did not wish: + But, dearest Lady, pray you fear me not, + Nor think I bear that heart within my breast, + To give three gallant gentlemen to death.' + 'I trust you,' said the other, 'for we two + Were always friends, none closer, elm and vine: + But yet your mother's jealous temperament-- + Let not your prudence, dearest, drowse, or prove + The Danaid of a leaky vase, for fear + This whole foundation ruin, and I lose + My honour, these their lives.' 'Ah, fear me not' + Replied Melissa; 'no--I would not tell, + No, not for all Aspasia's cleverness, + No, not to answer, Madam, all those hard things + That Sheba came to ask of Solomon.' + 'Be it so' the other, 'that we still may lead + The new light up, and culminate in peace, + For Solomon may come to Sheba yet.' + Said Cyril, 'Madam, he the wisest man + Feasted the woman wisest then, in halls + Of Lebanonian cedar: nor should you + (Though, Madam, _you_ should answer, _we_ would ask) + Less welcome find among us, if you came + Among us, debtors for our lives to you, + Myself for something more.' He said not what, + But 'Thanks,' she answered 'Go: we have been too long + Together: keep your hoods about the face; + They do so that affect abstraction here. + Speak little; mix not with the rest; and hold + Your promise: all, I trust, may yet be well.' + + We turned to go, but Cyril took the child, + And held her round the knees against his waist, + And blew the swollen cheek of a trumpeter, + While Psyche watched them, smiling, and the child + Pushed her flat hand against his face and laughed; + And thus our conference closed. + And then we strolled + For half the day through stately theatres + Benched crescent-wise. In each we sat, we heard + The grave Professor. On the lecture slate + The circle rounded under female hands + With flawless demonstration: followed then + A classic lecture, rich in sentiment, + With scraps of thunderous Epic lilted out + By violet-hooded Doctors, elegies + And quoted odes, and jewels five-words-long + That on the stretched forefinger of all Time + Sparkle for ever: then we dipt in all + That treats of whatsoever is, the state, + The total chronicles of man, the mind, + The morals, something of the frame, the rock, + The star, the bird, the fish, the shell, the flower, + Electric, chemic laws, and all the rest, + And whatsoever can be taught and known; + Till like three horses that have broken fence, + And glutted all night long breast-deep in corn, + We issued gorged with knowledge, and I spoke: + 'Why, Sirs, they do all this as well as we.' + 'They hunt old trails' said Cyril 'very well; + But when did woman ever yet invent?' + 'Ungracious!' answered Florian; 'have you learnt + No more from Psyche's lecture, you that talked + The trash that made me sick, and almost sad?' + 'O trash' he said, 'but with a kernel in it. + Should I not call her wise, who made me wise? + And learnt? I learnt more from her in a flash, + Than in my brainpan were an empty hull, + And every Muse tumbled a science in. + A thousand hearts lie fallow in these halls, + And round these halls a thousand baby loves + Fly twanging headless arrows at the hearts, + Whence follows many a vacant pang; but O + With me, Sir, entered in the bigger boy, + The Head of all the golden-shafted firm, + The long-limbed lad that had a Psyche too; + He cleft me through the stomacher; and now + What think you of it, Florian? do I chase + The substance or the shadow? will it hold? + I have no sorcerer's malison on me, + No ghostly hauntings like his Highness. I + Flatter myself that always everywhere + I know the substance when I see it. Well, + Are castles shadows? Three of them? Is she + The sweet proprietress a shadow? If not, + Shall those three castles patch my tattered coat? + For dear are those three castles to my wants, + And dear is sister Psyche to my heart, + And two dear things are one of double worth, + And much I might have said, but that my zone + Unmanned me: then the Doctors! O to hear + The Doctors! O to watch the thirsty plants + Imbibing! once or twice I thought to roar, + To break my chain, to shake my mane: but thou, + Modulate me, Soul of mincing mimicry! + Make liquid treble of that bassoon, my throat; + Abase those eyes that ever loved to meet + Star-sisters answering under crescent brows; + Abate the stride, which speaks of man, and loose + A flying charm of blushes o'er this cheek, + Where they like swallows coming out of time + Will wonder why they came: but hark the bell + For dinner, let us go!' + And in we streamed + Among the columns, pacing staid and still + By twos and threes, till all from end to end + With beauties every shade of brown and fair + In colours gayer than the morning mist, + The long hall glittered like a bed of flowers. + How might a man not wander from his wits + Pierced through with eyes, but that I kept mine own + Intent on her, who rapt in glorious dreams, + The second-sight of some Astraean age, + Sat compassed with professors: they, the while, + Discussed a doubt and tost it to and fro: + A clamour thickened, mixt with inmost terms + Of art and science: Lady Blanche alone + Of faded form and haughtiest lineaments, + With all her autumn tresses falsely brown, + Shot sidelong daggers at us, a tiger-cat + In act to spring. + At last a solemn grace + Concluded, and we sought the gardens: there + One walked reciting by herself, and one + In this hand held a volume as to read, + And smoothed a petted peacock down with that: + Some to a low song oared a shallop by, + Or under arches of the marble bridge + Hung, shadowed from the heat: some hid and sought + In the orange thickets: others tost a ball + Above the fountain-jets, and back again + With laughter: others lay about the lawns, + Of the older sort, and murmured that their May + Was passing: what was learning unto them? + They wished to marry; they could rule a house; + Men hated learned women: but we three + Sat muffled like the Fates; and often came + Melissa hitting all we saw with shafts + Of gentle satire, kin to charity, + That harmed not: then day droopt; the chapel bells + Called us: we left the walks; we mixt with those + Six hundred maidens clad in purest white, + Before two streams of light from wall to wall, + While the great organ almost burst his pipes, + Groaning for power, and rolling through the court + A long melodious thunder to the sound + Of solemn psalms, and silver litanies, + The work of Ida, to call down from Heaven + A blessing on her labours for the world. + + + Sweet and low, sweet and low, + Wind of the western sea, + Low, low, breathe and blow, + Wind of the western sea! + Over the rolling waters go, + Come from the dying moon, and blow, + Blow him again to me; + While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. + + Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, + Father will come to thee soon; + Rest, rest, on mother's breast, + Father will come to thee soon; + Father will come to his babe in the nest, + Silver sails all out of the west + Under the silver moon: + Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. + + + + +III + + + + Morn in the wake of the morning star + Came furrowing all the orient into gold. + We rose, and each by other drest with care + Descended to the court that lay three parts + In shadow, but the Muses' heads were touched + Above the darkness from their native East. + + There while we stood beside the fount, and watched + Or seemed to watch the dancing bubble, approached + Melissa, tinged with wan from lack of sleep, + Or grief, and glowing round her dewy eyes + The circled Iris of a night of tears; + 'And fly,' she cried, 'O fly, while yet you may! + My mother knows:' and when I asked her 'how,' + 'My fault' she wept 'my fault! and yet not mine; + Yet mine in part. O hear me, pardon me. + My mother, 'tis her wont from night to night + To rail at Lady Psyche and her side. + She says the Princess should have been the Head, + Herself and Lady Psyche the two arms; + And so it was agreed when first they came; + But Lady Psyche was the right hand now, + And the left, or not, or seldom used; + Hers more than half the students, all the love. + And so last night she fell to canvass you: + _Her_ countrywomen! she did not envy her. + "Who ever saw such wild barbarians? + Girls?--more like men!" and at these words the snake, + My secret, seemed to stir within my breast; + And oh, Sirs, could I help it, but my cheek + Began to burn and burn, and her lynx eye + To fix and make me hotter, till she laughed: + "O marvellously modest maiden, you! + Men! girls, like men! why, if they had been men + You need not set your thoughts in rubric thus + For wholesale comment." Pardon, I am shamed + That I must needs repeat for my excuse + What looks so little graceful: "men" (for still + My mother went revolving on the word) + "And so they are,--very like men indeed-- + And with that woman closeted for hours!" + Then came these dreadful words out one by one, + "Why--these--_are_--men:" I shuddered: "and you know it." + "O ask me nothing," I said: "And she knows too, + And she conceals it." So my mother clutched + The truth at once, but with no word from me; + And now thus early risen she goes to inform + The Princess: Lady Psyche will be crushed; + But you may yet be saved, and therefore fly; + But heal me with your pardon ere you go.' + + 'What pardon, sweet Melissa, for a blush?' + Said Cyril: 'Pale one, blush again: than wear + Those lilies, better blush our lives away. + Yet let us breathe for one hour more in Heaven' + He added, 'lest some classic Angel speak + In scorn of us, "They mounted, Ganymedes, + To tumble, Vulcans, on the second morn." + But I will melt this marble into wax + To yield us farther furlough:' and he went. + + Melissa shook her doubtful curls, and thought + He scarce would prosper. 'Tell us,' Florian asked, + 'How grew this feud betwixt the right and left.' + 'O long ago,' she said, 'betwixt these two + Division smoulders hidden; 'tis my mother, + Too jealous, often fretful as the wind + Pent in a crevice: much I bear with her: + I never knew my father, but she says + (God help her) she was wedded to a fool; + And still she railed against the state of things. + She had the care of Lady Ida's youth, + And from the Queen's decease she brought her up. + But when your sister came she won the heart + Of Ida: they were still together, grew + (For so they said themselves) inosculated; + Consonant chords that shiver to one note; + One mind in all things: yet my mother still + Affirms your Psyche thieved her theories, + And angled with them for her pupil's love: + She calls her plagiarist; I know not what: + But I must go: I dare not tarry,' and light, + As flies the shadow of a bird, she fled. + + Then murmured Florian gazing after her, + 'An open-hearted maiden, true and pure. + If I could love, why this were she: how pretty + Her blushing was, and how she blushed again, + As if to close with Cyril's random wish: + Not like your Princess crammed with erring pride, + Nor like poor Psyche whom she drags in tow.' + + 'The crane,' I said, 'may chatter of the crane, + The dove may murmur of the dove, but I + An eagle clang an eagle to the sphere. + My princess, O my princess! true she errs, + But in her own grand way: being herself + Three times more noble than three score of men, + She sees herself in every woman else, + And so she wears her error like a crown + To blind the truth and me: for her, and her, + Hebes are they to hand ambrosia, mix + The nectar; but--ah she--whene'er she moves + The Samian Here rises and she speaks + A Memnon smitten with the morning Sun.' + + So saying from the court we paced, and gained + The terrace ranged along the Northern front, + And leaning there on those balusters, high + Above the empurpled champaign, drank the gale + That blown about the foliage underneath, + And sated with the innumerable rose, + Beat balm upon our eyelids. Hither came + Cyril, and yawning 'O hard task,' he cried; + 'No fighting shadows here! I forced a way + Through opposition crabbed and gnarled. + Better to clear prime forests, heave and thump + A league of street in summer solstice down, + Than hammer at this reverend gentlewoman. + I knocked and, bidden, entered; found her there + At point to move, and settled in her eyes + The green malignant light of coming storm. + Sir, I was courteous, every phrase well-oiled, + As man's could be; yet maiden-meek I prayed + Concealment: she demanded who we were, + And why we came? I fabled nothing fair, + But, your example pilot, told her all. + Up went the hushed amaze of hand and eye. + But when I dwelt upon your old affiance, + She answered sharply that I talked astray. + I urged the fierce inscription on the gate, + And our three lives. True--we had limed ourselves + With open eyes, and we must take the chance. + But such extremes, I told her, well might harm + The woman's cause. "Not more than now," she said, + "So puddled as it is with favouritism." + I tried the mother's heart. Shame might befall + Melissa, knowing, saying not she knew: + Her answer was "Leave me to deal with that." + I spoke of war to come and many deaths, + And she replied, her duty was to speak, + And duty duty, clear of consequences. + I grew discouraged, Sir; but since I knew + No rock so hard but that a little wave + May beat admission in a thousand years, + I recommenced; "Decide not ere you pause. + I find you here but in the second place, + Some say the third--the authentic foundress you. + I offer boldly: we will seat you highest: + Wink at our advent: help my prince to gain + His rightful bride, and here I promise you + Some palace in our land, where you shall reign + The head and heart of all our fair she-world, + And your great name flow on with broadening time + For ever." Well, she balanced this a little, + And told me she would answer us today, + meantime be mute: thus much, nor more I gained.' + + He ceasing, came a message from the Head. + 'That afternoon the Princess rode to take + The dip of certain strata to the North. + Would we go with her? we should find the land + Worth seeing; and the river made a fall + Out yonder:' then she pointed on to where + A double hill ran up his furrowy forks + Beyond the thick-leaved platans of the vale. + + Agreed to, this, the day fled on through all + Its range of duties to the appointed hour. + Then summoned to the porch we went. She stood + Among her maidens, higher by the head, + Her back against a pillar, her foot on one + Of those tame leopards. Kittenlike he rolled + And pawed about her sandal. I drew near; + I gazed. On a sudden my strange seizure came + Upon me, the weird vision of our house: + The Princess Ida seemed a hollow show, + Her gay-furred cats a painted fantasy, + Her college and her maidens, empty masks, + And I myself the shadow of a dream, + For all things were and were not. Yet I felt + My heart beat thick with passion and with awe; + Then from my breast the involuntary sigh + Brake, as she smote me with the light of eyes + That lent my knee desire to kneel, and shook + My pulses, till to horse we got, and so + Went forth in long retinue following up + The river as it narrowed to the hills. + + I rode beside her and to me she said: + 'O friend, we trust that you esteemed us not + Too harsh to your companion yestermorn; + Unwillingly we spake.' 'No--not to her,' + I answered, 'but to one of whom we spake + Your Highness might have seemed the thing you say.' + 'Again?' she cried, 'are you ambassadresses + From him to me? we give you, being strange, + A license: speak, and let the topic die.' + + I stammered that I knew him--could have wished-- + 'Our king expects--was there no precontract? + There is no truer-hearted--ah, you seem + All he prefigured, and he could not see + The bird of passage flying south but longed + To follow: surely, if your Highness keep + Your purport, you will shock him even to death, + Or baser courses, children of despair.' + + 'Poor boy,' she said, 'can he not read--no books? + Quoit, tennis, ball--no games? nor deals in that + Which men delight in, martial exercise? + To nurse a blind ideal like a girl, + Methinks he seems no better than a girl; + As girls were once, as we ourself have been: + We had our dreams; perhaps he mixt with them: + We touch on our dead self, nor shun to do it, + Being other--since we learnt our meaning here, + To lift the woman's fallen divinity + Upon an even pedestal with man.' + + She paused, and added with a haughtier smile + 'And as to precontracts, we move, my friend, + At no man's beck, but know ourself and thee, + O Vashti, noble Vashti! Summoned out + She kept her state, and left the drunken king + To brawl at Shushan underneath the palms.' + + 'Alas your Highness breathes full East,' I said, + 'On that which leans to you. I know the Prince, + I prize his truth: and then how vast a work + To assail this gray preeminence of man! + You grant me license; might I use it? think; + Ere half be done perchance your life may fail; + Then comes the feebler heiress of your plan, + And takes and ruins all; and thus your pains + May only make that footprint upon sand + Which old-recurring waves of prejudice + Resmooth to nothing: might I dread that you, + With only Fame for spouse and your great deeds + For issue, yet may live in vain, and miss, + Meanwhile, what every woman counts her due, + Love, children, happiness?' + And she exclaimed, + 'Peace, you young savage of the Northern wild! + What! though your Prince's love were like a God's, + Have we not made ourself the sacrifice? + You are bold indeed: we are not talked to thus: + Yet will we say for children, would they grew + Like field-flowers everywhere! we like them well: + But children die; and let me tell you, girl, + Howe'er you babble, great deeds cannot die; + They with the sun and moon renew their light + For ever, blessing those that look on them. + Children--that men may pluck them from our hearts, + Kill us with pity, break us with ourselves-- + O--children--there is nothing upon earth + More miserable than she that has a son + And sees him err: nor would we work for fame; + Though she perhaps might reap the applause of Great, + Who earns the one POU STO whence after-hands + May move the world, though she herself effect + But little: wherefore up and act, nor shrink + For fear our solid aim be dissipated + By frail successors. Would, indeed, we had been, + In lieu of many mortal flies, a race + Of giants living, each, a thousand years, + That we might see our own work out, and watch + The sandy footprint harden into stone.' + + I answered nothing, doubtful in myself + If that strange Poet-princess with her grand + Imaginations might at all be won. + And she broke out interpreting my thoughts: + + 'No doubt we seem a kind of monster to you; + We are used to that: for women, up till this + Cramped under worse than South-sea-isle taboo, + Dwarfs of the gynaeceum, fail so far + In high desire, they know not, cannot guess + How much their welfare is a passion to us. + If we could give them surer, quicker proof-- + Oh if our end were less achievable + By slow approaches, than by single act + Of immolation, any phase of death, + We were as prompt to spring against the pikes, + Or down the fiery gulf as talk of it, + To compass our dear sisters' liberties.' + + She bowed as if to veil a noble tear; + And up we came to where the river sloped + To plunge in cataract, shattering on black blocks + A breadth of thunder. O'er it shook the woods, + And danced the colour, and, below, stuck out + The bones of some vast bulk that lived and roared + Before man was. She gazed awhile and said, + 'As these rude bones to us, are we to her + That will be.' 'Dare we dream of that,' I asked, + 'Which wrought us, as the workman and his work, + That practice betters?' 'How,' she cried, 'you love + The metaphysics! read and earn our prize, + A golden brooch: beneath an emerald plane + Sits Diotima, teaching him that died + Of hemlock; our device; wrought to the life; + She rapt upon her subject, he on her: + For there are schools for all.' 'And yet' I said + 'Methinks I have not found among them all + One anatomic.' 'Nay, we thought of that,' + She answered, 'but it pleased us not: in truth + We shudder but to dream our maids should ape + Those monstrous males that carve the living hound, + And cram him with the fragments of the grave, + Or in the dark dissolving human heart, + And holy secrets of this microcosm, + Dabbling a shameless hand with shameful jest, + Encarnalize their spirits: yet we know + Knowledge is knowledge, and this matter hangs: + Howbeit ourself, foreseeing casualty, + Nor willing men should come among us, learnt, + For many weary moons before we came, + This craft of healing. Were you sick, ourself + Would tend upon you. To your question now, + Which touches on the workman and his work. + Let there be light and there was light: 'tis so: + For was, and is, and will be, are but is; + And all creation is one act at once, + The birth of light: but we that are not all, + As parts, can see but parts, now this, now that, + And live, perforce, from thought to thought, and make + One act a phantom of succession: thus + Our weakness somehow shapes the shadow, Time; + But in the shadow will we work, and mould + The woman to the fuller day.' + She spake + With kindled eyes; we rode a league beyond, + And, o'er a bridge of pinewood crossing, came + On flowery levels underneath the crag, + Full of all beauty. 'O how sweet' I said + (For I was half-oblivious of my mask) + 'To linger here with one that loved us.' 'Yea,' + She answered, 'or with fair philosophies + That lift the fancy; for indeed these fields + Are lovely, lovelier not the Elysian lawns, + Where paced the Demigods of old, and saw + The soft white vapour streak the crowned towers + Built to the Sun:' then, turning to her maids, + 'Pitch our pavilion here upon the sward; + Lay out the viands.' At the word, they raised + A tent of satin, elaborately wrought + With fair Corinna's triumph; here she stood, + Engirt with many a florid maiden-cheek, + The woman-conqueror; woman-conquered there + The bearded Victor of ten-thousand hymns, + And all the men mourned at his side: but we + Set forth to climb; then, climbing, Cyril kept + With Psyche, with Melissa Florian, I + With mine affianced. Many a little hand + Glanced like a touch of sunshine on the rocks, + Many a light foot shone like a jewel set + In the dark crag: and then we turned, we wound + About the cliffs, the copses, out and in, + Hammering and clinking, chattering stony names + Of shales and hornblende, rag and trap and tuff, + Amygdaloid and trachyte, till the Sun + Grew broader toward his death and fell, and all + The rosy heights came out above the lawns. + + + The splendour falls on castle walls + And snowy summits old in story: + The long light shakes across the lakes, + And the wild cataract leaps in glory. + Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, + Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. + + O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, + And thinner, clearer, farther going! + O sweet and far from cliff and scar + The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! + Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: + Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. + + O love, they die in yon rich sky, + They faint on hill or field or river: + Our echoes roll from soul to soul, + And grow for ever and for ever. + Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, + And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. + + + + +IV + + + + 'There sinks the nebulous star we call the Sun, + If that hypothesis of theirs be sound' + Said Ida; 'let us down and rest;' and we + Down from the lean and wrinkled precipices, + By every coppice-feathered chasm and cleft, + Dropt through the ambrosial gloom to where below + No bigger than a glow-worm shone the tent + Lamp-lit from the inner. Once she leaned on me, + Descending; once or twice she lent her hand, + And blissful palpitations in the blood, + Stirring a sudden transport rose and fell. + + But when we planted level feet, and dipt + Beneath the satin dome and entered in, + There leaning deep in broidered down we sank + Our elbows: on a tripod in the midst + A fragrant flame rose, and before us glowed + Fruit, blossom, viand, amber wine, and gold. + + Then she, 'Let some one sing to us: lightlier move + The minutes fledged with music:' and a maid, + Of those beside her, smote her harp, and sang. + + + 'Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, + Tears from the depth of some divine despair + Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, + In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, + And thinking of the days that are no more. + + 'Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, + That brings our friends up from the underworld, + Sad as the last which reddens over one + That sinks with all we love below the verge; + So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. + + 'Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns + The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds + To dying ears, when unto dying eyes + The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; + So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. + + 'Dear as remembered kisses after death, + And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned + On lips that are for others; deep as love, + Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; + O Death in Life, the days that are no more.' + + + She ended with such passion that the tear, + She sang of, shook and fell, an erring pearl + Lost in her bosom: but with some disdain + Answered the Princess, 'If indeed there haunt + About the mouldered lodges of the Past + So sweet a voice and vague, fatal to men, + Well needs it we should cram our ears with wool + And so pace by: but thine are fancies hatched + In silken-folded idleness; nor is it + Wiser to weep a true occasion lost, + But trim our sails, and let old bygones be, + While down the streams that float us each and all + To the issue, goes, like glittering bergs of ice, + Throne after throne, and molten on the waste + Becomes a cloud: for all things serve their time + Toward that great year of equal mights and rights, + Nor would I fight with iron laws, in the end + Found golden: let the past be past; let be + Their cancelled Babels: though the rough kex break + The starred mosaic, and the beard-blown goat + Hang on the shaft, and the wild figtree split + Their monstrous idols, care not while we hear + A trumpet in the distance pealing news + Of better, and Hope, a poising eagle, burns + Above the unrisen morrow:' then to me; + 'Know you no song of your own land,' she said, + 'Not such as moans about the retrospect, + But deals with the other distance and the hues + Of promise; not a death's-head at the wine.' + + Then I remembered one myself had made, + What time I watched the swallow winging south + From mine own land, part made long since, and part + Now while I sang, and maidenlike as far + As I could ape their treble, did I sing. + + + 'O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South, + Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves, + And tell her, tell her, what I tell to thee. + + 'O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each, + That bright and fierce and fickle is the South, + And dark and true and tender is the North. + + 'O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and light + Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill, + And cheep and twitter twenty million loves. + + 'O were I thou that she might take me in, + And lay me on her bosom, and her heart + Would rock the snowy cradle till I died. + + 'Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love, + Delaying as the tender ash delays + To clothe herself, when all the woods are green? + + 'O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown: + Say to her, I do but wanton in the South, + But in the North long since my nest is made. + + 'O tell her, brief is life but love is long, + And brief the sun of summer in the North, + And brief the moon of beauty in the South. + + 'O Swallow, flying from the golden woods, + Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine, + And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee.' + + + I ceased, and all the ladies, each at each, + Like the Ithacensian suitors in old time, + Stared with great eyes, and laughed with alien lips, + And knew not what they meant; for still my voice + Rang false: but smiling 'Not for thee,' she said, + O Bulbul, any rose of Gulistan + Shall burst her veil: marsh-divers, rather, maid, + Shall croak thee sister, or the meadow-crake + Grate her harsh kindred in the grass: and this + A mere love-poem! O for such, my friend, + We hold them slight: they mind us of the time + When we made bricks in Egypt. Knaves are men, + That lute and flute fantastic tenderness, + And dress the victim to the offering up, + And paint the gates of Hell with Paradise, + And play the slave to gain the tyranny. + Poor soul! I had a maid of honour once; + She wept her true eyes blind for such a one, + A rogue of canzonets and serenades. + I loved her. Peace be with her. She is dead. + So they blaspheme the muse! But great is song + Used to great ends: ourself have often tried + Valkyrian hymns, or into rhythm have dashed + The passion of the prophetess; for song + Is duer unto freedom, force and growth + Of spirit than to junketing and love. + Love is it? Would this same mock-love, and this + Mock-Hymen were laid up like winter bats, + Till all men grew to rate us at our worth, + Not vassals to be beat, nor pretty babes + To be dandled, no, but living wills, and sphered + Whole in ourselves and owed to none. Enough! + But now to leaven play with profit, you, + Know you no song, the true growth of your soil, + That gives the manners of your country-women?' + + She spoke and turned her sumptuous head with eyes + Of shining expectation fixt on mine. + Then while I dragged my brains for such a song, + Cyril, with whom the bell-mouthed glass had wrought, + Or mastered by the sense of sport, began + To troll a careless, careless tavern-catch + Of Moll and Meg, and strange experiences + Unmeet for ladies. Florian nodded at him, + I frowning; Psyche flushed and wanned and shook; + The lilylike Melissa drooped her brows; + 'Forbear,' the Princess cried; 'Forbear, Sir' I; + And heated through and through with wrath and love, + I smote him on the breast; he started up; + There rose a shriek as of a city sacked; + Melissa clamoured 'Flee the death;' 'To horse' + Said Ida; 'home! to horse!' and fled, as flies + A troop of snowy doves athwart the dusk, + When some one batters at the dovecote-doors, + Disorderly the women. Alone I stood + With Florian, cursing Cyril, vext at heart, + In the pavilion: there like parting hopes + I heard them passing from me: hoof by hoof, + And every hoof a knell to my desires, + Clanged on the bridge; and then another shriek, + 'The Head, the Head, the Princess, O the Head!' + For blind with rage she missed the plank, and rolled + In the river. Out I sprang from glow to gloom: + There whirled her white robe like a blossomed branch + Rapt to the horrible fall: a glance I gave, + No more; but woman-vested as I was + Plunged; and the flood drew; yet I caught her; then + Oaring one arm, and bearing in my left + The weight of all the hopes of half the world, + Strove to buffet to land in vain. A tree + Was half-disrooted from his place and stooped + To wrench his dark locks in the gurgling wave + Mid-channel. Right on this we drove and caught, + And grasping down the boughs I gained the shore. + + There stood her maidens glimmeringly grouped + In the hollow bank. One reaching forward drew + My burthen from mine arms; they cried 'she lives:' + They bore her back into the tent: but I, + So much a kind of shame within me wrought, + Not yet endured to meet her opening eyes, + Nor found my friends; but pushed alone on foot + (For since her horse was lost I left her mine) + Across the woods, and less from Indian craft + Than beelike instinct hiveward, found at length + The garden portals. Two great statues, Art + And Science, Caryatids, lifted up + A weight of emblem, and betwixt were valves + Of open-work in which the hunter rued + His rash intrusion, manlike, but his brows + Had sprouted, and the branches thereupon + Spread out at top, and grimly spiked the gates. + + A little space was left between the horns, + Through which I clambered o'er at top with pain, + Dropt on the sward, and up the linden walks, + And, tost on thoughts that changed from hue to hue, + Now poring on the glowworm, now the star, + I paced the terrace, till the Bear had wheeled + Through a great arc his seven slow suns. + A step + Of lightest echo, then a loftier form + Than female, moving through the uncertain gloom, + Disturbed me with the doubt 'if this were she,' + But it was Florian. 'Hist O Hist,' he said, + 'They seek us: out so late is out of rules. + Moreover "seize the strangers" is the cry. + How came you here?' I told him: 'I' said he, + 'Last of the train, a moral leper, I, + To whom none spake, half-sick at heart, returned. + Arriving all confused among the rest + With hooded brows I crept into the hall, + And, couched behind a Judith, underneath + The head of Holofernes peeped and saw. + Girl after girl was called to trial: each + Disclaimed all knowledge of us: last of all, + Melissa: trust me, Sir, I pitied her. + She, questioned if she knew us men, at first + Was silent; closer prest, denied it not: + And then, demanded if her mother knew, + Or Psyche, she affirmed not, or denied: + From whence the Royal mind, familiar with her, + Easily gathered either guilt. She sent + For Psyche, but she was not there; she called + For Psyche's child to cast it from the doors; + She sent for Blanche to accuse her face to face; + And I slipt out: but whither will you now? + And where are Psyche, Cyril? both are fled: + What, if together? that were not so well. + Would rather we had never come! I dread + His wildness, and the chances of the dark.' + + 'And yet,' I said, 'you wrong him more than I + That struck him: this is proper to the clown, + Though smocked, or furred and purpled, still the clown, + To harm the thing that trusts him, and to shame + That which he says he loves: for Cyril, howe'er + He deal in frolic, as tonight--the song + Might have been worse and sinned in grosser lips + Beyond all pardon--as it is, I hold + These flashes on the surface are not he. + He has a solid base of temperament: + But as the waterlily starts and slides + Upon the level in little puffs of wind, + Though anchored to the bottom, such is he.' + + Scarce had I ceased when from a tamarisk near + Two Proctors leapt upon us, crying, 'Names:' + He, standing still, was clutched; but I began + To thrid the musky-circled mazes, wind + And double in and out the boles, and race + By all the fountains: fleet I was of foot: + Before me showered the rose in flakes; behind + I heard the puffed pursuer; at mine ear + Bubbled the nightingale and heeded not, + And secret laughter tickled all my soul. + At last I hooked my ankle in a vine, + That claspt the feet of a Mnemosyne, + And falling on my face was caught and known. + + They haled us to the Princess where she sat + High in the hall: above her drooped a lamp, + And made the single jewel on her brow + Burn like the mystic fire on a mast-head, + Prophet of storm: a handmaid on each side + Bowed toward her, combing out her long black hair + Damp from the river; and close behind her stood + Eight daughters of the plough, stronger than men, + Huge women blowzed with health, and wind, and rain, + And labour. Each was like a Druid rock; + Or like a spire of land that stands apart + Cleft from the main, and wailed about with mews. + + Then, as we came, the crowd dividing clove + An advent to the throne: and therebeside, + Half-naked as if caught at once from bed + And tumbled on the purple footcloth, lay + The lily-shining child; and on the left, + Bowed on her palms and folded up from wrong, + Her round white shoulder shaken with her sobs, + Melissa knelt; but Lady Blanche erect + Stood up and spake, an affluent orator. + + 'It was not thus, O Princess, in old days: + You prized my counsel, lived upon my lips: + I led you then to all the Castalies; + I fed you with the milk of every Muse; + I loved you like this kneeler, and you me + Your second mother: those were gracious times. + Then came your new friend: you began to change-- + I saw it and grieved--to slacken and to cool; + Till taken with her seeming openness + You turned your warmer currents all to her, + To me you froze: this was my meed for all. + Yet I bore up in part from ancient love, + And partly that I hoped to win you back, + And partly conscious of my own deserts, + And partly that you were my civil head, + And chiefly you were born for something great, + In which I might your fellow-worker be, + When time should serve; and thus a noble scheme + Grew up from seed we two long since had sown; + In us true growth, in her a Jonah's gourd, + Up in one night and due to sudden sun: + We took this palace; but even from the first + You stood in your own light and darkened mine. + What student came but that you planed her path + To Lady Psyche, younger, not so wise, + A foreigner, and I your countrywoman, + I your old friend and tried, she new in all? + But still her lists were swelled and mine were lean; + Yet I bore up in hope she would be known: + Then came these wolves: _they_ knew her: _they_ endured, + Long-closeted with her the yestermorn, + To tell her what they were, and she to hear: + And me none told: not less to an eye like mine + A lidless watcher of the public weal, + Last night, their mask was patent, and my foot + Was to you: but I thought again: I feared + To meet a cold "We thank you, we shall hear of it + From Lady Psyche:" you had gone to her, + She told, perforce; and winning easy grace + No doubt, for slight delay, remained among us + In our young nursery still unknown, the stem + Less grain than touchwood, while my honest heat + Were all miscounted as malignant haste + To push my rival out of place and power. + But public use required she should be known; + And since my oath was ta'en for public use, + I broke the letter of it to keep the sense. + I spoke not then at first, but watched them well, + Saw that they kept apart, no mischief done; + And yet this day (though you should hate me for it) + I came to tell you; found that you had gone, + Ridden to the hills, she likewise: now, I thought, + That surely she will speak; if not, then I: + Did she? These monsters blazoned what they were, + According to the coarseness of their kind, + For thus I hear; and known at last (my work) + And full of cowardice and guilty shame, + I grant in her some sense of shame, she flies; + And I remain on whom to wreak your rage, + I, that have lent my life to build up yours, + I that have wasted here health, wealth, and time, + And talent, I--you know it--I will not boast: + Dismiss me, and I prophesy your plan, + Divorced from my experience, will be chaff + For every gust of chance, and men will say + We did not know the real light, but chased + The wisp that flickers where no foot can tread.' + + She ceased: the Princess answered coldly, 'Good: + Your oath is broken: we dismiss you: go. + For this lost lamb (she pointed to the child) + Our mind is changed: we take it to ourself.' + + Thereat the Lady stretched a vulture throat, + And shot from crooked lips a haggard smile. + 'The plan was mine. I built the nest' she said + 'To hatch the cuckoo. Rise!' and stooped to updrag + Melissa: she, half on her mother propt, + Half-drooping from her, turned her face, and cast + A liquid look on Ida, full of prayer, + Which melted Florian's fancy as she hung, + A Niobean daughter, one arm out, + Appealing to the bolts of Heaven; and while + We gazed upon her came a little stir + About the doors, and on a sudden rushed + Among us, out of breath as one pursued, + A woman-post in flying raiment. Fear + Stared in her eyes, and chalked her face, and winged + Her transit to the throne, whereby she fell + Delivering sealed dispatches which the Head + Took half-amazed, and in her lion's mood + Tore open, silent we with blind surmise + Regarding, while she read, till over brow + And cheek and bosom brake the wrathful bloom + As of some fire against a stormy cloud, + When the wild peasant rights himself, the rick + Flames, and his anger reddens in the heavens; + For anger most it seemed, while now her breast, + Beaten with some great passion at her heart, + Palpitated, her hand shook, and we heard + In the dead hush the papers that she held + Rustle: at once the lost lamb at her feet + Sent out a bitter bleating for its dam; + The plaintive cry jarred on her ire; she crushed + The scrolls together, made a sudden turn + As if to speak, but, utterance failing her, + She whirled them on to me, as who should say + 'Read,' and I read--two letters--one her sire's. + + 'Fair daughter, when we sent the Prince your way, + We knew not your ungracious laws, which learnt, + We, conscious of what temper you are built, + Came all in haste to hinder wrong, but fell + Into his father's hands, who has this night, + You lying close upon his territory, + Slipt round and in the dark invested you, + And here he keeps me hostage for his son.' + + The second was my father's running thus: + 'You have our son: touch not a hair of his head: + Render him up unscathed: give him your hand: + Cleave to your contract: though indeed we hear + You hold the woman is the better man; + A rampant heresy, such as if it spread + Would make all women kick against their Lords + Through all the world, and which might well deserve + That we this night should pluck your palace down; + And we will do it, unless you send us back + Our son, on the instant, whole.' + So far I read; + And then stood up and spoke impetuously. + + 'O not to pry and peer on your reserve, + But led by golden wishes, and a hope + The child of regal compact, did I break + Your precinct; not a scorner of your sex + But venerator, zealous it should be + All that it might be: hear me, for I bear, + Though man, yet human, whatsoe'er your wrongs, + From the flaxen curl to the gray lock a life + Less mine than yours: my nurse would tell me of you; + I babbled for you, as babies for the moon, + Vague brightness; when a boy, you stooped to me + From all high places, lived in all fair lights, + Came in long breezes rapt from inmost south + And blown to inmost north; at eve and dawn + With Ida, Ida, Ida, rang the woods; + The leader wildswan in among the stars + Would clang it, and lapt in wreaths of glowworm light + The mellow breaker murmured Ida. Now, + Because I would have reached you, had you been + Sphered up with Cassiopeia, or the enthroned + Persephone in Hades, now at length, + Those winters of abeyance all worn out, + A man I came to see you: but indeed, + Not in this frequence can I lend full tongue, + O noble Ida, to those thoughts that wait + On you, their centre: let me say but this, + That many a famous man and woman, town + And landskip, have I heard of, after seen + The dwarfs of presage: though when known, there grew + Another kind of beauty in detail + Made them worth knowing; but in your I found + My boyish dream involved and dazzled down + And mastered, while that after-beauty makes + Such head from act to act, from hour to hour, + Within me, that except you slay me here, + According to your bitter statute-book, + I cannot cease to follow you, as they say + The seal does music; who desire you more + Than growing boys their manhood; dying lips, + With many thousand matters left to do, + The breath of life; O more than poor men wealth, + Than sick men health--yours, yours, not mine--but half + Without you; with you, whole; and of those halves + You worthiest; and howe'er you block and bar + Your heart with system out from mine, I hold + That it becomes no man to nurse despair, + But in the teeth of clenched antagonisms + To follow up the worthiest till he die: + Yet that I came not all unauthorized + Behold your father's letter.' + On one knee + Kneeling, I gave it, which she caught, and dashed + Unopened at her feet: a tide of fierce + Invective seemed to wait behind her lips, + As waits a river level with the dam + Ready to burst and flood the world with foam: + And so she would have spoken, but there rose + A hubbub in the court of half the maids + Gathered together: from the illumined hall + Long lanes of splendour slanted o'er a press + Of snowy shoulders, thick as herded ewes, + And rainbow robes, and gems and gemlike eyes, + And gold and golden heads; they to and fro + Fluctuated, as flowers in storm, some red, some pale, + All open-mouthed, all gazing to the light, + Some crying there was an army in the land, + And some that men were in the very walls, + And some they cared not; till a clamour grew + As of a new-world Babel, woman-built, + And worse-confounded: high above them stood + The placid marble Muses, looking peace. + + Not peace she looked, the Head: but rising up + Robed in the long night of her deep hair, so + To the open window moved, remaining there + Fixt like a beacon-tower above the waves + Of tempest, when the crimson-rolling eye + Glares ruin, and the wild birds on the light + Dash themselves dead. She stretched her arms and called + Across the tumult and the tumult fell. + + 'What fear ye, brawlers? am not I your Head? + On me, me, me, the storm first breaks: _I_ dare + All these male thunderbolts: what is it ye fear? + Peace! there are those to avenge us and they come: + If not,--myself were like enough, O girls, + To unfurl the maiden banner of our rights, + And clad in iron burst the ranks of war, + Or, falling, promartyr of our cause, + Die: yet I blame you not so much for fear: + Six thousand years of fear have made you that + From which I would redeem you: but for those + That stir this hubbub--you and you--I know + Your faces there in the crowd--tomorrow morn + We hold a great convention: then shall they + That love their voices more than duty, learn + With whom they deal, dismissed in shame to live + No wiser than their mothers, household stuff, + Live chattels, mincers of each other's fame, + Full of weak poison, turnspits for the clown, + The drunkard's football, laughing-stocks of Time, + Whose brains are in their hands and in their heels + But fit to flaunt, to dress, to dance, to thrum, + To tramp, to scream, to burnish, and to scour, + For ever slaves at home and fools abroad.' + + She, ending, waved her hands: thereat the crowd + Muttering, dissolved: then with a smile, that looked + A stroke of cruel sunshine on the cliff, + When all the glens are drowned in azure gloom + Of thunder-shower, she floated to us and said: + + 'You have done well and like a gentleman, + And like a prince: you have our thanks for all: + And you look well too in your woman's dress: + Well have you done and like a gentleman. + You saved our life: we owe you bitter thanks: + Better have died and spilt our bones in the flood-- + Then men had said--but now--What hinders me + To take such bloody vengeance on you both?-- + Yet since our father--Wasps in our good hive, + You would-be quenchers of the light to be, + Barbarians, grosser than your native bears-- + O would I had his sceptre for one hour! + You that have dared to break our bound, and gulled + Our servants, wronged and lied and thwarted us-- + _I_ wed with thee! _I_ bound by precontract + Your bride, our bondslave! not though all the gold + That veins the world were packed to make your crown, + And every spoken tongue should lord you. Sir, + Your falsehood and yourself are hateful to us: + I trample on your offers and on you: + Begone: we will not look upon you more. + Here, push them out at gates.' + In wrath she spake. + Then those eight mighty daughters of the plough + Bent their broad faces toward us and addressed + Their motion: twice I sought to plead my cause, + But on my shoulder hung their heavy hands, + The weight of destiny: so from her face + They pushed us, down the steps, and through the court, + And with grim laughter thrust us out at gates. + + We crossed the street and gained a petty mound + Beyond it, whence we saw the lights and heard the voices murmuring. + While I listened, came + On a sudden the weird seizure and the doubt: + I seemed to move among a world of ghosts; + The Princess with her monstrous woman-guard, + The jest and earnest working side by side, + The cataract and the tumult and the kings + Were shadows; and the long fantastic night + With all its doings had and had not been, + And all things were and were not. + This went by + As strangely as it came, and on my spirits + Settled a gentle cloud of melancholy; + Not long; I shook it off; for spite of doubts + And sudden ghostly shadowings I was one + To whom the touch of all mischance but came + As night to him that sitting on a hill + Sees the midsummer, midnight, Norway sun + Set into sunrise; then we moved away. + + + Thy voice is heard through rolling drums, + That beat to battle where he stands; + Thy face across his fancy comes, + And gives the battle to his hands: + A moment, while the trumpets blow, + He sees his brood about thy knee; + The next, like fire he meets the foe, + And strikes him dead for thine and thee. + + + So Lilia sang: we thought her half-possessed, + She struck such warbling fury through the words; + And, after, feigning pique at what she called + The raillery, or grotesque, or false sublime-- + Like one that wishes at a dance to change + The music--clapt her hands and cried for war, + Or some grand fight to kill and make an end: + And he that next inherited the tale + Half turning to the broken statue, said, + 'Sir Ralph has got your colours: if I prove + Your knight, and fight your battle, what for me?' + It chanced, her empty glove upon the tomb + Lay by her like a model of her hand. + She took it and she flung it. 'Fight' she said, + 'And make us all we would be, great and good.' + He knightlike in his cap instead of casque, + A cap of Tyrol borrowed from the hall, + Arranged the favour, and assumed the Prince. + + + + +V + + + + Now, scarce three paces measured from the mound, + We stumbled on a stationary voice, + And 'Stand, who goes?' 'Two from the palace' I. + 'The second two: they wait,' he said, 'pass on; + His Highness wakes:' and one, that clashed in arms, + By glimmering lanes and walls of canvas led + Threading the soldier-city, till we heard + The drowsy folds of our great ensign shake + From blazoned lions o'er the imperial tent + Whispers of war. + Entering, the sudden light + Dazed me half-blind: I stood and seemed to hear, + As in a poplar grove when a light wind wakes + A lisping of the innumerous leaf and dies, + Each hissing in his neighbour's ear; and then + A strangled titter, out of which there brake + On all sides, clamouring etiquette to death, + Unmeasured mirth; while now the two old kings + Began to wag their baldness up and down, + The fresh young captains flashed their glittering teeth, + The huge bush-bearded Barons heaved and blew, + And slain with laughter rolled the gilded Squire. + + At length my Sire, his rough cheek wet with tears, + Panted from weary sides 'King, you are free! + We did but keep you surety for our son, + If this be he,--or a dragged mawkin, thou, + That tends to her bristled grunters in the sludge:' + For I was drenched with ooze, and torn with briers, + More crumpled than a poppy from the sheath, + And all one rag, disprinced from head to heel. + Then some one sent beneath his vaulted palm + A whispered jest to some one near him, 'Look, + He has been among his shadows.' 'Satan take + The old women and their shadows! (thus the King + Roared) make yourself a man to fight with men. + Go: Cyril told us all.' + As boys that slink + From ferule and the trespass-chiding eye, + Away we stole, and transient in a trice + From what was left of faded woman-slough + To sheathing splendours and the golden scale + Of harness, issued in the sun, that now + Leapt from the dewy shoulders of the Earth, + And hit the Northern hills. Here Cyril met us. + A little shy at first, but by and by + We twain, with mutual pardon asked and given + For stroke and song, resoldered peace, whereon + Followed his tale. Amazed he fled away + Through the dark land, and later in the night + Had come on Psyche weeping: 'then we fell + Into your father's hand, and there she lies, + But will not speak, or stir.' + He showed a tent + A stone-shot off: we entered in, and there + Among piled arms and rough accoutrements, + Pitiful sight, wrapped in a soldier's cloak, + Like some sweet sculpture draped from head to foot, + And pushed by rude hands from its pedestal, + All her fair length upon the ground she lay: + And at her head a follower of the camp, + A charred and wrinkled piece of womanhood, + Sat watching like the watcher by the dead. + + Then Florian knelt, and 'Come' he whispered to her, + 'Lift up your head, sweet sister: lie not thus. + What have you done but right? you could not slay + Me, nor your prince: look up: be comforted: + Sweet is it to have done the thing one ought, + When fallen in darker ways.' And likewise I: + 'Be comforted: have I not lost her too, + In whose least act abides the nameless charm + That none has else for me?' She heard, she moved, + She moaned, a folded voice; and up she sat, + And raised the cloak from brows as pale and smooth + As those that mourn half-shrouded over death + In deathless marble. 'Her,' she said, 'my friend-- + Parted from her--betrayed her cause and mine-- + Where shall I breathe? why kept ye not your faith? + O base and bad! what comfort? none for me!' + To whom remorseful Cyril, 'Yet I pray + Take comfort: live, dear lady, for your child!' + At which she lifted up her voice and cried. + + 'Ah me, my babe, my blossom, ah, my child, + My one sweet child, whom I shall see no more! + For now will cruel Ida keep her back; + And either she will die from want of care, + Or sicken with ill-usage, when they say + The child is hers--for every little fault, + The child is hers; and they will beat my girl + Remembering her mother: O my flower! + Or they will take her, they will make her hard, + And she will pass me by in after-life + With some cold reverence worse than were she dead. + Ill mother that I was to leave her there, + To lag behind, scared by the cry they made, + The horror of the shame among them all: + But I will go and sit beside the doors, + And make a wild petition night and day, + Until they hate to hear me like a wind + Wailing for ever, till they open to me, + And lay my little blossom at my feet, + My babe, my sweet Aglaia, my one child: + And I will take her up and go my way, + And satisfy my soul with kissing her: + Ah! what might that man not deserve of me + Who gave me back my child?' 'Be comforted,' + Said Cyril, 'you shall have it:' but again + She veiled her brows, and prone she sank, and so + Like tender things that being caught feign death, + Spoke not, nor stirred. + By this a murmur ran + Through all the camp and inward raced the scouts + With rumour of Prince Arab hard at hand. + We left her by the woman, and without + Found the gray kings at parle: and 'Look you' cried + My father 'that our compact be fulfilled: + You have spoilt this child; she laughs at you and man: + She wrongs herself, her sex, and me, and him: + But red-faced war has rods of steel and fire; + She yields, or war.' + Then Gama turned to me: + 'We fear, indeed, you spent a stormy time + With our strange girl: and yet they say that still + You love her. Give us, then, your mind at large: + How say you, war or not?' + 'Not war, if possible, + O king,' I said, 'lest from the abuse of war, + The desecrated shrine, the trampled year, + The smouldering homestead, and the household flower + Torn from the lintel--all the common wrong-- + A smoke go up through which I loom to her + Three times a monster: now she lightens scorn + At him that mars her plan, but then would hate + (And every voice she talked with ratify it, + And every face she looked on justify it) + The general foe. More soluble is this knot, + By gentleness than war. I want her love. + What were I nigher this although we dashed + Your cities into shards with catapults, + She would not love;--or brought her chained, a slave, + The lifting of whose eyelash is my lord, + Not ever would she love; but brooding turn + The book of scorn, till all my flitting chance + Were caught within the record of her wrongs, + And crushed to death: and rather, Sire, than this + I would the old God of war himself were dead, + Forgotten, rusting on his iron hills, + Rotting on some wild shore with ribs of wreck, + Or like an old-world mammoth bulked in ice, + Not to be molten out.' + And roughly spake + My father, 'Tut, you know them not, the girls. + Boy, when I hear you prate I almost think + That idiot legend credible. Look you, Sir! + Man is the hunter; woman is his game: + The sleek and shining creatures of the chase, + We hunt them for the beauty of their skins; + They love us for it, and we ride them down. + Wheedling and siding with them! Out! for shame! + Boy, there's no rose that's half so dear to them + As he that does the thing they dare not do, + Breathing and sounding beauteous battle, comes + With the air of the trumpet round him, and leaps in + Among the women, snares them by the score + Flattered and flustered, wins, though dashed with death + He reddens what he kisses: thus I won + You mother, a good mother, a good wife, + Worth winning; but this firebrand--gentleness + To such as her! if Cyril spake her true, + To catch a dragon in a cherry net, + To trip a tigress with a gossamer + Were wisdom to it.' + 'Yea but Sire,' I cried, + 'Wild natures need wise curbs. The soldier? No: + What dares not Ida do that she should prize + The soldier? I beheld her, when she rose + The yesternight, and storming in extremes, + Stood for her cause, and flung defiance down + Gagelike to man, and had not shunned the death, + No, not the soldier's: yet I hold her, king, + True woman: you clash them all in one, + That have as many differences as we. + The violet varies from the lily as far + As oak from elm: one loves the soldier, one + The silken priest of peace, one this, one that, + And some unworthily; their sinless faith, + A maiden moon that sparkles on a sty, + Glorifying clown and satyr; whence they need + More breadth of culture: is not Ida right? + They worth it? truer to the law within? + Severer in the logic of a life? + Twice as magnetic to sweet influences + Of earth and heaven? and she of whom you speak, + My mother, looks as whole as some serene + Creation minted in the golden moods + Of sovereign artists; not a thought, a touch, + But pure as lines of green that streak the white + Of the first snowdrop's inner leaves; I say, + Not like the piebald miscellany, man, + Bursts of great heart and slips in sensual mire, + But whole and one: and take them all-in-all, + Were we ourselves but half as good, as kind, + As truthful, much that Ida claims as right + Had ne'er been mooted, but as frankly theirs + As dues of Nature. To our point: not war: + Lest I lose all.' + 'Nay, nay, you spake but sense' + Said Gama. 'We remember love ourself + In our sweet youth; we did not rate him then + This red-hot iron to be shaped with blows. + You talk almost like Ida: _she_ can talk; + And there is something in it as you say: + But you talk kindlier: we esteem you for it.-- + He seems a gracious and a gallant Prince, + I would he had our daughter: for the rest, + Our own detention, why, the causes weighed, + Fatherly fears--you used us courteously-- + We would do much to gratify your Prince-- + We pardon it; and for your ingress here + Upon the skirt and fringe of our fair land, + you did but come as goblins in the night, + Nor in the furrow broke the ploughman's head, + Nor burnt the grange, nor bussed the milking-maid, + Nor robbed the farmer of his bowl of cream: + But let your Prince (our royal word upon it, + He comes back safe) ride with us to our lines, + And speak with Arac: Arac's word is thrice + As ours with Ida: something may be done-- + I know not what--and ours shall see us friends. + You, likewise, our late guests, if so you will, + Follow us: who knows? we four may build some plan + Foursquare to opposition.' + Here he reached + White hands of farewell to my sire, who growled + An answer which, half-muffled in his beard, + Let so much out as gave us leave to go. + + Then rode we with the old king across the lawns + Beneath huge trees, a thousand rings of Spring + In every bole, a song on every spray + Of birds that piped their Valentines, and woke + Desire in me to infuse my tale of love + In the old king's ears, who promised help, and oozed + All o'er with honeyed answer as we rode + And blossom-fragrant slipt the heavy dews + Gathered by night and peace, with each light air + On our mailed heads: but other thoughts than Peace + Burnt in us, when we saw the embattled squares, + And squadrons of the Prince, trampling the flowers + With clamour: for among them rose a cry + As if to greet the king; they made a halt; + The horses yelled; they clashed their arms; the drum + Beat; merrily-blowing shrilled the martial fife; + And in the blast and bray of the long horn + And serpent-throated bugle, undulated + The banner: anon to meet us lightly pranced + Three captains out; nor ever had I seen + Such thews of men: the midmost and the highest + Was Arac: all about his motion clung + The shadow of his sister, as the beam + Of the East, that played upon them, made them glance + Like those three stars of the airy Giant's zone, + That glitter burnished by the frosty dark; + And as the fiery Sirius alters hue, + And bickers into red and emerald, shone + Their morions, washed with morning, as they came. + + And I that prated peace, when first I heard + War-music, felt the blind wildbeast of force, + Whose home is in the sinews of a man, + Stir in me as to strike: then took the king + His three broad sons; with now a wandering hand + And now a pointed finger, told them all: + A common light of smiles at our disguise + Broke from their lips, and, ere the windy jest + Had laboured down within his ample lungs, + The genial giant, Arac, rolled himself + Thrice in the saddle, then burst out in words. + + 'Our land invaded, 'sdeath! and he himself + Your captive, yet my father wills not war: + And, 'sdeath! myself, what care I, war or no? + but then this question of your troth remains: + And there's a downright honest meaning in her; + She flies too high, she flies too high! and yet + She asked but space and fairplay for her scheme; + She prest and prest it on me--I myself, + What know I of these things? but, life and soul! + I thought her half-right talking of her wrongs; + I say she flies too high, 'sdeath! what of that? + I take her for the flower of womankind, + And so I often told her, right or wrong, + And, Prince, she can be sweet to those she loves, + And, right or wrong, I care not: this is all, + I stand upon her side: she made me swear it-- + 'Sdeath--and with solemn rites by candle-light-- + Swear by St something--I forget her name-- + Her that talked down the fifty wisest men; + _She_ was a princess too; and so I swore. + Come, this is all; she will not: waive your claim: + If not, the foughten field, what else, at once + Decides it, 'sdeath! against my father's will.' + + I lagged in answer loth to render up + My precontract, and loth by brainless war + To cleave the rift of difference deeper yet; + Till one of those two brothers, half aside + And fingering at the hair about his lip, + To prick us on to combat 'Like to like! + The woman's garment hid the woman's heart.' + A taunt that clenched his purpose like a blow! + For fiery-short was Cyril's counter-scoff, + And sharp I answered, touched upon the point + Where idle boys are cowards to their shame, + 'Decide it here: why not? we are three to three.' + + Then spake the third 'But three to three? no more? + No more, and in our noble sister's cause? + More, more, for honour: every captain waits + Hungry for honour, angry for his king. + More, more some fifty on a side, that each + May breathe himself, and quick! by overthrow + Of these or those, the question settled die.' + + 'Yea,' answered I, 'for this wreath of air, + This flake of rainbow flying on the highest + Foam of men's deeds--this honour, if ye will. + It needs must be for honour if at all: + Since, what decision? if we fail, we fail, + And if we win, we fail: she would not keep + Her compact.' ''Sdeath! but we will send to her,' + Said Arac, 'worthy reasons why she should + Bide by this issue: let our missive through, + And you shall have her answer by the word.' + + 'Boys!' shrieked the old king, but vainlier than a hen + To her false daughters in the pool; for none + Regarded; neither seemed there more to say: + Back rode we to my father's camp, and found + He thrice had sent a herald to the gates, + To learn if Ida yet would cede our claim, + Or by denial flush her babbling wells + With her own people's life: three times he went: + The first, he blew and blew, but none appeared: + He battered at the doors; none came: the next, + An awful voice within had warned him thence: + The third, and those eight daughters of the plough + Came sallying through the gates, and caught his hair, + And so belaboured him on rib and cheek + They made him wild: not less one glance he caught + Through open doors of Ida stationed there + Unshaken, clinging to her purpose, firm + Though compassed by two armies and the noise + Of arms; and standing like a stately Pine + Set in a cataract on an island-crag, + When storm is on the heights, and right and left + Sucked from the dark heart of the long hills roll + The torrents, dashed to the vale: and yet her will + Bred will in me to overcome it or fall. + + But when I told the king that I was pledged + To fight in tourney for my bride, he clashed + His iron palms together with a cry; + Himself would tilt it out among the lads: + But overborne by all his bearded lords + With reasons drawn from age and state, perforce + He yielded, wroth and red, with fierce demur: + And many a bold knight started up in heat, + And sware to combat for my claim till death. + + All on this side the palace ran the field + Flat to the garden-wall: and likewise here, + Above the garden's glowing blossom-belts, + A columned entry shone and marble stairs, + And great bronze valves, embossed with Tomyris + And what she did to Cyrus after fight, + But now fast barred: so here upon the flat + All that long morn the lists were hammered up, + And all that morn the heralds to and fro, + With message and defiance, went and came; + Last, Ida's answer, in a royal hand, + But shaken here and there, and rolling words + Oration-like. I kissed it and I read. + + 'O brother, you have known the pangs we felt, + What heats of indignation when we heard + Of those that iron-cramped their women's feet; + Of lands in which at the altar the poor bride + Gives her harsh groom for bridal-gift a scourge; + Of living hearts that crack within the fire + Where smoulder their dead despots; and of those,-- + Mothers,--that, with all prophetic pity, fling + Their pretty maids in the running flood, and swoops + The vulture, beak and talon, at the heart + Made for all noble motion: and I saw + That equal baseness lived in sleeker times + With smoother men: the old leaven leavened all: + Millions of throats would bawl for civil rights, + No woman named: therefore I set my face + Against all men, and lived but for mine own. + Far off from men I built a fold for them: + I stored it full of rich memorial: + I fenced it round with gallant institutes, + And biting laws to scare the beasts of prey + And prospered; till a rout of saucy boys + Brake on us at our books, and marred our peace, + Masked like our maids, blustering I know not what + Of insolence and love, some pretext held + Of baby troth, invalid, since my will + Sealed not the bond--the striplings! for their sport!-- + I tamed my leopards: shall I not tame these? + Or you? or I? for since you think me touched + In honour--what, I would not aught of false-- + Is not our case pure? and whereas I know + Your prowess, Arac, and what mother's blood + You draw from, fight; you failing, I abide + What end soever: fail you will not. Still + Take not his life: he risked it for my own; + His mother lives: yet whatsoe'er you do, + Fight and fight well; strike and strike him. O dear + Brothers, the woman's Angel guards you, you + The sole men to be mingled with our cause, + The sole men we shall prize in the after-time, + Your very armour hallowed, and your statues + Reared, sung to, when, this gad-fly brushed aside, + We plant a solid foot into the Time, + And mould a generation strong to move + With claim on claim from right to right, till she + Whose name is yoked with children's, know herself; + And Knowledge in our own land make her free, + And, ever following those two crowned twins, + Commerce and conquest, shower the fiery grain + Of freedom broadcast over all the orbs + Between the Northern and the Southern morn.' + + Then came a postscript dashed across the rest. + See that there be no traitors in your camp: + We seem a nest of traitors--none to trust + Since our arms failed--this Egypt-plague of men! + Almost our maids were better at their homes, + Than thus man-girdled here: indeed I think + Our chiefest comfort is the little child + Of one unworthy mother; which she left: + She shall not have it back: the child shall grow + To prize the authentic mother of her mind. + I took it for an hour in mine own bed + This morning: there the tender orphan hands + Felt at my heart, and seemed to charm from thence + The wrath I nursed against the world: farewell.' + + I ceased; he said, 'Stubborn, but she may sit + Upon a king's right hand in thunder-storms, + And breed up warriors! See now, though yourself + Be dazzled by the wildfire Love to sloughs + That swallow common sense, the spindling king, + This Gama swamped in lazy tolerance. + When the man wants weight, the woman takes it up, + And topples down the scales; but this is fixt + As are the roots of earth and base of all; + Man for the field and woman for the hearth: + Man for the sword and for the needle she: + Man with the head and woman with the heart: + Man to command and woman to obey; + All else confusion. Look you! the gray mare + Is ill to live with, when her whinny shrills + From tile to scullery, and her small goodman + Shrinks in his arm-chair while the fires of Hell + Mix with his hearth: but you--she's yet a colt-- + Take, break her: strongly groomed and straitly curbed + She might not rank with those detestable + That let the bantling scald at home, and brawl + Their rights and wrongs like potherbs in the street. + They say she's comely; there's the fairer chance: + _I_ like her none the less for rating at her! + Besides, the woman wed is not as we, + But suffers change of frame. A lusty brace + Of twins may weed her of her folly. Boy, + The bearing and the training of a child + Is woman's wisdom.' + Thus the hard old king: + I took my leave, for it was nearly noon: + I pored upon her letter which I held, + And on the little clause 'take not his life:' + I mused on that wild morning in the woods, + And on the 'Follow, follow, thou shalt win:' + I thought on all the wrathful king had said, + And how the strange betrothment was to end: + Then I remembered that burnt sorcerer's curse + That one should fight with shadows and should fall; + And like a flash the weird affection came: + King, camp and college turned to hollow shows; + I seemed to move in old memorial tilts, + And doing battle with forgotten ghosts, + To dream myself the shadow of a dream: + And ere I woke it was the point of noon, + The lists were ready. Empanoplied and plumed + We entered in, and waited, fifty there + Opposed to fifty, till the trumpet blared + At the barrier like a wild horn in a land + Of echoes, and a moment, and once more + The trumpet, and again: at which the storm + Of galloping hoofs bare on the ridge of spears + And riders front to front, until they closed + In conflict with the crash of shivering points, + And thunder. Yet it seemed a dream, I dreamed + Of fighting. On his haunches rose the steed, + And into fiery splinters leapt the lance, + And out of stricken helmets sprang the fire. + Part sat like rocks: part reeled but kept their seats: + Part rolled on the earth and rose again and drew: + Part stumbled mixt with floundering horses. Down + From those two bulks at Arac's side, and down + From Arac's arm, as from a giant's flail, + The large blows rained, as here and everywhere + He rode the mellay, lord of the ringing lists, + And all the plain,--brand, mace, and shaft, and shield-- + Shocked, like an iron-clanging anvil banged + With hammers; till I thought, can this be he + From Gama's dwarfish loins? if this be so, + The mother makes us most--and in my dream + I glanced aside, and saw the palace-front + Alive with fluttering scarfs and ladies' eyes, + And highest, among the statues, statuelike, + Between a cymballed Miriam and a Jael, + With Psyche's babe, was Ida watching us, + A single band of gold about her hair, + Like a Saint's glory up in heaven: but she + No saint--inexorable--no tenderness-- + Too hard, too cruel: yet she sees me fight, + Yea, let her see me fall! and with that I drave + Among the thickest and bore down a Prince, + And Cyril, one. Yea, let me make my dream + All that I would. But that large-moulded man, + His visage all agrin as at a wake, + Made at me through the press, and, staggering back + With stroke on stroke the horse and horseman, came + As comes a pillar of electric cloud, + Flaying the roofs and sucking up the drains, + And shadowing down the champaign till it strikes + On a wood, and takes, and breaks, and cracks, and splits, + And twists the grain with such a roar that Earth + Reels, and the herdsmen cry; for everything + Game way before him: only Florian, he + That loved me closer than his own right eye, + Thrust in between; but Arac rode him down: + And Cyril seeing it, pushed against the Prince, + With Psyche's colour round his helmet, tough, + Strong, supple, sinew-corded, apt at arms; + But tougher, heavier, stronger, he that smote + And threw him: last I spurred; I felt my veins + Stretch with fierce heat; a moment hand to hand, + And sword to sword, and horse to horse we hung, + Till I struck out and shouted; the blade glanced, + I did but shear a feather, and dream and truth + Flowed from me; darkness closed me; and I fell. + + + Home they brought her warrior dead: + She nor swooned, nor uttered cry: + All her maidens, watching, said, + 'She must weep or she will die.' + + Then they praised him, soft and low, + Called him worthy to be loved, + Truest friend and noblest foe; + Yet she neither spoke nor moved. + + Stole a maiden from her place, + Lightly to the warrior stept, + Took the face-cloth from the face; + Yet she neither moved nor wept. + + Rose a nurse of ninety years, + Set his child upon her knee-- + Like summer tempest came her tears-- + 'Sweet my child, I live for thee.' + + + + +VI + + + + My dream had never died or lived again. + As in some mystic middle state I lay; + Seeing I saw not, hearing not I heard: + Though, if I saw not, yet they told me all + So often that I speak as having seen. + + For so it seemed, or so they said to me, + That all things grew more tragic and more strange; + That when our side was vanquished and my cause + For ever lost, there went up a great cry, + The Prince is slain. My father heard and ran + In on the lists, and there unlaced my casque + And grovelled on my body, and after him + Came Psyche, sorrowing for Aglaia. + But high upon the palace Ida stood + With Psyche's babe in arm: there on the roofs + Like that great dame of Lapidoth she sang. + + + 'Our enemies have fallen, have fallen: the seed, + The little seed they laughed at in the dark, + Has risen and cleft the soil, and grown a bulk + Of spanless girth, that lays on every side + A thousand arms and rushes to the Sun. + + 'Our enemies have fallen, have fallen: they came; + The leaves were wet with women's tears: they heard + A noise of songs they would not understand: + They marked it with the red cross to the fall, + And would have strown it, and are fallen themselves. + + 'Our enemies have fallen, have fallen: they came, + The woodmen with their axes: lo the tree! + But we will make it faggots for the hearth, + And shape it plank and beam for roof and floor, + And boats and bridges for the use of men. + + 'Our enemies have fallen, have fallen: they struck; + With their own blows they hurt themselves, nor knew + There dwelt an iron nature in the grain: + The glittering axe was broken in their arms, + Their arms were shattered to the shoulder blade. + + 'Our enemies have fallen, but this shall grow + A night of Summer from the heat, a breadth + Of Autumn, dropping fruits of power: and rolled + With music in the growing breeze of Time, + The tops shall strike from star to star, the fangs + Shall move the stony bases of the world. + + 'And now, O maids, behold our sanctuary + Is violate, our laws broken: fear we not + To break them more in their behoof, whose arms + Championed our cause and won it with a day + Blanched in our annals, and perpetual feast, + When dames and heroines of the golden year + Shall strip a hundred hollows bare of Spring, + To rain an April of ovation round + Their statues, borne aloft, the three: but come, + We will be liberal, since our rights are won. + Let them not lie in the tents with coarse mankind, + Ill nurses; but descend, and proffer these + The brethren of our blood and cause, that there + Lie bruised and maimed, the tender ministries + Of female hands and hospitality.' + + She spoke, and with the babe yet in her arms, + Descending, burst the great bronze valves, and led + A hundred maids in train across the Park. + Some cowled, and some bare-headed, on they came, + Their feet in flowers, her loveliest: by them went + The enamoured air sighing, and on their curls + From the high tree the blossom wavering fell, + And over them the tremulous isles of light + Slided, they moving under shade: but Blanche + At distance followed: so they came: anon + Through open field into the lists they wound + Timorously; and as the leader of the herd + That holds a stately fretwork to the Sun, + And followed up by a hundred airy does, + Steps with a tender foot, light as on air, + The lovely, lordly creature floated on + To where her wounded brethren lay; there stayed; + Knelt on one knee,--the child on one,--and prest + Their hands, and called them dear deliverers, + And happy warriors, and immortal names, + And said 'You shall not lie in the tents but here, + And nursed by those for whom you fought, and served + With female hands and hospitality.' + + Then, whether moved by this, or was it chance, + She past my way. Up started from my side + The old lion, glaring with his whelpless eye, + Silent; but when she saw me lying stark, + Dishelmed and mute, and motionlessly pale, + Cold even to her, she sighed; and when she saw + The haggard father's face and reverend beard + Of grisly twine, all dabbled with the blood + Of his own son, shuddered, a twitch of pain + Tortured her mouth, and o'er her forehead past + A shadow, and her hue changed, and she said: + 'He saved my life: my brother slew him for it.' + No more: at which the king in bitter scorn + Drew from my neck the painting and the tress, + And held them up: she saw them, and a day + Rose from the distance on her memory, + When the good Queen, her mother, shore the tress + With kisses, ere the days of Lady Blanche: + And then once more she looked at my pale face: + Till understanding all the foolish work + Of Fancy, and the bitter close of all, + Her iron will was broken in her mind; + Her noble heart was molten in her breast; + She bowed, she set the child on the earth; she laid + A feeling finger on my brows, and presently + 'O Sire,' she said, 'he lives: he is not dead: + O let me have him with my brethren here + In our own palace: we will tend on him + Like one of these; if so, by any means, + To lighten this great clog of thanks, that make + Our progress falter to the woman's goal.' + + She said: but at the happy word 'he lives' + My father stooped, re-fathered o'er my wounds. + So those two foes above my fallen life, + With brow to brow like night and evening mixt + Their dark and gray, while Psyche ever stole + A little nearer, till the babe that by us, + Half-lapt in glowing gauze and golden brede, + Lay like a new-fallen meteor on the grass, + Uncared for, spied its mother and began + A blind and babbling laughter, and to dance + Its body, and reach its fatling innocent arms + And lazy lingering fingers. She the appeal + Brooked not, but clamouring out 'Mine--mine--not yours, + It is not yours, but mine: give me the child' + Ceased all on tremble: piteous was the cry: + So stood the unhappy mother open-mouthed, + And turned each face her way: wan was her cheek + With hollow watch, her blooming mantle torn, + Red grief and mother's hunger in her eye, + And down dead-heavy sank her curls, and half + The sacred mother's bosom, panting, burst + The laces toward her babe; but she nor cared + Nor knew it, clamouring on, till Ida heard, + Looked up, and rising slowly from me, stood + Erect and silent, striking with her glance + The mother, me, the child; but he that lay + Beside us, Cyril, battered as he was, + Trailed himself up on one knee: then he drew + Her robe to meet his lips, and down she looked + At the armed man sideways, pitying as it seemed, + Or self-involved; but when she learnt his face, + Remembering his ill-omened song, arose + Once more through all her height, and o'er him grew + Tall as a figure lengthened on the sand + When the tide ebbs in sunshine, and he said: + + 'O fair and strong and terrible! Lioness + That with your long locks play the Lion's mane! + But Love and Nature, these are two more terrible + And stronger. See, your foot is on our necks, + We vanquished, you the Victor of your will. + What would you more? Give her the child! remain + Orbed in your isolation: he is dead, + Or all as dead: henceforth we let you be: + Win you the hearts of women; and beware + Lest, where you seek the common love of these, + The common hate with the revolving wheel + Should drag you down, and some great Nemesis + Break from a darkened future, crowned with fire, + And tread you out for ever: but howso'er + Fixed in yourself, never in your own arms + To hold your own, deny not hers to her, + Give her the child! O if, I say, you keep + One pulse that beats true woman, if you loved + The breast that fed or arm that dandled you, + Or own one port of sense not flint to prayer, + Give her the child! or if you scorn to lay it, + Yourself, in hands so lately claspt with yours, + Or speak to her, your dearest, her one fault, + The tenderness, not yours, that could not kill, + Give _me_ it: _I_ will give it her. + He said: + At first her eye with slow dilation rolled + Dry flame, she listening; after sank and sank + And, into mournful twilight mellowing, dwelt + Full on the child; she took it: 'Pretty bud! + Lily of the vale! half opened bell of the woods! + Sole comfort of my dark hour, when a world + Of traitorous friend and broken system made + No purple in the distance, mystery, + Pledge of a love not to be mine, farewell; + These men are hard upon us as of old, + We two must part: and yet how fain was I + To dream thy cause embraced in mine, to think + I might be something to thee, when I felt + Thy helpless warmth about my barren breast + In the dead prime: but may thy mother prove + As true to thee as false, false, false to me! + And, if thou needs must needs bear the yoke, I wish it + Gentle as freedom'--here she kissed it: then-- + 'All good go with thee! take it Sir,' and so + Laid the soft babe in his hard-mailed hands, + Who turned half-round to Psyche as she sprang + To meet it, with an eye that swum in thanks; + Then felt it sound and whole from head to foot, + And hugged and never hugged it close enough, + And in her hunger mouthed and mumbled it, + And hid her bosom with it; after that + Put on more calm and added suppliantly: + + 'We two were friends: I go to mine own land + For ever: find some other: as for me + I scarce am fit for your great plans: yet speak to me, + Say one soft word and let me part forgiven.' + + But Ida spoke not, rapt upon the child. + Then Arac. 'Ida--'sdeath! you blame the man; + You wrong yourselves--the woman is so hard + Upon the woman. Come, a grace to me! + I am your warrior: I and mine have fought + Your battle: kiss her; take her hand, she weeps: + 'Sdeath! I would sooner fight thrice o'er than see it.' + + But Ida spoke not, gazing on the ground, + And reddening in the furrows of his chin, + And moved beyond his custom, Gama said: + + 'I've heard that there is iron in the blood, + And I believe it. Not one word? not one? + Whence drew you this steel temper? not from me, + Not from your mother, now a saint with saints. + She said you had a heart--I heard her say it-- + "Our Ida has a heart"--just ere she died-- + "But see that some on with authority + Be near her still" and I--I sought for one-- + All people said she had authority-- + The Lady Blanche: much profit! Not one word; + No! though your father sues: see how you stand + Stiff as Lot's wife, and all the good knights maimed, + I trust that there is no one hurt to death, + For our wild whim: and was it then for this, + Was it for this we gave our palace up, + Where we withdrew from summer heats and state, + And had our wine and chess beneath the planes, + And many a pleasant hour with her that's gone, + Ere you were born to vex us? Is it kind? + Speak to her I say: is this not she of whom, + When first she came, all flushed you said to me + Now had you got a friend of your own age, + Now could you share your thought; now should men see + Two women faster welded in one love + Than pairs of wedlock; she you walked with, she + You talked with, whole nights long, up in the tower, + Of sine and arc, spheroid and azimuth, + And right ascension, Heaven knows what; and now + A word, but one, one little kindly word, + Not one to spare her: out upon you, flint! + You love nor her, nor me, nor any; nay, + You shame your mother's judgment too. Not one? + You will not? well--no heart have you, or such + As fancies like the vermin in a nut + Have fretted all to dust and bitterness.' + So said the small king moved beyond his wont. + + But Ida stood nor spoke, drained of her force + By many a varying influence and so long. + Down through her limbs a drooping languor wept: + Her head a little bent; and on her mouth + A doubtful smile dwelt like a clouded moon + In a still water: then brake out my sire, + Lifted his grim head from my wounds. 'O you, + Woman, whom we thought woman even now, + And were half fooled to let you tend our son, + Because he might have wished it--but we see, + The accomplice of your madness unforgiven, + And think that you might mix his draught with death, + When your skies change again: the rougher hand + Is safer: on to the tents: take up the Prince.' + + He rose, and while each ear was pricked to attend + A tempest, through the cloud that dimmed her broke + A genial warmth and light once more, and shone + Through glittering drops on her sad friend. + 'Come hither. + O Psyche,' she cried out, 'embrace me, come, + Quick while I melt; make reconcilement sure + With one that cannot keep her mind an hour: + Come to the hollow hear they slander so! + Kiss and be friends, like children being chid! + _I_ seem no more: _I_ want forgiveness too: + I should have had to do with none but maids, + That have no links with men. Ah false but dear, + Dear traitor, too much loved, why?--why?--Yet see, + Before these kings we embrace you yet once more + With all forgiveness, all oblivion, + And trust, not love, you less. + And now, O sire, + Grant me your son, to nurse, to wait upon him, + Like mine own brother. For my debt to him, + This nightmare weight of gratitude, I know it; + Taunt me no more: yourself and yours shall have + Free adit; we will scatter all our maids + Till happier times each to her proper hearth: + What use to keep them here--now? grant my prayer. + Help, father, brother, help; speak to the king: + Thaw this male nature to some touch of that + Which kills me with myself, and drags me down + From my fixt height to mob me up with all + The soft and milky rabble of womankind, + Poor weakling even as they are.' + Passionate tears + Followed: the king replied not: Cyril said: + 'Your brother, Lady,--Florian,--ask for him + Of your great head--for he is wounded too-- + That you may tend upon him with the prince.' + 'Ay so,' said Ida with a bitter smile, + 'Our laws are broken: let him enter too.' + Then Violet, she that sang the mournful song, + And had a cousin tumbled on the plain, + Petitioned too for him. 'Ay so,' she said, + 'I stagger in the stream: I cannot keep + My heart an eddy from the brawling hour: + We break our laws with ease, but let it be.' + 'Ay so?' said Blanche: 'Amazed am I to her + Your Highness: but your Highness breaks with ease + The law your Highness did not make: 'twas I. + I had been wedded wife, I knew mankind, + And blocked them out; but these men came to woo + Your Highness--verily I think to win.' + + So she, and turned askance a wintry eye: + But Ida with a voice, that like a bell + Tolled by an earthquake in a trembling tower, + Rang ruin, answered full of grief and scorn. + + 'Fling our doors wide! all, all, not one, but all, + Not only he, but by my mother's soul, + Whatever man lies wounded, friend or foe, + Shall enter, if he will. Let our girls flit, + Till the storm die! but had you stood by us, + The roar that breaks the Pharos from his base + Had left us rock. She fain would sting us too, + But shall not. Pass, and mingle with your likes. + We brook no further insult but are gone.' + She turned; the very nape of her white neck + Was rosed with indignation: but the Prince + Her brother came; the king her father charmed + Her wounded soul with words: nor did mine own + Refuse her proffer, lastly gave his hand. + + Then us they lifted up, dead weights, and bare + Straight to the doors: to them the doors gave way + Groaning, and in the Vestal entry shrieked + The virgin marble under iron heels: + And on they moved and gained the hall, and there + Rested: but great the crush was, and each base, + To left and right, of those tall columns drowned + In silken fluctuation and the swarm + Of female whisperers: at the further end + Was Ida by the throne, the two great cats + Close by her, like supporters on a shield, + Bow-backed with fear: but in the centre stood + The common men with rolling eyes; amazed + They glared upon the women, and aghast + The women stared at these, all silent, save + When armour clashed or jingled, while the day, + Descending, struck athwart the hall, and shot + A flying splendour out of brass and steel, + That o'er the statues leapt from head to head, + Now fired an angry Pallas on the helm, + Now set a wrathful Dian's moon on flame, + And now and then an echo started up, + And shuddering fled from room to room, and died + Of fright in far apartments. + Then the voice + Of Ida sounded, issuing ordinance: + And me they bore up the broad stairs, and through + The long-laid galleries past a hundred doors + To one deep chamber shut from sound, and due + To languid limbs and sickness; left me in it; + And others otherwhere they laid; and all + That afternoon a sound arose of hoof + And chariot, many a maiden passing home + Till happier times; but some were left of those + Held sagest, and the great lords out and in, + From those two hosts that lay beside the walls, + Walked at their will, and everything was changed. + + + Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea; + The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape + With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape; + But O too fond, when have I answered thee? + Ask me no more. + + Ask me no more: what answer should I give? + I love not hollow cheek or faded eye: + Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die! + Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live; + Ask me no more. + + Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are sealed: + I strove against the stream and all in vain: + Let the great river take me to the main: + No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield; + Ask me no more. + + + + +VII + + + + So was their sanctuary violated, + So their fair college turned to hospital; + At first with all confusion: by and by + Sweet order lived again with other laws: + A kindlier influence reigned; and everywhere + Low voices with the ministering hand + Hung round the sick: the maidens came, they talked, + They sang, they read: till she not fair began + To gather light, and she that was, became + Her former beauty treble; and to and fro + With books, with flowers, with Angel offices, + Like creatures native unto gracious act, + And in their own clear element, they moved. + + But sadness on the soul of Ida fell, + And hatred of her weakness, blent with shame. + Old studies failed; seldom she spoke: but oft + Clomb to the roofs, and gazed alone for hours + On that disastrous leaguer, swarms of men + Darkening her female field: void was her use, + And she as one that climbs a peak to gaze + O'er land and main, and sees a great black cloud + Drag inward from the deeps, a wall of night, + Blot out the slope of sea from verge to shore, + And suck the blinding splendour from the sand, + And quenching lake by lake and tarn by tarn + Expunge the world: so fared she gazing there; + So blackened all her world in secret, blank + And waste it seemed and vain; till down she came, + And found fair peace once more among the sick. + + And twilight dawned; and morn by morn the lark + Shot up and shrilled in flickering gyres, but I + Lay silent in the muffled cage of life: + And twilight gloomed; and broader-grown the bowers + Drew the great night into themselves, and Heaven, + Star after Star, arose and fell; but I, + Deeper than those weird doubts could reach me, lay + Quite sundered from the moving Universe, + Nor knew what eye was on me, nor the hand + That nursed me, more than infants in their sleep. + + But Psyche tended Florian: with her oft, + Melissa came; for Blanche had gone, but left + Her child among us, willing she should keep + Court-favour: here and there the small bright head, + A light of healing, glanced about the couch, + Or through the parted silks the tender face + Peeped, shining in upon the wounded man + With blush and smile, a medicine in themselves + To wile the length from languorous hours, and draw + The sting from pain; nor seemed it strange that soon + He rose up whole, and those fair charities + Joined at her side; nor stranger seemed that hears + So gentle, so employed, should close in love, + Than when two dewdrops on the petals shake + To the same sweet air, and tremble deeper down, + And slip at once all-fragrant into one. + + Less prosperously the second suit obtained + At first with Psyche. Not though Blanche had sworn + That after that dark night among the fields + She needs must wed him for her own good name; + Not though he built upon the babe restored; + Nor though she liked him, yielded she, but feared + To incense the Head once more; till on a day + When Cyril pleaded, Ida came behind + Seen but of Psyche: on her foot she hung + A moment, and she heard, at which her face + A little flushed, and she past on; but each + Assumed from thence a half-consent involved + In stillness, plighted troth, and were at peace. + + Nor only these: Love in the sacred halls + Held carnival at will, and flying struck + With showers of random sweet on maid and man. + Nor did her father cease to press my claim, + Nor did mine own, now reconciled; nor yet + Did those twin-brothers, risen again and whole; + Nor Arac, satiate with his victory. + + But I lay still, and with me oft she sat: + Then came a change; for sometimes I would catch + Her hand in wild delirium, gripe it hard, + And fling it like a viper off, and shriek + 'You are not Ida;' clasp it once again, + And call her Ida, though I knew her not, + And call her sweet, as if in irony, + And call her hard and cold which seemed a truth: + And still she feared that I should lose my mind, + And often she believed that I should die: + Till out of long frustration of her care, + And pensive tendance in the all-weary noons, + And watches in the dead, the dark, when clocks + Throbbed thunder through the palace floors, or called + On flying Time from all their silver tongues-- + And out of memories of her kindlier days, + And sidelong glances at my father's grief, + And at the happy lovers heart in heart-- + And out of hauntings of my spoken love, + And lonely listenings to my muttered dream, + And often feeling of the helpless hands, + And wordless broodings on the wasted cheek-- + From all a closer interest flourished up, + Tenderness touch by touch, and last, to these, + Love, like an Alpine harebell hung with tears + By some cold morning glacier; frail at first + And feeble, all unconscious of itself, + But such as gathered colour day by day. + + Last I woke sane, but well-nigh close to death + For weakness: it was evening: silent light + Slept on the painted walls, wherein were wrought + Two grand designs; for on one side arose + The women up in wild revolt, and stormed + At the Oppian Law. Titanic shapes, they crammed + The forum, and half-crushed among the rest + A dwarf-like Cato cowered. On the other side + Hortensia spoke against the tax; behind, + A train of dames: by axe and eagle sat, + With all their foreheads drawn in Roman scowls, + And half the wolf's-milk curdled in their veins, + The fierce triumvirs; and before them paused + Hortensia pleading: angry was her face. + + I saw the forms: I knew not where I was: + They did but look like hollow shows; nor more + Sweet Ida: palm to palm she sat: the dew + Dwelt in her eyes, and softer all her shape + And rounder seemed: I moved: I sighed: a touch + Came round my wrist, and tears upon my hand: + Then all for languor and self-pity ran + Mine down my face, and with what life I had, + And like a flower that cannot all unfold, + So drenched it is with tempest, to the sun, + Yet, as it may, turns toward him, I on her + Fixt my faint eyes, and uttered whisperingly: + + 'If you be, what I think you, some sweet dream, + I would but ask you to fulfil yourself: + But if you be that Ida whom I knew, + I ask you nothing: only, if a dream, + Sweet dream, be perfect. I shall die tonight. + Stoop down and seem to kiss me ere I die.' + + I could no more, but lay like one in trance, + That hears his burial talked of by his friends, + And cannot speak, nor move, nor make one sign, + But lies and dreads his doom. She turned; she paused; + She stooped; and out of languor leapt a cry; + Leapt fiery Passion from the brinks of death; + And I believed that in the living world + My spirit closed with Ida's at the lips; + Till back I fell, and from mine arms she rose + Glowing all over noble shame; and all + Her falser self slipt from her like a robe, + And left her woman, lovelier in her mood + Than in her mould that other, when she came + From barren deeps to conquer all with love; + And down the streaming crystal dropt; and she + Far-fleeted by the purple island-sides, + Naked, a double light in air and wave, + To meet her Graces, where they decked her out + For worship without end; nor end of mine, + Stateliest, for thee! but mute she glided forth, + Nor glanced behind her, and I sank and slept, + Filled through and through with Love, a happy sleep. + + Deep in the night I woke: she, near me, held + A volume of the Poets of her land: + There to herself, all in low tones, she read. + + + 'Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white; + Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk; + Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font: + The fire-fly wakens: wake thou with me. + + Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost, + And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. + + Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars, + And all thy heart lies open unto me. + + Now lies the silent meteor on, and leaves + A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me. + + Now folds the lily all her sweetness up, + And slips into the bosom of the lake: + So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip + Into my bosom and be lost in me.' + + + I heard her turn the page; she found a small + Sweet Idyl, and once more, as low, she read: + + + 'Come down, O maid, from yonder mountain height: + What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang) + In height and cold, the splendour of the hills? + But cease to move so near the Heavens, and cease + To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine, + To sit a star upon the sparkling spire; + And come, for love is of the valley, come, + For love is of the valley, come thou down + And find him; by the happy threshold, he, + Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize, + Or red with spirted purple of the vats, + Or foxlike in the vine; nor cares to walk + With Death and Morning on the silver horns, + Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine, + Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice, + That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls + To roll the torrent out of dusky doors: + But follow; let the torrent dance thee down + To find him in the valley; let the wild + Lean-headed Eagles yelp alone, and leave + The monstrous ledges there to slope, and spill + Their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke, + That like a broken purpose waste in air: + So waste not thou; but come; for all the vales + Await thee; azure pillars of the hearth + Arise to thee; the children call, and I + Thy shepherd pipe, and sweet is every sound, + Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet; + Myriads of rivulets hurrying through the lawn, + The moan of doves in immemorial elms, + And murmuring of innumerable bees.' + + + So she low-toned; while with shut eyes I lay + Listening; then looked. Pale was the perfect face; + The bosom with long sighs laboured; and meek + Seemed the full lips, and mild the luminous eyes, + And the voice trembled and the hand. She said + Brokenly, that she knew it, she had failed + In sweet humility; had failed in all; + That all her labour was but as a block + Left in the quarry; but she still were loth, + She still were loth to yield herself to one + That wholly scorned to help their equal rights + Against the sons of men, and barbarous laws. + She prayed me not to judge their cause from her + That wronged it, sought far less for truth than power + In knowledge: something wild within her breast, + A greater than all knowledge, beat her down. + And she had nursed me there from week to week: + Much had she learnt in little time. In part + It was ill counsel had misled the girl + To vex true hearts: yet was she but a girl-- + 'Ah fool, and made myself a Queen of farce! + When comes another such? never, I think, + Till the Sun drop, dead, from the signs.' + Her voice + choked, and her forehead sank upon her hands, + And her great heart through all the faultful Past + Went sorrowing in a pause I dared not break; + Till notice of a change in the dark world + Was lispt about the acacias, and a bird, + That early woke to feed her little ones, + Sent from a dewy breast a cry for light: + She moved, and at her feet the volume fell. + + 'Blame not thyself too much,' I said, 'nor blame + Too much the sons of men and barbarous laws; + These were the rough ways of the world till now. + Henceforth thou hast a helper, me, that know + The woman's cause is man's: they rise or sink + Together, dwarfed or godlike, bond or free: + For she that out of Lethe scales with man + The shining steps of Nature, shares with man + His nights, his days, moves with him to one goal, + Stays all the fair young planet in her hands-- + If she be small, slight-natured, miserable, + How shall men grow? but work no more alone! + Our place is much: as far as in us lies + We two will serve them both in aiding her-- + Will clear away the parasitic forms + That seem to keep her up but drag her down-- + Will leave her space to burgeon out of all + Within her--let her make herself her own + To give or keep, to live and learn and be + All that not harms distinctive womanhood. + For woman is not undevelopt man, + But diverse: could we make her as the man, + Sweet Love were slain: his dearest bond is this, + Not like to like, but like in difference. + Yet in the long years liker must they grow; + The man be more of woman, she of man; + He gain in sweetness and in moral height, + Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world; + She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care, + Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind; + Till at the last she set herself to man, + Like perfect music unto noble words; + And so these twain, upon the skirts of Time, + Sit side by side, full-summed in all their powers, + Dispensing harvest, sowing the To-be, + Self-reverent each and reverencing each, + Distinct in individualities, + But like each other even as those who love. + Then comes the statelier Eden back to men: + Then reign the world's great bridals, chaste and calm: + Then springs the crowning race of humankind. + May these things be!' + Sighing she spoke 'I fear + They will not.' + 'Dear, but let us type them now + In our own lives, and this proud watchword rest + Of equal; seeing either sex alone + Is half itself, and in true marriage lies + Nor equal, nor unequal: each fulfils + Defect in each, and always thought in thought, + Purpose in purpose, will in will, they grow, + The single pure and perfect animal, + The two-celled heart beating, with one full stroke, + Life.' + And again sighing she spoke: 'A dream + That once was mind! what woman taught you this?' + + 'Alone,' I said, 'from earlier than I know, + Immersed in rich foreshadowings of the world, + I loved the woman: he, that doth not, lives + A drowning life, besotted in sweet self, + Or pines in sad experience worse than death, + Or keeps his winged affections clipt with crime: + Yet was there one through whom I loved her, one + Not learned, save in gracious household ways, + Not perfect, nay, but full of tender wants, + No Angel, but a dearer being, all dipt + In Angel instincts, breathing Paradise, + Interpreter between the Gods and men, + Who looked all native to her place, and yet + On tiptoe seemed to touch upon a sphere + Too gross to tread, and all male minds perforce + Swayed to her from their orbits as they moved, + And girdled her with music. Happy he + With such a mother! faith in womankind + Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high + Comes easy to him, and though he trip and fall + He shall not blind his soul with clay.' + 'But I,' + Said Ida, tremulously, 'so all unlike-- + It seems you love to cheat yourself with words: + This mother is your model. I have heard + of your strange doubts: they well might be: I seem + A mockery to my own self. Never, Prince; + You cannot love me.' + 'Nay but thee' I said + 'From yearlong poring on thy pictured eyes, + Ere seen I loved, and loved thee seen, and saw + Thee woman through the crust of iron moods + That masked thee from men's reverence up, and forced + Sweet love on pranks of saucy boyhood: now, + Given back to life, to life indeed, through thee, + Indeed I love: the new day comes, the light + Dearer for night, as dearer thou for faults + Lived over: lift thine eyes; my doubts are dead, + My haunting sense of hollow shows: the change, + This truthful change in thee has killed it. Dear, + Look up, and let thy nature strike on mine, + Like yonder morning on the blind half-world; + Approach and fear not; breathe upon my brows; + In that fine air I tremble, all the past + Melts mist-like into this bright hour, and this + Is morn to more, and all the rich to-come + Reels, as the golden Autumn woodland reels + Athwart the smoke of burning weeds. Forgive me, + I waste my heart in signs: let be. My bride, + My wife, my life. O we will walk this world, + Yoked in all exercise of noble end, + And so through those dark gates across the wild + That no man knows. Indeed I love thee: come, + Yield thyself up: my hopes and thine are one: + Accomplish thou my manhood and thyself; + Lay thy sweet hands in mine and trust to me.' + + + + +CONCLUSION + + + + So closed our tale, of which I give you all + The random scheme as wildly as it rose: + The words are mostly mine; for when we ceased + There came a minute's pause, and Walter said, + 'I wish she had not yielded!' then to me, + 'What, if you drest it up poetically?' + So prayed the men, the women: I gave assent: + Yet how to bind the scattered scheme of seven + Together in one sheaf? What style could suit? + The men required that I should give throughout + The sort of mock-heroic gigantesque, + With which we bantered little Lilia first: + The women--and perhaps they felt their power, + For something in the ballads which they sang, + Or in their silent influence as they sat, + Had ever seemed to wrestle with burlesque, + And drove us, last, to quite a solemn close-- + They hated banter, wished for something real, + A gallant fight, a noble princess--why + Not make her true-heroic--true-sublime? + Or all, they said, as earnest as the close? + Which yet with such a framework scarce could be. + Then rose a little feud betwixt the two, + Betwixt the mockers and the realists: + And I, betwixt them both, to please them both, + And yet to give the story as it rose, + I moved as in a strange diagonal, + And maybe neither pleased myself nor them. + + But Lilia pleased me, for she took no part + In our dispute: the sequel of the tale + Had touched her; and she sat, she plucked the grass, + She flung it from her, thinking: last, she fixt + A showery glance upon her aunt, and said, + 'You--tell us what we are' who might have told, + For she was crammed with theories out of books, + But that there rose a shout: the gates were closed + At sunset, and the crowd were swarming now, + To take their leave, about the garden rails. + + So I and some went out to these: we climbed + The slope to Vivian-place, and turning saw + The happy valleys, half in light, and half + Far-shadowing from the west, a land of peace; + Gray halls alone among their massive groves; + Trim hamlets; here and there a rustic tower + Half-lost in belts of hop and breadths of wheat; + The shimmering glimpses of a stream; the seas; + A red sail, or a white; and far beyond, + Imagined more than seen, the skirts of France. + + 'Look there, a garden!' said my college friend, + The Tory member's elder son, 'and there! + God bless the narrow sea which keeps her off, + And keeps our Britain, whole within herself, + A nation yet, the rulers and the ruled-- + Some sense of duty, something of a faith, + Some reverence for the laws ourselves have made, + Some patient force to change them when we will, + Some civic manhood firm against the crowd-- + But yonder, whiff! there comes a sudden heat, + The gravest citizen seems to lose his head, + The king is scared, the soldier will not fight, + The little boys begin to shoot and stab, + A kingdom topples over with a shriek + Like an old woman, and down rolls the world + In mock heroics stranger than our own; + Revolts, republics, revolutions, most + No graver than a schoolboys' barring out; + Too comic for the serious things they are, + Too solemn for the comic touches in them, + Like our wild Princess with as wise a dream + As some of theirs--God bless the narrow seas! + I wish they were a whole Atlantic broad.' + + 'Have patience,' I replied, 'ourselves are full + Of social wrong; and maybe wildest dreams + Are but the needful preludes of the truth: + For me, the genial day, the happy crowd, + The sport half-science, fill me with a faith. + This fine old world of ours is but a child + Yet in the go-cart. Patience! Give it time + To learn its limbs: there is a hand that guides.' + + In such discourse we gained the garden rails, + And there we saw Sir Walter where he stood, + Before a tower of crimson holly-hoaks, + Among six boys, head under head, and looked + No little lily-handed Baronet he, + A great broad-shouldered genial Englishman, + A lord of fat prize-oxen and of sheep, + A raiser of huge melons and of pine, + A patron of some thirty charities, + A pamphleteer on guano and on grain, + A quarter-sessions chairman, abler none; + Fair-haired and redder than a windy morn; + Now shaking hands with him, now him, of those + That stood the nearest--now addressed to speech-- + Who spoke few words and pithy, such as closed + Welcome, farewell, and welcome for the year + To follow: a shout rose again, and made + The long line of the approaching rookery swerve + From the elms, and shook the branches of the deer + From slope to slope through distant ferns, and rang + Beyond the bourn of sunset; O, a shout + More joyful than the city-roar that hails + Premier or king! Why should not these great Sirs + Give up their parks some dozen times a year + To let the people breathe? So thrice they cried, + I likewise, and in groups they streamed away. + + But we went back to the Abbey, and sat on, + So much the gathering darkness charmed: we sat + But spoke not, rapt in nameless reverie, + Perchance upon the future man: the walls + Blackened about us, bats wheeled, and owls whooped, + And gradually the powers of the night, + That range above the region of the wind, + Deepening the courts of twilight broke them up + Through all the silent spaces of the worlds, + Beyond all thought into the Heaven of Heavens. + + Last little Lilia, rising quietly, + Disrobed the glimmering statue of Sir Ralph + From those rich silks, and home well-pleased we went. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Princess, by Alfred Lord Tennyson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRINCESS *** + +***** This file should be named 791.txt or 791.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/9/791/ + +Produced by ddNg E-Ching + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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A more presentable version will be +coming up after my exams. + + + + + +The Princess +by Alfred, Lord Tennyson + + + + +PROLOGUE + +Sir Walter Vivian all a summer's day +Gave his broad lawns until the set of sun +Up to the people: thither flocked at noon +His tenants, wife and child, and thither half +The neighbouring borough with their Institute +Of which he was the patron. I was there +From college, visiting the son,--the son +A Walter too,--with others of our set, +Five others: we were seven at Vivian-place. + + And me that morning Walter showed the house, +Greek, set with busts: from vases in the hall +Flowers of all heavens, and lovelier than their names, +Grew side by side; and on the pavement lay +Carved stones of the Abbey-ruin in the park, +Huge Ammonites, and the first bones of Time; +And on the tables every clime and age +Jumbled together; celts and calumets, +Claymore and snowshoe, toys in lava, fans +Of sandal, amber, ancient rosaries, +Laborious orient ivory sphere in sphere, +The cursed Malayan crease, and battle-clubs +From the isles of palm: and higher on the walls, +Betwixt the monstrous horns of elk and deer, +His own forefathers' arms and armour hung. + + And 'this' he said 'was Hugh's at Agincourt; +And that was old Sir Ralph's at Ascalon: +A good knight he! we keep a chronicle +With all about him'--which he brought, and I +Dived in a hoard of tales that dealt with knights, +Half-legend, half-historic, counts and kings +Who laid about them at their wills and died; +And mixt with these, a lady, one that armed +Her own fair head, and sallying through the gate, +Had beat her foes with slaughter from her walls. + + 'O miracle of women,' said the book, +'O noble heart who, being strait-besieged +By this wild king to force her to his wish, +Nor bent, nor broke, nor shunned a soldier's death, +But now when all was lost or seemed as lost-- +Her stature more than mortal in the burst +Of sunrise, her arm lifted, eyes on fire-- +Brake with a blast of trumpets from the gate, +And, falling on them like a thunderbolt, +She trampled some beneath her horses' heels, +And some were whelmed with missiles of the wall, +And some were pushed with lances from the rock, +And part were drowned within the whirling brook: +O miracle of noble womanhood!' + + So sang the gallant glorious chronicle; +And, I all rapt in this, 'Come out,' he said, +'To the Abbey: there is Aunt Elizabeth +And sister Lilia with the rest.' We went +(I kept the book and had my finger in it) +Down through the park: strange was the sight to me; +For all the sloping pasture murmured, sown +With happy faces and with holiday. +There moved the multitude, a thousand heads: +The patient leaders of their Institute +Taught them with facts. One reared a font of stone +And drew, from butts of water on the slope, +The fountain of the moment, playing, now +A twisted snake, and now a rain of pearls, +Or steep-up spout whereon the gilded ball +Danced like a wisp: and somewhat lower down +A man with knobs and wires and vials fired +A cannon: Echo answered in her sleep +From hollow fields: and here were telescopes +For azure views; and there a group of girls +In circle waited, whom the electric shock +Dislinked with shrieks and laughter: round the lake +A little clock-work steamer paddling plied +And shook the lilies: perched about the knolls +A dozen angry models jetted steam: +A petty railway ran: a fire-balloon +Rose gem-like up before the dusky groves +And dropt a fairy parachute and past: +And there through twenty posts of telegraph +They flashed a saucy message to and fro +Between the mimic stations; so that sport +Went hand in hand with Science; otherwhere +Pure sport; a herd of boys with clamour bowled +And stumped the wicket; babies rolled about +Like tumbled fruit in grass; and men and maids +Arranged a country dance, and flew through light +And shadow, while the twangling violin +Struck up with Soldier-laddie, and overhead +The broad ambrosial aisles of lofty lime +Made noise with bees and breeze from end to end. + + Strange was the sight and smacking of the time; +And long we gazed, but satiated at length +Came to the ruins. High-arched and ivy-claspt, +Of finest Gothic lighter than a fire, +Through one wide chasm of time and frost they gave +The park, the crowd, the house; but all within +The sward was trim as any garden lawn: +And here we lit on Aunt Elizabeth, +And Lilia with the rest, and lady friends +From neighbour seats: and there was Ralph himself, +A broken statue propt against the wall, +As gay as any. Lilia, wild with sport, +Half child half woman as she was, had wound +A scarf of orange round the stony helm, +And robed the shoulders in a rosy silk, +That made the old warrior from his ivied nook +Glow like a sunbeam: near his tomb a feast +Shone, silver-set; about it lay the guests, +And there we joined them: then the maiden Aunt +Took this fair day for text, and from it preached +An universal culture for the crowd, +And all things great; but we, unworthier, told +Of college: he had climbed across the spikes, +And he had squeezed himself betwixt the bars, +And he had breathed the Proctor's dogs; and one +Discussed his tutor, rough to common men, +But honeying at the whisper of a lord; +And one the Master, as a rogue in grain +Veneered with sanctimonious theory. + But while they talked, above their heads I saw +The feudal warrior lady-clad; which brought +My book to mind: and opening this I read +Of old Sir Ralph a page or two that rang +With tilt and tourney; then the tale of her +That drove her foes with slaughter from her walls, +And much I praised her nobleness, and 'Where,' +Asked Walter, patting Lilia's head (she lay +Beside him) 'lives there such a woman now?' + + Quick answered Lilia 'There are thousands now +Such women, but convention beats them down: +It is but bringing up; no more than that: +You men have done it: how I hate you all! +Ah, were I something great! I wish I were +Some might poetess, I would shame you then, +That love to keep us children! O I wish +That I were some great princess, I would build +Far off from men a college like a man's, +And I would teach them all that men are taught; +We are twice as quick!' And here she shook aside +The hand that played the patron with her curls. + + And one said smiling 'Pretty were the sight +If our old halls could change their sex, and flaunt +With prudes for proctors, dowagers for deans, +And sweet girl-graduates in their golden hair. +I think they should not wear our rusty gowns, +But move as rich as Emperor-moths, or Ralph +Who shines so in the corner; yet I fear, +If there were many Lilias in the brood, +However deep you might embower the nest, +Some boy would spy it.' + At this upon the sward +She tapt her tiny silken-sandaled foot: +'That's your light way; but I would make it death +For any male thing but to peep at us.' + + Petulant she spoke, and at herself she laughed; +A rosebud set with little wilful thorns, +And sweet as English air could make her, she: +But Walter hailed a score of names upon her, +And 'petty Ogress', and 'ungrateful Puss', +And swore he longed at college, only longed, +All else was well, for she-society. +They boated and they cricketed; they talked +At wine, in clubs, of art, of politics; +They lost their weeks; they vext the souls of deans; +They rode; they betted; made a hundred friends, +And caught the blossom of the flying terms, +But missed the mignonette of Vivian-place, +The little hearth-flower Lilia. Thus he spoke, +Part banter, part affection. + 'True,' she said, +'We doubt not that. O yes, you missed us much. +I'll stake my ruby ring upon it you did.' + + She held it out; and as a parrot turns +Up through gilt wires a crafty loving eye, +And takes a lady's finger with all care, +And bites it for true heart and not for harm, +So he with Lilia's. Daintily she shrieked +And wrung it. 'Doubt my word again!' he said. +'Come, listen! here is proof that you were missed: +We seven stayed at Christmas up to read; +And there we took one tutor as to read: +The hard-grained Muses of the cube and square +Were out of season: never man, I think, +So mouldered in a sinecure as he: +For while our cloisters echoed frosty feet, +And our long walks were stript as bare as brooms, +We did but talk you over, pledge you all +In wassail; often, like as many girls-- +Sick for the hollies and the yews of home-- +As many little trifling Lilias--played +Charades and riddles as at Christmas here, +And ~what's my thought~ and ~when~ and ~where~ and ~how~, +As here at Christmas.' + She remembered that: +A pleasant game, she thought: she liked it more +Than magic music, forfeits, all the rest. +But these--what kind of tales did men tell men, +She wondered, by themselves? + A half-disdain +Perched on the pouted blossom of her lips: +And Walter nodded at me; '~He~ began, +The rest would follow, each in turn; and so +We forged a sevenfold story. Kind? what kind? +Chimeras, crotchets, Christmas solecisms, +Seven-headed monsters only made to kill +Time by the fire in winter.' + 'Kill him now, +The tyrant! kill him in the summer too,' +Said Lilia; 'Why not now?' the maiden Aunt. +'Why not a summer's as a winter's tale? +A tale for summer as befits the time, +And something it should be to suit the place, +Heroic, for a hero lies beneath, +Grave, solemn!' + Walter warped his mouth at this +To something so mock-solemn, that I laughed +And Lilia woke with sudden-thrilling mirth +An echo like a ghostly woodpecker, +Hid in the ruins; till the maiden Aunt +(A little sense of wrong had touched her face +With colour) turned to me with 'As you will; +Heroic if you will, or what you will, +Or be yourself you hero if you will.' + + 'Take Lilia, then, for heroine' clamoured he, +'And make her some great Princess, six feet high, +Grand, epic, homicidal; and be you +The Prince to win her!' + 'Then follow me, the Prince,' +I answered, 'each be hero in his turn! +Seven and yet one, like shadows in a dream.-- +Heroic seems our Princess as required-- +But something made to suit with Time and place, +A Gothic ruin and a Grecian house, +A talk of college and of ladies' rights, +A feudal knight in silken masquerade, +And, yonder, shrieks and strange experiments +For which the good Sir Ralph had burnt them all-- +This ~were~ a medley! we should have him back +Who told the "Winter's tale" to do it for us. +No matter: we will say whatever comes. +And let the ladies sing us, if they will, +From time to time, some ballad or a song +To give us breathing-space.' + So I began, +And the rest followed: and the women sang +Between the rougher voices of the men, +Like linnets in the pauses of the wind: +And here I give the story and the songs. + + + + +I + + + +A prince I was, blue-eyed, and fair in face, +Of temper amorous, as the first of May, +With lengths of yellow ringlet, like a girl, +For on my cradle shone the Northern star. + + There lived an ancient legend in our house. +Some sorcerer, whom a far-off grandsire burnt +Because he cast no shadow, had foretold, +Dying, that none of all our blood should know +The shadow from the substance, and that one +Should come to fight with shadows and to fall. +For so, my mother said, the story ran. +And, truly, waking dreams were, more or less, +An old and strange affection of the house. +Myself too had weird seizures, Heaven knows what: +On a sudden in the midst of men and day, +And while I walked and talked as heretofore, +I seemed to move among a world of ghosts, +And feel myself the shadow of a dream. +Our great court-Galen poised his gilt-head cane, +And pawed his beard, and muttered 'catalepsy'. +My mother pitying made a thousand prayers; +My mother was as mild as any saint, +Half-canonized by all that looked on her, +So gracious was her tact and tenderness: +But my good father thought a king a king; +He cared not for the affection of the house; +He held his sceptre like a pedant's wand +To lash offence, and with long arms and hands +Reached out, and picked offenders from the mass +For judgment. + Now it chanced that I had been, +While life was yet in bud and blade, bethrothed +To one, a neighbouring Princess: she to me +Was proxy-wedded with a bootless calf +At eight years old; and still from time to time +Came murmurs of her beauty from the South, +And of her brethren, youths of puissance; +And still I wore her picture by my heart, +And one dark tress; and all around them both +Sweet thoughts would swarm as bees about their queen. + + But when the days drew nigh that I should wed, +My father sent ambassadors with furs +And jewels, gifts, to fetch her: these brought back +A present, a great labour of the loom; +And therewithal an answer vague as wind: +Besides, they saw the king; he took the gifts; +He said there was a compact; that was true: +But then she had a will; was he to blame? +And maiden fancies; loved to live alone +Among her women; certain, would not wed. + + That morning in the presence room I stood +With Cyril and with Florian, my two friends: +The first, a gentleman of broken means +(His father's fault) but given to starts and bursts +Of revel; and the last, my other heart, +And almost my half-self, for still we moved +Together, twinned as horse's ear and eye. + + Now, while they spake, I saw my father's face +Grow long and troubled like a rising moon, +Inflamed with wrath: he started on his feet, +Tore the king's letter, snowed it down, and rent +The wonder of the loom through warp and woof +From skirt to skirt; and at the last he sware +That he would send a hundred thousand men, +And bring her in a whirlwind: then he chewed +The thrice-turned cud of wrath, and cooked his spleen, +Communing with his captains of the war. + + At last I spoke. 'My father, let me go. +It cannot be but some gross error lies +In this report, this answer of a king, +Whom all men rate as kind and hospitable: +Or, maybe, I myself, my bride once seen, +Whate'er my grief to find her less than fame, +May rue the bargain made.' And Florian said: +'I have a sister at the foreign court, +Who moves about the Princess; she, you know, +Who wedded with a nobleman from thence: +He, dying lately, left her, as I hear, +The lady of three castles in that land: +Through her this matter might be sifted clean.' +And Cyril whispered: 'Take me with you too.' +Then laughing 'what, if these weird seizures come +Upon you in those lands, and no one near +To point you out the shadow from the truth! +Take me: I'll serve you better in a strait; +I grate on rusty hinges here:' but 'No!' +Roared the rough king, 'you shall not; we ourself +Will crush her pretty maiden fancies dead +In iron gauntlets: break the council up.' + + But when the council broke, I rose and past +Through the wild woods that hung about the town; +Found a still place, and plucked her likeness out; +Laid it on flowers, and watched it lying bathed +In the green gleam of dewy-tasselled trees: +What were those fancies? wherefore break her troth? +Proud looked the lips: but while I meditated +A wind arose and rushed upon the South, +And shook the songs, the whispers, and the shrieks +Of the wild woods together; and a Voice +Went with it, 'Follow, follow, thou shalt win.' + + Then, ere the silver sickle of that month +Became her golden shield, I stole from court +With Cyril and with Florian, unperceived, +Cat-footed through the town and half in dread +To hear my father's clamour at our backs +With Ho! from some bay-window shake the night; +But all was quiet: from the bastioned walls +Like threaded spiders, one by one, we dropt, +And flying reached the frontier: then we crost +To a livelier land; and so by tilth and grange, +And vines, and blowing bosks of wilderness, +We gained the mother city thick with towers, +And in the imperial palace found the king. + + His name was Gama; cracked and small his voice, +But bland the smile that like a wrinkling wind +On glassy water drove his cheek in lines; +A little dry old man, without a star, +Not like a king: three days he feasted us, +And on the fourth I spake of why we came, +And my bethrothed. 'You do us, Prince,' he said, +Airing a snowy hand and signet gem, +'All honour. We remember love ourselves +In our sweet youth: there did a compact pass +Long summers back, a kind of ceremony-- +I think the year in which our olives failed. +I would you had her, Prince, with all my heart, +With my full heart: but there were widows here, +Two widows, Lady Psyche, Lady Blanche; +They fed her theories, in and out of place +Maintaining that with equal husbandry +The woman were an equal to the man. +They harped on this; with this our banquets rang; +Our dances broke and buzzed in knots of talk; +Nothing but this; my very ears were hot +To hear them: knowledge, so my daughter held, +Was all in all: they had but been, she thought, +As children; they must lose the child, assume +The woman: then, Sir, awful odes she wrote, +Too awful, sure, for what they treated of, +But all she is and does is awful; odes +About this losing of the child; and rhymes +And dismal lyrics, prophesying change +Beyond all reason: these the women sang; +And they that know such things--I sought but peace; +No critic I--would call them masterpieces: +They mastered ~me~. At last she begged a boon, +A certain summer-palace which I have +Hard by your father's frontier: I said no, +Yet being an easy man, gave it: and there, +All wild to found an University +For maidens, on the spur she fled; and more +We know not,--only this: they see no men, +Not even her brother Arac, nor the twins +Her brethren, though they love her, look upon her +As on a kind of paragon; and I +(Pardon me saying it) were much loth to breed +Dispute betwixt myself and mine: but since +(And I confess with right) you think me bound +In some sort, I can give you letters to her; +And yet, to speak the truth, I rate your chance +Almost at naked nothing.' + Thus the king; +And I, though nettled that he seemed to slur +With garrulous ease and oily courtesies +Our formal compact, yet, not less (all frets +But chafing me on fire to find my bride) +Went forth again with both my friends. We rode +Many a long league back to the North. At last +From hills, that looked across a land of hope, +We dropt with evening on a rustic town +Set in a gleaming river's crescent-curve, +Close at the boundary of the liberties; +There, entered an old hostel, called mine host +To council, plied him with his richest wines, +And showed the late-writ letters of the king. + + He with a long low sibilation, stared +As blank as death in marble; then exclaimed +Averring it was clear against all rules +For any man to go: but as his brain +Began to mellow, 'If the king,' he said, +'Had given us letters, was he bound to speak? +The king would bear him out;' and at the last-- +The summer of the vine in all his veins-- +'No doubt that we might make it worth his while. +She once had past that way; he heard her speak; +She scared him; life! he never saw the like; +She looked as grand as doomsday and as grave: +And he, he reverenced his liege-lady there; +He always made a point to post with mares; +His daughter and his housemaid were the boys: +The land, he understood, for miles about +Was tilled by women; all the swine were sows, +And all the dogs'-- + But while he jested thus, +A thought flashed through me which I clothed in act, +Remembering how we three presented Maid +Or Nymph, or Goddess, at high tide of feast, +In masque or pageant at my father's court. +We sent mine host to purchase female gear; +He brought it, and himself, a sight to shake +The midriff of despair with laughter, holp +To lace us up, till, each, in maiden plumes +We rustled: him we gave a costly bribe +To guerdon silence, mounted our good steeds, +And boldly ventured on the liberties. + + We followed up the river as we rode, +And rode till midnight when the college lights +Began to glitter firefly-like in copse +And linden alley: then we past an arch, +Whereon a woman-statue rose with wings +From four winged horses dark against the stars; +And some inscription ran along the front, +But deep in shadow: further on we gained +A little street half garden and half house; +But scarce could hear each other speak for noise +Of clocks and chimes, like silver hammers falling +On silver anvils, and the splash and stir +Of fountains spouted up and showering down +In meshes of the jasmine and the rose: +And all about us pealed the nightingale, +Rapt in her song, and careless of the snare. + + There stood a bust of Pallas for a sign, +By two sphere lamps blazoned like Heaven and Earth +With constellation and with continent, +Above an entry: riding in, we called; +A plump-armed Ostleress and a stable wench +Came running at the call, and helped us down. +Then stept a buxom hostess forth, and sailed, +Full-blown, before us into rooms which gave +Upon a pillared porch, the bases lost +In laurel: her we asked of that and this, +And who were tutors. 'Lady Blanche' she said, +'And Lady Psyche.' 'Which was prettiest, +Best-natured?' 'Lady Psyche.' 'Hers are we,' +One voice, we cried; and I sat down and wrote, +In such a hand as when a field of corn +Bows all its ears before the roaring East; + + 'Three ladies of the Northern empire pray +Your Highness would enroll them with your own, +As Lady Psyche's pupils.' + This I sealed: +The seal was Cupid bent above a scroll, +And o'er his head Uranian Venus hung, +And raised the blinding bandage from his eyes: +I gave the letter to be sent with dawn; +And then to bed, where half in doze I seemed +To float about a glimmering night, and watch +A full sea glazed with muffled moonlight, swell +On some dark shore just seen that it was rich. + + +As through the land at eve we went, + And plucked the ripened ears, +We fell out, my wife and I, +O we fell out I know not why, + And kissed again with tears. +And blessings on the falling out + That all the more endears, +When we fall out with those we love + And kiss again with tears! +For when we came where lies the child + We lost in other years, +There above the little grave, +O there above the little grave, + We kissed again with tears. + + + + +II + + + +At break of day the College Portress came: +She brought us Academic silks, in hue +The lilac, with a silken hood to each, +And zoned with gold; and now when these were on, +And we as rich as moths from dusk cocoons, +She, curtseying her obeisance, let us know +The Princess Ida waited: out we paced, +I first, and following through the porch that sang +All round with laurel, issued in a court +Compact of lucid marbles, bossed with lengths +Of classic frieze, with ample awnings gay +Betwixt the pillars, and with great urns of flowers. +The Muses and the Graces, grouped in threes, +Enringed a billowing fountain in the midst; +And here and there on lattice edges lay +Or book or lute; but hastily we past, +And up a flight of stairs into the hall. + + There at a board by tome and paper sat, +With two tame leopards couched beside her throne, +All beauty compassed in a female form, +The Princess; liker to the inhabitant +Of some clear planet close upon the Sun, +Than our man's earth; such eyes were in her head, +And so much grace and power, breathing down +From over her arched brows, with every turn +Lived through her to the tips of her long hands, +And to her feet. She rose her height, and said: + + 'We give you welcome: not without redound +Of use and glory to yourselves ye come, +The first-fruits of the stranger: aftertime, +And that full voice which circles round the grave, +Will rank you nobly, mingled up with me. +What! are the ladies of your land so tall?' +'We of the court' said Cyril. 'From the court' +She answered, 'then ye know the Prince?' and he: +'The climax of his age! as though there were +One rose in all the world, your Highness that, +He worships your ideal:' she replied: +'We scarcely thought in our own hall to hear +This barren verbiage, current among men, +Light coin, the tinsel clink of compliment. +Your flight from out your bookless wilds would seem +As arguing love of knowledge and of power; +Your language proves you still the child. Indeed, +We dream not of him: when we set our hand +To this great work, we purposed with ourself +Never to wed. You likewise will do well, +Ladies, in entering here, to cast and fling +The tricks, which make us toys of men, that so, +Some future time, if so indeed you will, +You may with those self-styled our lords ally +Your fortunes, justlier balanced, scale with scale.' + + At those high words, we conscious of ourselves, +Perused the matting: then an officer +Rose up, and read the statutes, such as these: +Not for three years to correspond with home; +Not for three years to cross the liberties; +Not for three years to speak with any men; +And many more, which hastily subscribed, +We entered on the boards: and 'Now,' she cried, +'Ye are green wood, see ye warp not. Look, our hall! +Our statues!--not of those that men desire, +Sleek Odalisques, or oracles of mode, +Nor stunted squaws of West or East; but she +That taught the Sabine how to rule, and she +The foundress of the Babylonian wall, +The Carian Artemisia strong in war, +The Rhodope, that built the pyramid, +Clelia, Cornelia, with the Palmyrene +That fought Aurelian, and the Roman brows +Of Agrippina. Dwell with these, and lose +Convention, since to look on noble forms +Makes noble through the sensuous organism +That which is higher. O lift your natures up: +Embrace our aims: work out your freedom. Girls, +Knowledge is now no more a fountain sealed: +Drink deep, until the habits of the slave, +The sins of emptiness, gossip and spite +And slander, die. Better not be at all +Than not be noble. Leave us: you may go: +Today the Lady Psyche will harangue +The fresh arrivals of the week before; +For they press in from all the provinces, +And fill the hive.' + She spoke, and bowing waved +Dismissal: back again we crost the court +To Lady Psyche's: as we entered in, +There sat along the forms, like morning doves +That sun their milky bosoms on the thatch, +A patient range of pupils; she herself +Erect behind a desk of satin-wood, +A quick brunette, well-moulded, falcon-eyed, +And on the hither side, or so she looked, +Of twenty summers. At her left, a child, +In shining draperies, headed like a star, +Her maiden babe, a double April old, +Aglaïa slept. We sat: the Lady glanced: +Then Florian, but not livelier than the dame +That whispered 'Asses' ears', among the sedge, +'My sister.' 'Comely, too, by all that's fair,' +Said Cyril. 'Oh hush, hush!' and she began. + + 'This world was once a fluid haze of light, +Till toward the centre set the starry tides, +And eddied into suns, that wheeling cast +The planets: then the monster, then the man; +Tattooed or woaded, winter-clad in skins, +Raw from the prime, and crushing down his mate; +As yet we find in barbarous isles, and here +Among the lowest.' + Thereupon she took +A bird's-eye-view of all the ungracious past; +Glanced at the legendary Amazon +As emblematic of a nobler age; +Appraised the Lycian custom, spoke of those +That lay at wine with Lar and Lucumo; +Ran down the Persian, Grecian, Roman lines +Of empire, and the woman's state in each, +How far from just; till warming with her theme +She fulmined out her scorn of laws Salique +And little-footed China, touched on Mahomet +With much contempt, and came to chivalry: +When some respect, however slight, was paid +To woman, superstition all awry: +However then commenced the dawn: a beam +Had slanted forward, falling in a land +Of promise; fruit would follow. Deep, indeed, +Their debt of thanks to her who first had dared +To leap the rotten pales of prejudice, +Disyoke their necks from custom, and assert +None lordlier than themselves but that which made +Woman and man. She had founded; they must build. +Here might they learn whatever men were taught: +Let them not fear: some said their heads were less: +Some men's were small; not they the least of men; +For often fineness compensated size: +Besides the brain was like the hand, and grew +With using; thence the man's, if more was more; +He took advantage of his strength to be +First in the field: some ages had been lost; +But woman ripened earlier, and her life +Was longer; and albeit their glorious names +Were fewer, scattered stars, yet since in truth +The highest is the measure of the man, +And not the Kaffir, Hottentot, Malay, +Nor those horn-handed breakers of the glebe, +But Homer, Plato, Verulam; even so +With woman: and in arts of government +Elizabeth and others; arts of war +The peasant Joan and others; arts of grace +Sappho and others vied with any man: +And, last not least, she who had left her place, +And bowed her state to them, that they might grow +To use and power on this Oasis, lapt +In the arms of leisure, sacred from the blight +Of ancient influence and scorn. + At last +She rose upon a wind of prophecy +Dilating on the future; 'everywhere +Who heads in council, two beside the hearth, +Two in the tangled business of the world, +Two in the liberal offices of life, +Two plummets dropt for one to sound the abyss +Of science, and the secrets of the mind: +Musician, painter, sculptor, critic, more: +And everywhere the broad and bounteous Earth +Should bear a double growth of those rare souls, +Poets, whose thoughts enrich the blood of the world.' + + She ended here, and beckoned us: the rest +Parted; and, glowing full-faced welcome, she +Began to address us, and was moving on +In gratulation, till as when a boat +Tacks, and the slackened sail flaps, all her voice +Faltering and fluttering in her throat, she cried +'My brother!' 'Well, my sister.' 'O,' she said, +'What do you here? and in this dress? and these? +Why who are these? a wolf within the fold! +A pack of wolves! the Lord be gracious to me! +A plot, a plot, a plot to ruin all!' +'No plot, no plot,' he answered. 'Wretched boy, +How saw you not the inscription on the gate, +LET NO MAN ENTER IN ON PAIN OF DEATH?' +'And if I had,' he answered, 'who could think +The softer Adams of your Academe, +O sister, Sirens though they be, were such +As chanted on the blanching bones of men?' +'But you will find it otherwise' she said. +'You jest: ill jesting with edge-tools! my vow +Binds me to speak, and O that iron will, +That axelike edge unturnable, our Head, +The Princess.' 'Well then, Psyche, take my life, +And nail me like a weasel on a grange +For warning: bury me beside the gate, +And cut this epitaph above my bones; +~Here lies a brother by a sister slain, +All for the common good of womankind.~' +'Let me die too,' said Cyril, 'having seen +And heard the Lady Psyche.' + I struck in: +'Albeit so masked, Madam, I love the truth; +Receive it; and in me behold the Prince +Your countryman, affianced years ago +To the Lady Ida: here, for here she was, +And thus (what other way was left) I came.' +'O Sir, O Prince, I have no country; none; +If any, this; but none. Whate'er I was +Disrooted, what I am is grafted here. +Affianced, Sir? love-whispers may not breathe +Within this vestal limit, and how should I, +Who am not mine, say, live: the thunderbolt +Hangs silent; but prepare: I speak; it falls.' +'Yet pause,' I said: 'for that inscription there, +I think no more of deadly lurks therein, +Than in a clapper clapping in a garth, +To scare the fowl from fruit: if more there be, +If more and acted on, what follows? war; +Your own work marred: for this your Academe, +Whichever side be Victor, in the halloo +Will topple to the trumpet down, and pass +With all fair theories only made to gild +A stormless summer.' 'Let the Princess judge +Of that' she said: 'farewell, Sir--and to you. +I shudder at the sequel, but I go.' + + 'Are you that Lady Psyche,' I rejoined, +'The fifth in line from that old Florian, +Yet hangs his portrait in my father's hall +(The gaunt old Baron with his beetle brow +Sun-shaded in the heat of dusty fights) +As he bestrode my Grandsire, when he fell, +And all else fled? we point to it, and we say, +The loyal warmth of Florian is not cold, +But branches current yet in kindred veins.' +'Are you that Psyche,' Florian added; 'she +With whom I sang about the morning hills, +Flung ball, flew kite, and raced the purple fly, +And snared the squirrel of the glen? are you +That Psyche, wont to bind my throbbing brow, +To smoothe my pillow, mix the foaming draught +Of fever, tell me pleasant tales, and read +My sickness down to happy dreams? are you +That brother-sister Psyche, both in one? +You were that Psyche, but what are you now?' +'You are that Psyche,' said Cyril, 'for whom +I would be that for ever which I seem, +Woman, if I might sit beside your feet, +And glean your scattered sapience.' + Then once more, +'Are you that Lady Psyche,' I began, +'That on her bridal morn before she past +From all her old companions, when the kind +Kissed her pale cheek, declared that ancient ties +Would still be dear beyond the southern hills; +That were there any of our people there +In want or peril, there was one to hear +And help them? look! for such are these and I.' +'Are you that Psyche,' Florian asked, 'to whom, +In gentler days, your arrow-wounded fawn +Came flying while you sat beside the well? +The creature laid his muzzle on your lap, +And sobbed, and you sobbed with it, and the blood +Was sprinkled on your kirtle, and you wept. +That was fawn's blood, not brother's, yet you wept. +O by the bright head of my little niece, +You were that Psyche, and what are you now?' +'You are that Psyche,' Cyril said again, +'The mother of the sweetest little maid, +That ever crowed for kisses.' + 'Out upon it!' +She answered, 'peace! and why should I not play +The Spartan Mother with emotion, be +The Lucius Junius Brutus of my kind? +Him you call great: he for the common weal, +The fading politics of mortal Rome, +As I might slay this child, if good need were, +Slew both his sons: and I, shall I, on whom +The secular emancipation turns +Of half this world, be swerved from right to save +A prince, a brother? a little will I yield. +Best so, perchance, for us, and well for you. +O hard, when love and duty clash! I fear +My conscience will not count me fleckless; yet-- +Hear my conditions: promise (otherwise +You perish) as you came, to slip away +Today, tomorrow, soon: it shall be said, +These women were too barbarous, would not learn; +They fled, who might have shamed us: promise, all.' + + What could we else, we promised each; and she, +Like some wild creature newly-caged, commenced +A to-and-fro, so pacing till she paused +By Florian; holding out her lily arms +Took both his hands, and smiling faintly said: +'I knew you at the first: though you have grown +You scarce have altered: I am sad and glad +To see you, Florian. ~I~ give thee to death +My brother! it was duty spoke, not I. +My needful seeming harshness, pardon it. +Our mother, is she well?' + With that she kissed +His forehead, then, a moment after, clung +About him, and betwixt them blossomed up +From out a common vein of memory +Sweet household talk, and phrases of the hearth, +And far allusion, till the gracious dews +Began to glisten and to fall: and while +They stood, so rapt, we gazing, came a voice, +'I brought a message here from Lady Blanche.' +Back started she, and turning round we saw +The Lady Blanche's daughter where she stood, +Melissa, with her hand upon the lock, +A rosy blonde, and in a college gown, +That clad her like an April daffodilly +(Her mother's colour) with her lips apart, +And all her thoughts as fair within her eyes, +As bottom agates seen to wave and float +In crystal currents of clear morning seas. + + So stood that same fair creature at the door. +Then Lady Psyche, 'Ah--Melissa--you! +You heard us?' and Melissa, 'O pardon me +I heard, I could not help it, did not wish: +But, dearest Lady, pray you fear me not, +Nor think I bear that heart within my breast, +To give three gallant gentlemen to death.' +'I trust you,' said the other, 'for we two +Were always friends, none closer, elm and vine: +But yet your mother's jealous temperament-- +Let not your prudence, dearest, drowse, or prove +The Danaïd of a leaky vase, for fear +This whole foundation ruin, and I lose +My honour, these their lives.' 'Ah, fear me not' +Replied Melissa; 'no--I would not tell, +No, not for all Aspasia's cleverness, +No, not to answer, Madam, all those hard things +That Sheba came to ask of Solomon.' +'Be it so' the other, 'that we still may lead +The new light up, and culminate in peace, +For Solomon may come to Sheba yet.' +Said Cyril, 'Madam, he the wisest man +Feasted the woman wisest then, in halls +Of Lebanonian cedar: nor should you +(Though, Madam, ~you~ should answer, ~we~ would ask) +Less welcome find among us, if you came +Among us, debtors for our lives to you, +Myself for something more.' He said not what, +But 'Thanks,' she answered 'Go: we have been too long +Together: keep your hoods about the face; +They do so that affect abstraction here. +Speak little; mix not with the rest; and hold +Your promise: all, I trust, may yet be well.' + + We turned to go, but Cyril took the child, +And held her round the knees against his waist, +And blew the swollen cheek of a trumpeter, +While Psyche watched them, smiling, and the child +Pushed her flat hand against his face and laughed; +And thus our conference closed. + And then we strolled +For half the day through stately theatres +Benched crescent-wise. In each we sat, we heard +The grave Professor. On the lecture slate +The circle rounded under female hands +With flawless demonstration: followed then +A classic lecture, rich in sentiment, +With scraps of thunderous Epic lilted out +By violet-hooded Doctors, elegies +And quoted odes, and jewels five-words-long +That on the stretched forefinger of all Time +Sparkle for ever: then we dipt in all +That treats of whatsoever is, the state, +The total chronicles of man, the mind, +The morals, something of the frame, the rock, +The star, the bird, the fish, the shell, the flower, +Electric, chemic laws, and all the rest, +And whatsoever can be taught and known; +Till like three horses that have broken fence, +And glutted all night long breast-deep in corn, +We issued gorged with knowledge, and I spoke: +'Why, Sirs, they do all this as well as we.' +'They hunt old trails' said Cyril 'very well; +But when did woman ever yet invent?' +'Ungracious!' answered Florian; 'have you learnt +No more from Psyche's lecture, you that talked +The trash that made me sick, and almost sad?' +'O trash' he said, 'but with a kernel in it. +Should I not call her wise, who made me wise? +And learnt? I learnt more from her in a flash, +Than in my brainpan were an empty hull, +And every Muse tumbled a science in. +A thousand hearts lie fallow in these halls, +And round these halls a thousand baby loves +Fly twanging headless arrows at the hearts, +Whence follows many a vacant pang; but O +With me, Sir, entered in the bigger boy, +The Head of all the golden-shafted firm, +The long-limbed lad that had a Psyche too; +He cleft me through the stomacher; and now +What think you of it, Florian? do I chase +The substance or the shadow? will it hold? +I have no sorcerer's malison on me, +No ghostly hauntings like his Highness. I +Flatter myself that always everywhere +I know the substance when I see it. Well, +Are castles shadows? Three of them? Is she +The sweet proprietress a shadow? If not, +Shall those three castles patch my tattered coat? +For dear are those three castles to my wants, +And dear is sister Psyche to my heart, +And two dear things are one of double worth, +And much I might have said, but that my zone +Unmanned me: then the Doctors! O to hear +The Doctors! O to watch the thirsty plants +Imbibing! once or twice I thought to roar, +To break my chain, to shake my mane: but thou, +Modulate me, Soul of mincing mimicry! +Make liquid treble of that bassoon, my throat; +Abase those eyes that ever loved to meet +Star-sisters answering under crescent brows; +Abate the stride, which speaks of man, and loose +A flying charm of blushes o'er this cheek, +Where they like swallows coming out of time +Will wonder why they came: but hark the bell +For dinner, let us go!' + And in we streamed +Among the columns, pacing staid and still +By twos and threes, till all from end to end +With beauties every shade of brown and fair +In colours gayer than the morning mist, +The long hall glittered like a bed of flowers. +How might a man not wander from his wits +Pierced through with eyes, but that I kept mine own +Intent on her, who rapt in glorious dreams, +The second-sight of some Astræan age, +Sat compassed with professors: they, the while, +Discussed a doubt and tost it to and fro: +A clamour thickened, mixt with inmost terms +Of art and science: Lady Blanche alone +Of faded form and haughtiest lineaments, +With all her autumn tresses falsely brown, +Shot sidelong daggers at us, a tiger-cat +In act to spring. + At last a solemn grace +Concluded, and we sought the gardens: there +One walked reciting by herself, and one +In this hand held a volume as to read, +And smoothed a petted peacock down with that: +Some to a low song oared a shallop by, +Or under arches of the marble bridge +Hung, shadowed from the heat: some hid and sought +In the orange thickets: others tost a ball +Above the fountain-jets, and back again +With laughter: others lay about the lawns, +Of the older sort, and murmured that their May +Was passing: what was learning unto them? +They wished to marry; they could rule a house; +Men hated learned women: but we three +Sat muffled like the Fates; and often came +Melissa hitting all we saw with shafts +Of gentle satire, kin to charity, +That harmed not: then day droopt; the chapel bells +Called us: we left the walks; we mixt with those +Six hundred maidens clad in purest white, +Before two streams of light from wall to wall, +While the great organ almost burst his pipes, +Groaning for power, and rolling through the court +A long melodious thunder to the sound +Of solemn psalms, and silver litanies, +The work of Ida, to call down from Heaven +A blessing on her labours for the world. + + +Sweet and low, sweet and low, + Wind of the western sea, +Low, low, breathe and blow, + Wind of the western sea! +Over the rolling waters go, +Come from the dying moon, and blow, + Blow him again to me; +While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. + +Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, + Father will come to thee soon; +Rest, rest, on mother's breast, + Father will come to thee soon; +Father will come to his babe in the nest, +Silver sails all out of the west + Under the silver moon: +Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. + + + + +III + + + +Morn in the wake of the morning star +Came furrowing all the orient into gold. +We rose, and each by other drest with care +Descended to the court that lay three parts +In shadow, but the Muses' heads were touched +Above the darkness from their native East. + + There while we stood beside the fount, and watched +Or seemed to watch the dancing bubble, approached +Melissa, tinged with wan from lack of sleep, +Or grief, and glowing round her dewy eyes +The circled Iris of a night of tears; +'And fly,' she cried, 'O fly, while yet you may! +My mother knows:' and when I asked her 'how,' +'My fault' she wept 'my fault! and yet not mine; +Yet mine in part. O hear me, pardon me. +My mother, 'tis her wont from night to night +To rail at Lady Psyche and her side. +She says the Princess should have been the Head, +Herself and Lady Psyche the two arms; +And so it was agreed when first they came; +But Lady Psyche was the right hand now, +And the left, or not, or seldom used; +Hers more than half the students, all the love. +And so last night she fell to canvass you: +~Her~ countrywomen! she did not envy her. +"Who ever saw such wild barbarians? +Girls?--more like men!" and at these words the snake, +My secret, seemed to stir within my breast; +And oh, Sirs, could I help it, but my cheek +Began to burn and burn, and her lynx eye +To fix and make me hotter, till she laughed: +"O marvellously modest maiden, you! +Men! girls, like men! why, if they had been men +You need not set your thoughts in rubric thus +For wholesale comment." Pardon, I am shamed +That I must needs repeat for my excuse +What looks so little graceful: "men" (for still +My mother went revolving on the word) +"And so they are,--very like men indeed-- +And with that woman closeted for hours!" +Then came these dreadful words out one by one, +"Why--these--~are~--men:" I shuddered: "and you know it." +"O ask me nothing," I said: "And she knows too, +And she conceals it." So my mother clutched +The truth at once, but with no word from me; +And now thus early risen she goes to inform +The Princess: Lady Psyche will be crushed; +But you may yet be saved, and therefore fly; +But heal me with your pardon ere you go.' + + 'What pardon, sweet Melissa, for a blush?' +Said Cyril: 'Pale one, blush again: than wear +Those lilies, better blush our lives away. +Yet let us breathe for one hour more in Heaven' +He added, 'lest some classic Angel speak +In scorn of us, "They mounted, Ganymedes, +To tumble, Vulcans, on the second morn." +But I will melt this marble into wax +To yield us farther furlough:' and he went. + + Melissa shook her doubtful curls, and thought +He scarce would prosper. 'Tell us,' Florian asked, +'How grew this feud betwixt the right and left.' +'O long ago,' she said, 'betwixt these two +Division smoulders hidden; 'tis my mother, +Too jealous, often fretful as the wind +Pent in a crevice: much I bear with her: +I never knew my father, but she says +(God help her) she was wedded to a fool; +And still she railed against the state of things. +She had the care of Lady Ida's youth, +And from the Queen's decease she brought her up. +But when your sister came she won the heart +Of Ida: they were still together, grew +(For so they said themselves) inosculated; +Consonant chords that shiver to one note; +One mind in all things: yet my mother still +Affirms your Psyche thieved her theories, +And angled with them for her pupil's love: +She calls her plagiarist; I know not what: +But I must go: I dare not tarry,' and light, +As flies the shadow of a bird, she fled. + + Then murmured Florian gazing after her, +'An open-hearted maiden, true and pure. +If I could love, why this were she: how pretty +Her blushing was, and how she blushed again, +As if to close with Cyril's random wish: +Not like your Princess crammed with erring pride, +Nor like poor Psyche whom she drags in tow.' + + 'The crane,' I said, 'may chatter of the crane, +The dove may murmur of the dove, but I +An eagle clang an eagle to the sphere. +My princess, O my princess! true she errs, +But in her own grand way: being herself +Three times more noble than three score of men, +She sees herself in every woman else, +And so she wears her error like a crown +To blind the truth and me: for her, and her, +Hebes are they to hand ambrosia, mix +The nectar; but--ah she--whene'er she moves +The Samian Herè rises and she speaks +A Memnon smitten with the morning Sun.' + + So saying from the court we paced, and gained +The terrace ranged along the Northern front, +And leaning there on those balusters, high +Above the empurpled champaign, drank the gale +That blown about the foliage underneath, +And sated with the innumerable rose, +Beat balm upon our eyelids. Hither came +Cyril, and yawning 'O hard task,' he cried; +'No fighting shadows here! I forced a way +Through opposition crabbed and gnarled. +Better to clear prime forests, heave and thump +A league of street in summer solstice down, +Than hammer at this reverend gentlewoman. +I knocked and, bidden, entered; found her there +At point to move, and settled in her eyes +The green malignant light of coming storm. +Sir, I was courteous, every phrase well-oiled, +As man's could be; yet maiden-meek I prayed +Concealment: she demanded who we were, +And why we came? I fabled nothing fair, +But, your example pilot, told her all. +Up went the hushed amaze of hand and eye. +But when I dwelt upon your old affiance, +She answered sharply that I talked astray. +I urged the fierce inscription on the gate, +And our three lives. True--we had limed ourselves +With open eyes, and we must take the chance. +But such extremes, I told her, well might harm +The woman's cause. "Not more than now," she said, +"So puddled as it is with favouritism." +I tried the mother's heart. Shame might befall +Melissa, knowing, saying not she knew: +Her answer was "Leave me to deal with that." +I spoke of war to come and many deaths, +And she replied, her duty was to speak, +And duty duty, clear of consequences. +I grew discouraged, Sir; but since I knew +No rock so hard but that a little wave +May beat admission in a thousand years, +I recommenced; "Decide not ere you pause. +I find you here but in the second place, +Some say the third--the authentic foundress you. +I offer boldly: we will seat you highest: +Wink at our advent: help my prince to gain +His rightful bride, and here I promise you +Some palace in our land, where you shall reign +The head and heart of all our fair she-world, +And your great name flow on with broadening time +For ever." Well, she balanced this a little, +And told me she would answer us today, +meantime be mute: thus much, nor more I gained.' + + He ceasing, came a message from the Head. +'That afternoon the Princess rode to take +The dip of certain strata to the North. +Would we go with her? we should find the land +Worth seeing; and the river made a fall +Out yonder:' then she pointed on to where +A double hill ran up his furrowy forks +Beyond the thick-leaved platans of the vale. + + Agreed to, this, the day fled on through all +Its range of duties to the appointed hour. +Then summoned to the porch we went. She stood +Among her maidens, higher by the head, +Her back against a pillar, her foot on one +Of those tame leopards. Kittenlike he rolled +And pawed about her sandal. I drew near; +I gazed. On a sudden my strange seizure came +Upon me, the weird vision of our house: +The Princess Ida seemed a hollow show, +Her gay-furred cats a painted fantasy, +Her college and her maidens, empty masks, +And I myself the shadow of a dream, +For all things were and were not. Yet I felt +My heart beat thick with passion and with awe; +Then from my breast the involuntary sigh +Brake, as she smote me with the light of eyes +That lent my knee desire to kneel, and shook +My pulses, till to horse we got, and so +Went forth in long retinue following up +The river as it narrowed to the hills. + + I rode beside her and to me she said: +'O friend, we trust that you esteemed us not +Too harsh to your companion yestermorn; +Unwillingly we spake.' 'No--not to her,' +I answered, 'but to one of whom we spake +Your Highness might have seemed the thing you say.' +'Again?' she cried, 'are you ambassadresses +From him to me? we give you, being strange, +A license: speak, and let the topic die.' + + I stammered that I knew him--could have wished-- +'Our king expects--was there no precontract? +There is no truer-hearted--ah, you seem +All he prefigured, and he could not see +The bird of passage flying south but longed +To follow: surely, if your Highness keep +Your purport, you will shock him even to death, +Or baser courses, children of despair.' + + 'Poor boy,' she said, 'can he not read--no books? +Quoit, tennis, ball--no games? nor deals in that +Which men delight in, martial exercise? +To nurse a blind ideal like a girl, +Methinks he seems no better than a girl; +As girls were once, as we ourself have been: +We had our dreams; perhaps he mixt with them: +We touch on our dead self, nor shun to do it, +Being other--since we learnt our meaning here, +To lift the woman's fallen divinity +Upon an even pedestal with man.' + + She paused, and added with a haughtier smile +'And as to precontracts, we move, my friend, +At no man's beck, but know ourself and thee, +O Vashti, noble Vashti! Summoned out +She kept her state, and left the drunken king +To brawl at Shushan underneath the palms.' + + 'Alas your Highness breathes full East,' I said, +'On that which leans to you. I know the Prince, +I prize his truth: and then how vast a work +To assail this gray preëminence of man! +You grant me license; might I use it? think; +Ere half be done perchance your life may fail; +Then comes the feebler heiress of your plan, +And takes and ruins all; and thus your pains +May only make that footprint upon sand +Which old-recurring waves of prejudice +Resmooth to nothing: might I dread that you, +With only Fame for spouse and your great deeds +For issue, yet may live in vain, and miss, +Meanwhile, what every woman counts her due, +Love, children, happiness?' + And she exclaimed, +'Peace, you young savage of the Northern wild! +What! though your Prince's love were like a God's, +Have we not made ourself the sacrifice? +You are bold indeed: we are not talked to thus: +Yet will we say for children, would they grew +Like field-flowers everywhere! we like them well: +But children die; and let me tell you, girl, +Howe'er you babble, great deeds cannot die; +They with the sun and moon renew their light +For ever, blessing those that look on them. +Children--that men may pluck them from our hearts, +Kill us with pity, break us with ourselves-- +O--children--there is nothing upon earth +More miserable than she that has a son +And sees him err: nor would we work for fame; +Though she perhaps might reap the applause of Great, +Who earns the one POU STO whence after-hands +May move the world, though she herself effect +But little: wherefore up and act, nor shrink +For fear our solid aim be dissipated +By frail successors. Would, indeed, we had been, +In lieu of many mortal flies, a race +Of giants living, each, a thousand years, +That we might see our own work out, and watch +The sandy footprint harden into stone.' + + I answered nothing, doubtful in myself +If that strange Poet-princess with her grand +Imaginations might at all be won. +And she broke out interpreting my thoughts: + + 'No doubt we seem a kind of monster to you; +We are used to that: for women, up till this +Cramped under worse than South-sea-isle taboo, +Dwarfs of the gynæceum, fail so far +In high desire, they know not, cannot guess +How much their welfare is a passion to us. +If we could give them surer, quicker proof-- +Oh if our end were less achievable +By slow approaches, than by single act +Of immolation, any phase of death, +We were as prompt to spring against the pikes, +Or down the fiery gulf as talk of it, +To compass our dear sisters' liberties.' + + She bowed as if to veil a noble tear; +And up we came to where the river sloped +To plunge in cataract, shattering on black blocks +A breadth of thunder. O'er it shook the woods, +And danced the colour, and, below, stuck out +The bones of some vast bulk that lived and roared +Before man was. She gazed awhile and said, +'As these rude bones to us, are we to her +That will be.' 'Dare we dream of that,' I asked, +'Which wrought us, as the workman and his work, +That practice betters?' 'How,' she cried, 'you love +The metaphysics! read and earn our prize, +A golden brooch: beneath an emerald plane +Sits Diotima, teaching him that died +Of hemlock; our device; wrought to the life; +She rapt upon her subject, he on her: +For there are schools for all.' 'And yet' I said +'Methinks I have not found among them all +One anatomic.' 'Nay, we thought of that,' +She answered, 'but it pleased us not: in truth +We shudder but to dream our maids should ape +Those monstrous males that carve the living hound, +And cram him with the fragments of the grave, +Or in the dark dissolving human heart, +And holy secrets of this microcosm, +Dabbling a shameless hand with shameful jest, +Encarnalize their spirits: yet we know +Knowledge is knowledge, and this matter hangs: +Howbeit ourself, foreseeing casualty, +Nor willing men should come among us, learnt, +For many weary moons before we came, +This craft of healing. Were you sick, ourself +Would tend upon you. To your question now, +Which touches on the workman and his work. +Let there be light and there was light: 'tis so: +For was, and is, and will be, are but is; +And all creation is one act at once, +The birth of light: but we that are not all, +As parts, can see but parts, now this, now that, +And live, perforce, from thought to thought, and make +One act a phantom of succession: thus +Our weakness somehow shapes the shadow, Time; +But in the shadow will we work, and mould +The woman to the fuller day.' + She spake +With kindled eyes; we rode a league beyond, +And, o'er a bridge of pinewood crossing, came +On flowery levels underneath the crag, +Full of all beauty. 'O how sweet' I said +(For I was half-oblivious of my mask) +'To linger here with one that loved us.' 'Yea,' +She answered, 'or with fair philosophies +That lift the fancy; for indeed these fields +Are lovely, lovelier not the Elysian lawns, +Where paced the Demigods of old, and saw +The soft white vapour streak the crownèd towers +Built to the Sun:' then, turning to her maids, +'Pitch our pavilion here upon the sward; +Lay out the viands.' At the word, they raised +A tent of satin, elaborately wrought +With fair Corinna's triumph; here she stood, +Engirt with many a florid maiden-cheek, +The woman-conqueror; woman-conquered there +The bearded Victor of ten-thousand hymns, +And all the men mourned at his side: but we +Set forth to climb; then, climbing, Cyril kept +With Psyche, with Melissa Florian, I +With mine affianced. Many a little hand +Glanced like a touch of sunshine on the rocks, +Many a light foot shone like a jewel set +In the dark crag: and then we turned, we wound +About the cliffs, the copses, out and in, +Hammering and clinking, chattering stony names +Of shales and hornblende, rag and trap and tuff, +Amygdaloid and trachyte, till the Sun +Grew broader toward his death and fell, and all +The rosy heights came out above the lawns. + + + The splendour falls on castle walls + And snowy summits old in story: + The long light shakes across the lakes, + And the wild cataract leaps in glory. +Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, +Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. + + O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, + And thinner, clearer, farther going! + O sweet and far from cliff and scar + The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! +Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: +Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. + + O love, they die in yon rich sky, + They faint on hill or field or river: + Our echoes roll from soul to soul, + And grow for ever and for ever. +Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, +And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. + + + + +IV + + + +'There sinks the nebulous star we call the Sun, +If that hypothesis of theirs be sound' +Said Ida; 'let us down and rest;' and we +Down from the lean and wrinkled precipices, +By every coppice-feathered chasm and cleft, +Dropt through the ambrosial gloom to where below +No bigger than a glow-worm shone the tent +Lamp-lit from the inner. Once she leaned on me, +Descending; once or twice she lent her hand, +And blissful palpitations in the blood, +Stirring a sudden transport rose and fell. + + But when we planted level feet, and dipt +Beneath the satin dome and entered in, +There leaning deep in broidered down we sank +Our elbows: on a tripod in the midst +A fragrant flame rose, and before us glowed +Fruit, blossom, viand, amber wine, and gold. + + Then she, 'Let some one sing to us: lightlier move +The minutes fledged with music:' and a maid, +Of those beside her, smote her harp, and sang. + + + 'Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, +Tears from the depth of some divine despair +Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, +In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, +And thinking of the days that are no more. + + 'Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, +That brings our friends up from the underworld, +Sad as the last which reddens over one +That sinks with all we love below the verge; +So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. + + 'Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns +The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds +To dying ears, when unto dying eyes +The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; +So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. + + 'Dear as remembered kisses after death, +And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned +On lips that are for others; deep as love, +Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; +O Death in Life, the days that are no more.' + + + She ended with such passion that the tear, +She sang of, shook and fell, an erring pearl +Lost in her bosom: but with some disdain +Answered the Princess, 'If indeed there haunt +About the mouldered lodges of the Past +So sweet a voice and vague, fatal to men, +Well needs it we should cram our ears with wool +And so pace by: but thine are fancies hatched +In silken-folded idleness; nor is it +Wiser to weep a true occasion lost, +But trim our sails, and let old bygones be, +While down the streams that float us each and all +To the issue, goes, like glittering bergs of ice, +Throne after throne, and molten on the waste +Becomes a cloud: for all things serve their time +Toward that great year of equal mights and rights, +Nor would I fight with iron laws, in the end +Found golden: let the past be past; let be +Their cancelled Babels: though the rough kex break +The starred mosaic, and the beard-blown goat +Hang on the shaft, and the wild figtree split +Their monstrous idols, care not while we hear +A trumpet in the distance pealing news +Of better, and Hope, a poising eagle, burns +Above the unrisen morrow:' then to me; +'Know you no song of your own land,' she said, +'Not such as moans about the retrospect, +But deals with the other distance and the hues +Of promise; not a death's-head at the wine.' + + Then I remembered one myself had made, +What time I watched the swallow winging south +From mine own land, part made long since, and part +Now while I sang, and maidenlike as far +As I could ape their treble, did I sing. + + + 'O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South, +Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves, +And tell her, tell her, what I tell to thee. + + 'O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each, +That bright and fierce and fickle is the South, +And dark and true and tender is the North. + + 'O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and light +Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill, +And cheep and twitter twenty million loves. + + 'O were I thou that she might take me in, +And lay me on her bosom, and her heart +Would rock the snowy cradle till I died. + + 'Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love, +Delaying as the tender ash delays +To clothe herself, when all the woods are green? + + 'O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown: +Say to her, I do but wanton in the South, +But in the North long since my nest is made. + + 'O tell her, brief is life but love is long, +And brief the sun of summer in the North, +And brief the moon of beauty in the South. + + 'O Swallow, flying from the golden woods, +Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine, +And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee.' + + + I ceased, and all the ladies, each at each, +Like the Ithacensian suitors in old time, +Stared with great eyes, and laughed with alien lips, +And knew not what they meant; for still my voice +Rang false: but smiling 'Not for thee,' she said, +O Bulbul, any rose of Gulistan +Shall burst her veil: marsh-divers, rather, maid, +Shall croak thee sister, or the meadow-crake +Grate her harsh kindred in the grass: and this +A mere love-poem! O for such, my friend, +We hold them slight: they mind us of the time +When we made bricks in Egypt. Knaves are men, +That lute and flute fantastic tenderness, +And dress the victim to the offering up, +And paint the gates of Hell with Paradise, +And play the slave to gain the tyranny. +Poor soul! I had a maid of honour once; +She wept her true eyes blind for such a one, +A rogue of canzonets and serenades. +I loved her. Peace be with her. She is dead. +So they blaspheme the muse! But great is song +Used to great ends: ourself have often tried +Valkyrian hymns, or into rhythm have dashed +The passion of the prophetess; for song +Is duer unto freedom, force and growth +Of spirit than to junketing and love. +Love is it? Would this same mock-love, and this +Mock-Hymen were laid up like winter bats, +Till all men grew to rate us at our worth, +Not vassals to be beat, nor pretty babes +To be dandled, no, but living wills, and sphered +Whole in ourselves and owed to none. Enough! +But now to leaven play with profit, you, +Know you no song, the true growth of your soil, +That gives the manners of your country-women?' + + She spoke and turned her sumptuous head with eyes +Of shining expectation fixt on mine. +Then while I dragged my brains for such a song, +Cyril, with whom the bell-mouthed glass had wrought, +Or mastered by the sense of sport, began +To troll a careless, careless tavern-catch +Of Moll and Meg, and strange experiences +Unmeet for ladies. Florian nodded at him, +I frowning; Psyche flushed and wanned and shook; +The lilylike Melissa drooped her brows; +'Forbear,' the Princess cried; 'Forbear, Sir' I; +And heated through and through with wrath and love, +I smote him on the breast; he started up; +There rose a shriek as of a city sacked; +Melissa clamoured 'Flee the death;' 'To horse' +Said Ida; 'home! to horse!' and fled, as flies +A troop of snowy doves athwart the dusk, +When some one batters at the dovecote-doors, +Disorderly the women. Alone I stood +With Florian, cursing Cyril, vext at heart, +In the pavilion: there like parting hopes +I heard them passing from me: hoof by hoof, +And every hoof a knell to my desires, +Clanged on the bridge; and then another shriek, +'The Head, the Head, the Princess, O the Head!' +For blind with rage she missed the plank, and rolled +In the river. Out I sprang from glow to gloom: +There whirled her white robe like a blossomed branch +Rapt to the horrible fall: a glance I gave, +No more; but woman-vested as I was +Plunged; and the flood drew; yet I caught her; then +Oaring one arm, and bearing in my left +The weight of all the hopes of half the world, +Strove to buffet to land in vain. A tree +Was half-disrooted from his place and stooped +To wrench his dark locks in the gurgling wave +Mid-channel. Right on this we drove and caught, +And grasping down the boughs I gained the shore. + + There stood her maidens glimmeringly grouped +In the hollow bank. One reaching forward drew +My burthen from mine arms; they cried 'she lives:' +They bore her back into the tent: but I, +So much a kind of shame within me wrought, +Not yet endured to meet her opening eyes, +Nor found my friends; but pushed alone on foot +(For since her horse was lost I left her mine) +Across the woods, and less from Indian craft +Than beelike instinct hiveward, found at length +The garden portals. Two great statues, Art +And Science, Caryatids, lifted up +A weight of emblem, and betwixt were valves +Of open-work in which the hunter rued +His rash intrusion, manlike, but his brows +Had sprouted, and the branches thereupon +Spread out at top, and grimly spiked the gates. + + A little space was left between the horns, +Through which I clambered o'er at top with pain, +Dropt on the sward, and up the linden walks, +And, tost on thoughts that changed from hue to hue, +Now poring on the glowworm, now the star, +I paced the terrace, till the Bear had wheeled +Through a great arc his seven slow suns. + A step +Of lightest echo, then a loftier form +Than female, moving through the uncertain gloom, +Disturbed me with the doubt 'if this were she,' +But it was Florian. 'Hist O Hist,' he said, +'They seek us: out so late is out of rules. +Moreover "seize the strangers" is the cry. +How came you here?' I told him: 'I' said he, +'Last of the train, a moral leper, I, +To whom none spake, half-sick at heart, returned. +Arriving all confused among the rest +With hooded brows I crept into the hall, +And, couched behind a Judith, underneath +The head of Holofernes peeped and saw. +Girl after girl was called to trial: each +Disclaimed all knowledge of us: last of all, +Melissa: trust me, Sir, I pitied her. +She, questioned if she knew us men, at first +Was silent; closer prest, denied it not: +And then, demanded if her mother knew, +Or Psyche, she affirmed not, or denied: +From whence the Royal mind, familiar with her, +Easily gathered either guilt. She sent +For Psyche, but she was not there; she called +For Psyche's child to cast it from the doors; +She sent for Blanche to accuse her face to face; +And I slipt out: but whither will you now? +And where are Psyche, Cyril? both are fled: +What, if together? that were not so well. +Would rather we had never come! I dread +His wildness, and the chances of the dark.' + + 'And yet,' I said, 'you wrong him more than I +That struck him: this is proper to the clown, +Though smocked, or furred and purpled, still the clown, +To harm the thing that trusts him, and to shame +That which he says he loves: for Cyril, howe'er +He deal in frolic, as tonight--the song +Might have been worse and sinned in grosser lips +Beyond all pardon--as it is, I hold +These flashes on the surface are not he. +He has a solid base of temperament: +But as the waterlily starts and slides +Upon the level in little puffs of wind, +Though anchored to the bottom, such is he.' + + Scarce had I ceased when from a tamarisk near +Two Proctors leapt upon us, crying, 'Names:' +He, standing still, was clutched; but I began +To thrid the musky-circled mazes, wind +And double in and out the boles, and race +By all the fountains: fleet I was of foot: +Before me showered the rose in flakes; behind +I heard the puffed pursuer; at mine ear +Bubbled the nightingale and heeded not, +And secret laughter tickled all my soul. +At last I hooked my ankle in a vine, +That claspt the feet of a Mnemosyne, +And falling on my face was caught and known. + + They haled us to the Princess where she sat +High in the hall: above her drooped a lamp, +And made the single jewel on her brow +Burn like the mystic fire on a mast-head, +Prophet of storm: a handmaid on each side +Bowed toward her, combing out her long black hair +Damp from the river; and close behind her stood +Eight daughters of the plough, stronger than men, +Huge women blowzed with health, and wind, and rain, +And labour. Each was like a Druid rock; +Or like a spire of land that stands apart +Cleft from the main, and wailed about with mews. + + Then, as we came, the crowd dividing clove +An advent to the throne: and therebeside, +Half-naked as if caught at once from bed +And tumbled on the purple footcloth, lay +The lily-shining child; and on the left, +Bowed on her palms and folded up from wrong, +Her round white shoulder shaken with her sobs, +Melissa knelt; but Lady Blanche erect +Stood up and spake, an affluent orator. + + 'It was not thus, O Princess, in old days: +You prized my counsel, lived upon my lips: +I led you then to all the Castalies; +I fed you with the milk of every Muse; +I loved you like this kneeler, and you me +Your second mother: those were gracious times. +Then came your new friend: you began to change-- +I saw it and grieved--to slacken and to cool; +Till taken with her seeming openness +You turned your warmer currents all to her, +To me you froze: this was my meed for all. +Yet I bore up in part from ancient love, +And partly that I hoped to win you back, +And partly conscious of my own deserts, +And partly that you were my civil head, +And chiefly you were born for something great, +In which I might your fellow-worker be, +When time should serve; and thus a noble scheme +Grew up from seed we two long since had sown; +In us true growth, in her a Jonah's gourd, +Up in one night and due to sudden sun: +We took this palace; but even from the first +You stood in your own light and darkened mine. +What student came but that you planed her path +To Lady Psyche, younger, not so wise, +A foreigner, and I your countrywoman, +I your old friend and tried, she new in all? +But still her lists were swelled and mine were lean; +Yet I bore up in hope she would be known: +Then came these wolves: ~they~ knew her: ~they~ endured, +Long-closeted with her the yestermorn, +To tell her what they were, and she to hear: +And me none told: not less to an eye like mine +A lidless watcher of the public weal, +Last night, their mask was patent, and my foot +Was to you: but I thought again: I feared +To meet a cold "We thank you, we shall hear of it +From Lady Psyche:" you had gone to her, +She told, perforce; and winning easy grace +No doubt, for slight delay, remained among us +In our young nursery still unknown, the stem +Less grain than touchwood, while my honest heat +Were all miscounted as malignant haste +To push my rival out of place and power. +But public use required she should be known; +And since my oath was ta'en for public use, +I broke the letter of it to keep the sense. +I spoke not then at first, but watched them well, +Saw that they kept apart, no mischief done; +And yet this day (though you should hate me for it) +I came to tell you; found that you had gone, +Ridden to the hills, she likewise: now, I thought, +That surely she will speak; if not, then I: +Did she? These monsters blazoned what they were, +According to the coarseness of their kind, +For thus I hear; and known at last (my work) +And full of cowardice and guilty shame, +I grant in her some sense of shame, she flies; +And I remain on whom to wreak your rage, +I, that have lent my life to build up yours, +I that have wasted here health, wealth, and time, +And talent, I--you know it--I will not boast: +Dismiss me, and I prophesy your plan, +Divorced from my experience, will be chaff +For every gust of chance, and men will say +We did not know the real light, but chased +The wisp that flickers where no foot can tread.' + + She ceased: the Princess answered coldly, 'Good: +Your oath is broken: we dismiss you: go. +For this lost lamb (she pointed to the child) +Our mind is changed: we take it to ourself.' + + Thereat the Lady stretched a vulture throat, +And shot from crooked lips a haggard smile. +'The plan was mine. I built the nest' she said +'To hatch the cuckoo. Rise!' and stooped to updrag +Melissa: she, half on her mother propt, +Half-drooping from her, turned her face, and cast +A liquid look on Ida, full of prayer, +Which melted Florian's fancy as she hung, +A Niobëan daughter, one arm out, +Appealing to the bolts of Heaven; and while +We gazed upon her came a little stir +About the doors, and on a sudden rushed +Among us, out of breath as one pursued, +A woman-post in flying raiment. Fear +Stared in her eyes, and chalked her face, and winged +Her transit to the throne, whereby she fell +Delivering sealed dispatches which the Head +Took half-amazed, and in her lion's mood +Tore open, silent we with blind surmise +Regarding, while she read, till over brow +And cheek and bosom brake the wrathful bloom +As of some fire against a stormy cloud, +When the wild peasant rights himself, the rick +Flames, and his anger reddens in the heavens; +For anger most it seemed, while now her breast, +Beaten with some great passion at her heart, +Palpitated, her hand shook, and we heard +In the dead hush the papers that she held +Rustle: at once the lost lamb at her feet +Sent out a bitter bleating for its dam; +The plaintive cry jarred on her ire; she crushed +The scrolls together, made a sudden turn +As if to speak, but, utterance failing her, +She whirled them on to me, as who should say +'Read,' and I read--two letters--one her sire's. + + 'Fair daughter, when we sent the Prince your way, +We knew not your ungracious laws, which learnt, +We, conscious of what temper you are built, +Came all in haste to hinder wrong, but fell +Into his father's hands, who has this night, +You lying close upon his territory, +Slipt round and in the dark invested you, +And here he keeps me hostage for his son.' + + The second was my father's running thus: +'You have our son: touch not a hair of his head: +Render him up unscathed: give him your hand: +Cleave to your contract: though indeed we hear +You hold the woman is the better man; +A rampant heresy, such as if it spread +Would make all women kick against their Lords +Through all the world, and which might well deserve +That we this night should pluck your palace down; +And we will do it, unless you send us back +Our son, on the instant, whole.' + So far I read; +And then stood up and spoke impetuously. + + 'O not to pry and peer on your reserve, +But led by golden wishes, and a hope +The child of regal compact, did I break +Your precinct; not a scorner of your sex +But venerator, zealous it should be +All that it might be: hear me, for I bear, +Though man, yet human, whatsoe'er your wrongs, +From the flaxen curl to the gray lock a life +Less mine than yours: my nurse would tell me of you; +I babbled for you, as babies for the moon, +Vague brightness; when a boy, you stooped to me +From all high places, lived in all fair lights, +Came in long breezes rapt from inmost south +And blown to inmost north; at eve and dawn +With Ida, Ida, Ida, rang the woods; +The leader wildswan in among the stars +Would clang it, and lapt in wreaths of glowworm light +The mellow breaker murmured Ida. Now, +Because I would have reached you, had you been +Sphered up with Cassiopëia, or the enthroned +Persephonè in Hades, now at length, +Those winters of abeyance all worn out, +A man I came to see you: but indeed, +Not in this frequence can I lend full tongue, +O noble Ida, to those thoughts that wait +On you, their centre: let me say but this, +That many a famous man and woman, town +And landskip, have I heard of, after seen +The dwarfs of presage: though when known, there grew +Another kind of beauty in detail +Made them worth knowing; but in your I found +My boyish dream involved and dazzled down +And mastered, while that after-beauty makes +Such head from act to act, from hour to hour, +Within me, that except you slay me here, +According to your bitter statute-book, +I cannot cease to follow you, as they say +The seal does music; who desire you more +Than growing boys their manhood; dying lips, +With many thousand matters left to do, +The breath of life; O more than poor men wealth, +Than sick men health--yours, yours, not mine--but half +Without you; with you, whole; and of those halves +You worthiest; and howe'er you block and bar +Your heart with system out from mine, I hold +That it becomes no man to nurse despair, +But in the teeth of clenched antagonisms +To follow up the worthiest till he die: +Yet that I came not all unauthorized +Behold your father's letter.' + On one knee +Kneeling, I gave it, which she caught, and dashed +Unopened at her feet: a tide of fierce +Invective seemed to wait behind her lips, +As waits a river level with the dam +Ready to burst and flood the world with foam: +And so she would have spoken, but there rose +A hubbub in the court of half the maids +Gathered together: from the illumined hall +Long lanes of splendour slanted o'er a press +Of snowy shoulders, thick as herded ewes, +And rainbow robes, and gems and gemlike eyes, +And gold and golden heads; they to and fro +Fluctuated, as flowers in storm, some red, some pale, +All open-mouthed, all gazing to the light, +Some crying there was an army in the land, +And some that men were in the very walls, +And some they cared not; till a clamour grew +As of a new-world Babel, woman-built, +And worse-confounded: high above them stood +The placid marble Muses, looking peace. + + Not peace she looked, the Head: but rising up +Robed in the long night of her deep hair, so +To the open window moved, remaining there +Fixt like a beacon-tower above the waves +Of tempest, when the crimson-rolling eye +Glares ruin, and the wild birds on the light +Dash themselves dead. She stretched her arms and called +Across the tumult and the tumult fell. + + 'What fear ye, brawlers? am not I your Head? +On me, me, me, the storm first breaks: ~I~ dare +All these male thunderbolts: what is it ye fear? +Peace! there are those to avenge us and they come: +If not,--myself were like enough, O girls, +To unfurl the maiden banner of our rights, +And clad in iron burst the ranks of war, +Or, falling, promartyr of our cause, +Die: yet I blame you not so much for fear: +Six thousand years of fear have made you that +From which I would redeem you: but for those +That stir this hubbub--you and you--I know +Your faces there in the crowd--tomorrow morn +We hold a great convention: then shall they +That love their voices more than duty, learn +With whom they deal, dismissed in shame to live +No wiser than their mothers, household stuff, +Live chattels, mincers of each other's fame, +Full of weak poison, turnspits for the clown, +The drunkard's football, laughing-stocks of Time, +Whose brains are in their hands and in their heels +But fit to flaunt, to dress, to dance, to thrum, +To tramp, to scream, to burnish, and to scour, +For ever slaves at home and fools abroad.' + + She, ending, waved her hands: thereat the crowd +Muttering, dissolved: then with a smile, that looked +A stroke of cruel sunshine on the cliff, +When all the glens are drowned in azure gloom +Of thunder-shower, she floated to us and said: + + 'You have done well and like a gentleman, +And like a prince: you have our thanks for all: +And you look well too in your woman's dress: +Well have you done and like a gentleman. +You saved our life: we owe you bitter thanks: +Better have died and spilt our bones in the flood-- +Then men had said--but now--What hinders me +To take such bloody vengeance on you both?-- +Yet since our father--Wasps in our good hive, +You would-be quenchers of the light to be, +Barbarians, grosser than your native bears-- +O would I had his sceptre for one hour! +You that have dared to break our bound, and gulled +Our servants, wronged and lied and thwarted us-- +~I~ wed with thee! ~I~ bound by precontract +Your bride, our bondslave! not though all the gold +That veins the world were packed to make your crown, +And every spoken tongue should lord you. Sir, +Your falsehood and yourself are hateful to us: +I trample on your offers and on you: +Begone: we will not look upon you more. +Here, push them out at gates.' + In wrath she spake. +Then those eight mighty daughters of the plough +Bent their broad faces toward us and addressed +Their motion: twice I sought to plead my cause, +But on my shoulder hung their heavy hands, +The weight of destiny: so from her face +They pushed us, down the steps, and through the court, +And with grim laughter thrust us out at gates. + + We crossed the street and gained a petty mound +Beyond it, whence we saw the lights and heard the voices murmuring. While I listened, came +On a sudden the weird seizure and the doubt: +I seemed to move among a world of ghosts; +The Princess with her monstrous woman-guard, +The jest and earnest working side by side, +The cataract and the tumult and the kings +Were shadows; and the long fantastic night +With all its doings had and had not been, +And all things were and were not. + This went by +As strangely as it came, and on my spirits +Settled a gentle cloud of melancholy; +Not long; I shook it off; for spite of doubts +And sudden ghostly shadowings I was one +To whom the touch of all mischance but came +As night to him that sitting on a hill +Sees the midsummer, midnight, Norway sun +Set into sunrise; then we moved away. + + +Thy voice is heard through rolling drums, + That beat to battle where he stands; +Thy face across his fancy comes, + And gives the battle to his hands: +A moment, while the trumpets blow, + He sees his brood about thy knee; +The next, like fire he meets the foe, + And strikes him dead for thine and thee. + + +So Lilia sang: we thought her half-possessed, +She struck such warbling fury through the words; +And, after, feigning pique at what she called +The raillery, or grotesque, or false sublime-- +Like one that wishes at a dance to change +The music--clapt her hands and cried for war, +Or some grand fight to kill and make an end: +And he that next inherited the tale +Half turning to the broken statue, said, +'Sir Ralph has got your colours: if I prove +Your knight, and fight your battle, what for me?' +It chanced, her empty glove upon the tomb +Lay by her like a model of her hand. +She took it and she flung it. 'Fight' she said, +'And make us all we would be, great and good.' +He knightlike in his cap instead of casque, +A cap of Tyrol borrowed from the hall, +Arranged the favour, and assumed the Prince. + + + + +V + + + +Now, scarce three paces measured from the mound, +We stumbled on a stationary voice, +And 'Stand, who goes?' 'Two from the palace' I. +'The second two: they wait,' he said, 'pass on; +His Highness wakes:' and one, that clashed in arms, +By glimmering lanes and walls of canvas led +Threading the soldier-city, till we heard +The drowsy folds of our great ensign shake +From blazoned lions o'er the imperial tent +Whispers of war. + Entering, the sudden light +Dazed me half-blind: I stood and seemed to hear, +As in a poplar grove when a light wind wakes +A lisping of the innumerous leaf and dies, +Each hissing in his neighbour's ear; and then +A strangled titter, out of which there brake +On all sides, clamouring etiquette to death, +Unmeasured mirth; while now the two old kings +Began to wag their baldness up and down, +The fresh young captains flashed their glittering teeth, +The huge bush-bearded Barons heaved and blew, +And slain with laughter rolled the gilded Squire. + + At length my Sire, his rough cheek wet with tears, +Panted from weary sides 'King, you are free! +We did but keep you surety for our son, +If this be he,--or a dragged mawkin, thou, +That tends to her bristled grunters in the sludge:' +For I was drenched with ooze, and torn with briers, +More crumpled than a poppy from the sheath, +And all one rag, disprinced from head to heel. +Then some one sent beneath his vaulted palm +A whispered jest to some one near him, 'Look, +He has been among his shadows.' 'Satan take +The old women and their shadows! (thus the King +Roared) make yourself a man to fight with men. +Go: Cyril told us all.' + As boys that slink +From ferule and the trespass-chiding eye, +Away we stole, and transient in a trice +From what was left of faded woman-slough +To sheathing splendours and the golden scale +Of harness, issued in the sun, that now +Leapt from the dewy shoulders of the Earth, +And hit the Northern hills. Here Cyril met us. +A little shy at first, but by and by +We twain, with mutual pardon asked and given +For stroke and song, resoldered peace, whereon +Followed his tale. Amazed he fled away +Through the dark land, and later in the night +Had come on Psyche weeping: 'then we fell +Into your father's hand, and there she lies, +But will not speak, or stir.' + He showed a tent +A stone-shot off: we entered in, and there +Among piled arms and rough accoutrements, +Pitiful sight, wrapped in a soldier's cloak, +Like some sweet sculpture draped from head to foot, +And pushed by rude hands from its pedestal, +All her fair length upon the ground she lay: +And at her head a follower of the camp, +A charred and wrinkled piece of womanhood, +Sat watching like the watcher by the dead. + + Then Florian knelt, and 'Come' he whispered to her, +'Lift up your head, sweet sister: lie not thus. +What have you done but right? you could not slay +Me, nor your prince: look up: be comforted: +Sweet is it to have done the thing one ought, +When fallen in darker ways.' And likewise I: +'Be comforted: have I not lost her too, +In whose least act abides the nameless charm +That none has else for me?' She heard, she moved, +She moaned, a folded voice; and up she sat, +And raised the cloak from brows as pale and smooth +As those that mourn half-shrouded over death +In deathless marble. 'Her,' she said, 'my friend-- +Parted from her--betrayed her cause and mine-- +Where shall I breathe? why kept ye not your faith? +O base and bad! what comfort? none for me!' +To whom remorseful Cyril, 'Yet I pray +Take comfort: live, dear lady, for your child!' +At which she lifted up her voice and cried. + + 'Ah me, my babe, my blossom, ah, my child, +My one sweet child, whom I shall see no more! +For now will cruel Ida keep her back; +And either she will die from want of care, +Or sicken with ill-usage, when they say +The child is hers--for every little fault, +The child is hers; and they will beat my girl +Remembering her mother: O my flower! +Or they will take her, they will make her hard, +And she will pass me by in after-life +With some cold reverence worse than were she dead. +Ill mother that I was to leave her there, +To lag behind, scared by the cry they made, +The horror of the shame among them all: +But I will go and sit beside the doors, +And make a wild petition night and day, +Until they hate to hear me like a wind +Wailing for ever, till they open to me, +And lay my little blossom at my feet, +My babe, my sweet Aglaïa, my one child: +And I will take her up and go my way, +And satisfy my soul with kissing her: +Ah! what might that man not deserve of me +Who gave me back my child?' 'Be comforted,' +Said Cyril, 'you shall have it:' but again +She veiled her brows, and prone she sank, and so +Like tender things that being caught feign death, +Spoke not, nor stirred. + By this a murmur ran +Through all the camp and inward raced the scouts +With rumour of Prince Arab hard at hand. +We left her by the woman, and without +Found the gray kings at parle: and 'Look you' cried +My father 'that our compact be fulfilled: +You have spoilt this child; she laughs at you and man: +She wrongs herself, her sex, and me, and him: +But red-faced war has rods of steel and fire; +She yields, or war.' + Then Gama turned to me: +'We fear, indeed, you spent a stormy time +With our strange girl: and yet they say that still +You love her. Give us, then, your mind at large: +How say you, war or not?' + 'Not war, if possible, +O king,' I said, 'lest from the abuse of war, +The desecrated shrine, the trampled year, +The smouldering homestead, and the household flower +Torn from the lintel--all the common wrong-- +A smoke go up through which I loom to her +Three times a monster: now she lightens scorn +At him that mars her plan, but then would hate +(And every voice she talked with ratify it, +And every face she looked on justify it) +The general foe. More soluble is this knot, +By gentleness than war. I want her love. +What were I nigher this although we dashed +Your cities into shards with catapults, +She would not love;--or brought her chained, a slave, +The lifting of whose eyelash is my lord, +Not ever would she love; but brooding turn +The book of scorn, till all my flitting chance +Were caught within the record of her wrongs, +And crushed to death: and rather, Sire, than this +I would the old God of war himself were dead, +Forgotten, rusting on his iron hills, +Rotting on some wild shore with ribs of wreck, +Or like an old-world mammoth bulked in ice, +Not to be molten out.' + And roughly spake +My father, 'Tut, you know them not, the girls. +Boy, when I hear you prate I almost think +That idiot legend credible. Look you, Sir! +Man is the hunter; woman is his game: +The sleek and shining creatures of the chase, +We hunt them for the beauty of their skins; +They love us for it, and we ride them down. +Wheedling and siding with them! Out! for shame! +Boy, there's no rose that's half so dear to them +As he that does the thing they dare not do, +Breathing and sounding beauteous battle, comes +With the air of the trumpet round him, and leaps in +Among the women, snares them by the score +Flattered and flustered, wins, though dashed with death +He reddens what he kisses: thus I won +You mother, a good mother, a good wife, +Worth winning; but this firebrand--gentleness +To such as her! if Cyril spake her true, +To catch a dragon in a cherry net, +To trip a tigress with a gossamer +Were wisdom to it.' + 'Yea but Sire,' I cried, +'Wild natures need wise curbs. The soldier? No: +What dares not Ida do that she should prize +The soldier? I beheld her, when she rose +The yesternight, and storming in extremes, +Stood for her cause, and flung defiance down +Gagelike to man, and had not shunned the death, +No, not the soldier's: yet I hold her, king, +True woman: you clash them all in one, +That have as many differences as we. +The violet varies from the lily as far +As oak from elm: one loves the soldier, one +The silken priest of peace, one this, one that, +And some unworthily; their sinless faith, +A maiden moon that sparkles on a sty, +Glorifying clown and satyr; whence they need +More breadth of culture: is not Ida right? +They worth it? truer to the law within? +Severer in the logic of a life? +Twice as magnetic to sweet influences +Of earth and heaven? and she of whom you speak, +My mother, looks as whole as some serene +Creation minted in the golden moods +Of sovereign artists; not a thought, a touch, +But pure as lines of green that streak the white +Of the first snowdrop's inner leaves; I say, +Not like the piebald miscellany, man, +Bursts of great heart and slips in sensual mire, +But whole and one: and take them all-in-all, +Were we ourselves but half as good, as kind, +As truthful, much that Ida claims as right +Had ne'er been mooted, but as frankly theirs +As dues of Nature. To our point: not war: +Lest I lose all.' + 'Nay, nay, you spake but sense' +Said Gama. 'We remember love ourself +In our sweet youth; we did not rate him then +This red-hot iron to be shaped with blows. +You talk almost like Ida: ~she~ can talk; +And there is something in it as you say: +But you talk kindlier: we esteem you for it.-- +He seems a gracious and a gallant Prince, +I would he had our daughter: for the rest, +Our own detention, why, the causes weighed, +Fatherly fears--you used us courteously-- +We would do much to gratify your Prince-- +We pardon it; and for your ingress here +Upon the skirt and fringe of our fair land, +you did but come as goblins in the night, +Nor in the furrow broke the ploughman's head, +Nor burnt the grange, nor bussed the milking-maid, +Nor robbed the farmer of his bowl of cream: +But let your Prince (our royal word upon it, +He comes back safe) ride with us to our lines, +And speak with Arac: Arac's word is thrice +As ours with Ida: something may be done-- +I know not what--and ours shall see us friends. +You, likewise, our late guests, if so you will, +Follow us: who knows? we four may build some plan +Foursquare to opposition.' + Here he reached +White hands of farewell to my sire, who growled +An answer which, half-muffled in his beard, +Let so much out as gave us leave to go. + + Then rode we with the old king across the lawns +Beneath huge trees, a thousand rings of Spring +In every bole, a song on every spray +Of birds that piped their Valentines, and woke +Desire in me to infuse my tale of love +In the old king's ears, who promised help, and oozed +All o'er with honeyed answer as we rode +And blossom-fragrant slipt the heavy dews +Gathered by night and peace, with each light air +On our mailed heads: but other thoughts than Peace +Burnt in us, when we saw the embattled squares, +And squadrons of the Prince, trampling the flowers +With clamour: for among them rose a cry +As if to greet the king; they made a halt; +The horses yelled; they clashed their arms; the drum +Beat; merrily-blowing shrilled the martial fife; +And in the blast and bray of the long horn +And serpent-throated bugle, undulated +The banner: anon to meet us lightly pranced +Three captains out; nor ever had I seen +Such thews of men: the midmost and the highest +Was Arac: all about his motion clung +The shadow of his sister, as the beam +Of the East, that played upon them, made them glance +Like those three stars of the airy Giant's zone, +That glitter burnished by the frosty dark; +And as the fiery Sirius alters hue, +And bickers into red and emerald, shone +Their morions, washed with morning, as they came. + + And I that prated peace, when first I heard +War-music, felt the blind wildbeast of force, +Whose home is in the sinews of a man, +Stir in me as to strike: then took the king +His three broad sons; with now a wandering hand +And now a pointed finger, told them all: +A common light of smiles at our disguise +Broke from their lips, and, ere the windy jest +Had laboured down within his ample lungs, +The genial giant, Arac, rolled himself +Thrice in the saddle, then burst out in words. + + 'Our land invaded, 'sdeath! and he himself +Your captive, yet my father wills not war: +And, 'sdeath! myself, what care I, war or no? +but then this question of your troth remains: +And there's a downright honest meaning in her; +She flies too high, she flies too high! and yet +She asked but space and fairplay for her scheme; +She prest and prest it on me--I myself, +What know I of these things? but, life and soul! +I thought her half-right talking of her wrongs; +I say she flies too high, 'sdeath! what of that? +I take her for the flower of womankind, +And so I often told her, right or wrong, +And, Prince, she can be sweet to those she loves, +And, right or wrong, I care not: this is all, +I stand upon her side: she made me swear it-- +'Sdeath--and with solemn rites by candle-light-- +Swear by St something--I forget her name-- +Her that talked down the fifty wisest men; +~She~ was a princess too; and so I swore. +Come, this is all; she will not: waive your claim: +If not, the foughten field, what else, at once +Decides it, 'sdeath! against my father's will.' + + I lagged in answer loth to render up +My precontract, and loth by brainless war +To cleave the rift of difference deeper yet; +Till one of those two brothers, half aside +And fingering at the hair about his lip, +To prick us on to combat 'Like to like! +The woman's garment hid the woman's heart.' +A taunt that clenched his purpose like a blow! +For fiery-short was Cyril's counter-scoff, +And sharp I answered, touched upon the point +Where idle boys are cowards to their shame, +'Decide it here: why not? we are three to three.' + + Then spake the third 'But three to three? no more? +No more, and in our noble sister's cause? +More, more, for honour: every captain waits +Hungry for honour, angry for his king. +More, more some fifty on a side, that each +May breathe himself, and quick! by overthrow +Of these or those, the question settled die.' + + 'Yea,' answered I, 'for this wreath of air, +This flake of rainbow flying on the highest +Foam of men's deeds--this honour, if ye will. +It needs must be for honour if at all: +Since, what decision? if we fail, we fail, +And if we win, we fail: she would not keep +Her compact.' ''Sdeath! but we will send to her,' +Said Arac, 'worthy reasons why she should +Bide by this issue: let our missive through, +And you shall have her answer by the word.' + + 'Boys!' shrieked the old king, but vainlier than a hen +To her false daughters in the pool; for none +Regarded; neither seemed there more to say: +Back rode we to my father's camp, and found +He thrice had sent a herald to the gates, +To learn if Ida yet would cede our claim, +Or by denial flush her babbling wells +With her own people's life: three times he went: +The first, he blew and blew, but none appeared: +He battered at the doors; none came: the next, +An awful voice within had warned him thence: +The third, and those eight daughters of the plough +Came sallying through the gates, and caught his hair, +And so belaboured him on rib and cheek +They made him wild: not less one glance he caught +Through open doors of Ida stationed there +Unshaken, clinging to her purpose, firm +Though compassed by two armies and the noise +Of arms; and standing like a stately Pine +Set in a cataract on an island-crag, +When storm is on the heights, and right and left +Sucked from the dark heart of the long hills roll +The torrents, dashed to the vale: and yet her will +Bred will in me to overcome it or fall. + + But when I told the king that I was pledged +To fight in tourney for my bride, he clashed +His iron palms together with a cry; +Himself would tilt it out among the lads: +But overborne by all his bearded lords +With reasons drawn from age and state, perforce +He yielded, wroth and red, with fierce demur: +And many a bold knight started up in heat, +And sware to combat for my claim till death. + + All on this side the palace ran the field +Flat to the garden-wall: and likewise here, +Above the garden's glowing blossom-belts, +A columned entry shone and marble stairs, +And great bronze valves, embossed with Tomyris +And what she did to Cyrus after fight, +But now fast barred: so here upon the flat +All that long morn the lists were hammered up, +And all that morn the heralds to and fro, +With message and defiance, went and came; +Last, Ida's answer, in a royal hand, +But shaken here and there, and rolling words +Oration-like. I kissed it and I read. + + 'O brother, you have known the pangs we felt, +What heats of indignation when we heard +Of those that iron-cramped their women's feet; +Of lands in which at the altar the poor bride +Gives her harsh groom for bridal-gift a scourge; +Of living hearts that crack within the fire +Where smoulder their dead despots; and of those,-- +Mothers,--that, with all prophetic pity, fling +Their pretty maids in the running flood, and swoops +The vulture, beak and talon, at the heart +Made for all noble motion: and I saw +That equal baseness lived in sleeker times +With smoother men: the old leaven leavened all: +Millions of throats would bawl for civil rights, +No woman named: therefore I set my face +Against all men, and lived but for mine own. +Far off from men I built a fold for them: +I stored it full of rich memorial: +I fenced it round with gallant institutes, +And biting laws to scare the beasts of prey +And prospered; till a rout of saucy boys +Brake on us at our books, and marred our peace, +Masked like our maids, blustering I know not what +Of insolence and love, some pretext held +Of baby troth, invalid, since my will +Sealed not the bond--the striplings! for their sport!-- +I tamed my leopards: shall I not tame these? +Or you? or I? for since you think me touched +In honour--what, I would not aught of false-- +Is not our case pure? and whereas I know +Your prowess, Arac, and what mother's blood +You draw from, fight; you failing, I abide +What end soever: fail you will not. Still +Take not his life: he risked it for my own; +His mother lives: yet whatsoe'er you do, +Fight and fight well; strike and strike him. O dear +Brothers, the woman's Angel guards you, you +The sole men to be mingled with our cause, +The sole men we shall prize in the after-time, +Your very armour hallowed, and your statues +Reared, sung to, when, this gad-fly brushed aside, +We plant a solid foot into the Time, +And mould a generation strong to move +With claim on claim from right to right, till she +Whose name is yoked with children's, know herself; +And Knowledge in our own land make her free, +And, ever following those two crownèd twins, +Commerce and conquest, shower the fiery grain +Of freedom broadcast over all the orbs +Between the Northern and the Southern morn.' + + Then came a postscript dashed across the rest. +See that there be no traitors in your camp: +We seem a nest of traitors--none to trust +Since our arms failed--this Egypt-plague of men! +Almost our maids were better at their homes, +Than thus man-girdled here: indeed I think +Our chiefest comfort is the little child +Of one unworthy mother; which she left: +She shall not have it back: the child shall grow +To prize the authentic mother of her mind. +I took it for an hour in mine own bed +This morning: there the tender orphan hands +Felt at my heart, and seemed to charm from thence +The wrath I nursed against the world: farewell.' + + I ceased; he said, 'Stubborn, but she may sit +Upon a king's right hand in thunder-storms, +And breed up warriors! See now, though yourself +Be dazzled by the wildfire Love to sloughs +That swallow common sense, the spindling king, +This Gama swamped in lazy tolerance. +When the man wants weight, the woman takes it up, +And topples down the scales; but this is fixt +As are the roots of earth and base of all; +Man for the field and woman for the hearth: +Man for the sword and for the needle she: +Man with the head and woman with the heart: +Man to command and woman to obey; +All else confusion. Look you! the gray mare +Is ill to live with, when her whinny shrills +From tile to scullery, and her small goodman +Shrinks in his arm-chair while the fires of Hell +Mix with his hearth: but you--she's yet a colt-- +Take, break her: strongly groomed and straitly curbed +She might not rank with those detestable +That let the bantling scald at home, and brawl +Their rights and wrongs like potherbs in the street. +They say she's comely; there's the fairer chance: +~I~ like her none the less for rating at her! +Besides, the woman wed is not as we, +But suffers change of frame. A lusty brace +Of twins may weed her of her folly. Boy, +The bearing and the training of a child +Is woman's wisdom.' + Thus the hard old king: +I took my leave, for it was nearly noon: +I pored upon her letter which I held, +And on the little clause 'take not his life:' +I mused on that wild morning in the woods, +And on the 'Follow, follow, thou shalt win:' +I thought on all the wrathful king had said, +And how the strange betrothment was to end: +Then I remembered that burnt sorcerer's curse +That one should fight with shadows and should fall; +And like a flash the weird affection came: +King, camp and college turned to hollow shows; +I seemed to move in old memorial tilts, +And doing battle with forgotten ghosts, +To dream myself the shadow of a dream: +And ere I woke it was the point of noon, +The lists were ready. Empanoplied and plumed +We entered in, and waited, fifty there +Opposed to fifty, till the trumpet blared +At the barrier like a wild horn in a land +Of echoes, and a moment, and once more +The trumpet, and again: at which the storm +Of galloping hoofs bare on the ridge of spears +And riders front to front, until they closed +In conflict with the crash of shivering points, +And thunder. Yet it seemed a dream, I dreamed +Of fighting. On his haunches rose the steed, +And into fiery splinters leapt the lance, +And out of stricken helmets sprang the fire. +Part sat like rocks: part reeled but kept their seats: +Part rolled on the earth and rose again and drew: +Part stumbled mixt with floundering horses. Down +From those two bulks at Arac's side, and down +From Arac's arm, as from a giant's flail, +The large blows rained, as here and everywhere +He rode the mellay, lord of the ringing lists, +And all the plain,--brand, mace, and shaft, and shield-- +Shocked, like an iron-clanging anvil banged +With hammers; till I thought, can this be he +From Gama's dwarfish loins? if this be so, +The mother makes us most--and in my dream +I glanced aside, and saw the palace-front +Alive with fluttering scarfs and ladies' eyes, +And highest, among the statues, statuelike, +Between a cymballed Miriam and a Jael, +With Psyche's babe, was Ida watching us, +A single band of gold about her hair, +Like a Saint's glory up in heaven: but she +No saint--inexorable--no tenderness-- +Too hard, too cruel: yet she sees me fight, +Yea, let her see me fall! and with that I drave +Among the thickest and bore down a Prince, +And Cyril, one. Yea, let me make my dream +All that I would. But that large-moulded man, +His visage all agrin as at a wake, +Made at me through the press, and, staggering back +With stroke on stroke the horse and horseman, came +As comes a pillar of electric cloud, +Flaying the roofs and sucking up the drains, +And shadowing down the champaign till it strikes +On a wood, and takes, and breaks, and cracks, and splits, +And twists the grain with such a roar that Earth +Reels, and the herdsmen cry; for everything +Game way before him: only Florian, he +That loved me closer than his own right eye, +Thrust in between; but Arac rode him down: +And Cyril seeing it, pushed against the Prince, +With Psyche's colour round his helmet, tough, +Strong, supple, sinew-corded, apt at arms; +But tougher, heavier, stronger, he that smote +And threw him: last I spurred; I felt my veins +Stretch with fierce heat; a moment hand to hand, +And sword to sword, and horse to horse we hung, +Till I struck out and shouted; the blade glanced, +I did but shear a feather, and dream and truth +Flowed from me; darkness closed me; and I fell. + + +Home they brought her warrior dead: + She nor swooned, nor uttered cry: +All her maidens, watching, said, + 'She must weep or she will die.' + +Then they praised him, soft and low, + Called him worthy to be loved, +Truest friend and noblest foe; + Yet she neither spoke nor moved. + +Stole a maiden from her place, + Lightly to the warrior stept, +Took the face-cloth from the face; + Yet she neither moved nor wept. + +Rose a nurse of ninety years, + Set his child upon her knee-- +Like summer tempest came her tears-- + 'Sweet my child, I live for thee.' + + + + +VI + + + +My dream had never died or lived again. +As in some mystic middle state I lay; +Seeing I saw not, hearing not I heard: +Though, if I saw not, yet they told me all +So often that I speak as having seen. + + For so it seemed, or so they said to me, +That all things grew more tragic and more strange; +That when our side was vanquished and my cause +For ever lost, there went up a great cry, +The Prince is slain. My father heard and ran +In on the lists, and there unlaced my casque +And grovelled on my body, and after him +Came Psyche, sorrowing for Aglaïa. + But high upon the palace Ida stood +With Psyche's babe in arm: there on the roofs +Like that great dame of Lapidoth she sang. + + + 'Our enemies have fallen, have fallen: the seed, +The little seed they laughed at in the dark, +Has risen and cleft the soil, and grown a bulk +Of spanless girth, that lays on every side +A thousand arms and rushes to the Sun. + + 'Our enemies have fallen, have fallen: they came; +The leaves were wet with women's tears: they heard +A noise of songs they would not understand: +They marked it with the red cross to the fall, +And would have strown it, and are fallen themselves. + + 'Our enemies have fallen, have fallen: they came, +The woodmen with their axes: lo the tree! +But we will make it faggots for the hearth, +And shape it plank and beam for roof and floor, +And boats and bridges for the use of men. + + 'Our enemies have fallen, have fallen: they struck; +With their own blows they hurt themselves, nor knew +There dwelt an iron nature in the grain: +The glittering axe was broken in their arms, +Their arms were shattered to the shoulder blade. + + 'Our enemies have fallen, but this shall grow +A night of Summer from the heat, a breadth +Of Autumn, dropping fruits of power: and rolled +With music in the growing breeze of Time, +The tops shall strike from star to star, the fangs +Shall move the stony bases of the world. + + 'And now, O maids, behold our sanctuary +Is violate, our laws broken: fear we not +To break them more in their behoof, whose arms +Championed our cause and won it with a day +Blanched in our annals, and perpetual feast, +When dames and heroines of the golden year +Shall strip a hundred hollows bare of Spring, +To rain an April of ovation round +Their statues, borne aloft, the three: but come, +We will be liberal, since our rights are won. +Let them not lie in the tents with coarse mankind, +Ill nurses; but descend, and proffer these +The brethren of our blood and cause, that there +Lie bruised and maimed, the tender ministries +Of female hands and hospitality.' + + She spoke, and with the babe yet in her arms, +Descending, burst the great bronze valves, and led +A hundred maids in train across the Park. +Some cowled, and some bare-headed, on they came, +Their feet in flowers, her loveliest: by them went +The enamoured air sighing, and on their curls +From the high tree the blossom wavering fell, +And over them the tremulous isles of light +Slided, they moving under shade: but Blanche +At distance followed: so they came: anon +Through open field into the lists they wound +Timorously; and as the leader of the herd +That holds a stately fretwork to the Sun, +And followed up by a hundred airy does, +Steps with a tender foot, light as on air, +The lovely, lordly creature floated on +To where her wounded brethren lay; there stayed; +Knelt on one knee,--the child on one,--and prest +Their hands, and called them dear deliverers, +And happy warriors, and immortal names, +And said 'You shall not lie in the tents but here, +And nursed by those for whom you fought, and served +With female hands and hospitality.' + + Then, whether moved by this, or was it chance, +She past my way. Up started from my side +The old lion, glaring with his whelpless eye, +Silent; but when she saw me lying stark, +Dishelmed and mute, and motionlessly pale, +Cold even to her, she sighed; and when she saw +The haggard father's face and reverend beard +Of grisly twine, all dabbled with the blood +Of his own son, shuddered, a twitch of pain +Tortured her mouth, and o'er her forehead past +A shadow, and her hue changed, and she said: +'He saved my life: my brother slew him for it.' +No more: at which the king in bitter scorn +Drew from my neck the painting and the tress, +And held them up: she saw them, and a day +Rose from the distance on her memory, +When the good Queen, her mother, shore the tress +With kisses, ere the days of Lady Blanche: +And then once more she looked at my pale face: +Till understanding all the foolish work +Of Fancy, and the bitter close of all, +Her iron will was broken in her mind; +Her noble heart was molten in her breast; +She bowed, she set the child on the earth; she laid +A feeling finger on my brows, and presently +'O Sire,' she said, 'he lives: he is not dead: +O let me have him with my brethren here +In our own palace: we will tend on him +Like one of these; if so, by any means, +To lighten this great clog of thanks, that make +Our progress falter to the woman's goal.' + + She said: but at the happy word 'he lives' +My father stooped, re-fathered o'er my wounds. +So those two foes above my fallen life, +With brow to brow like night and evening mixt +Their dark and gray, while Psyche ever stole +A little nearer, till the babe that by us, +Half-lapt in glowing gauze and golden brede, +Lay like a new-fallen meteor on the grass, +Uncared for, spied its mother and began +A blind and babbling laughter, and to dance +Its body, and reach its fatling innocent arms +And lazy lingering fingers. She the appeal +Brooked not, but clamouring out 'Mine--mine--not yours, +It is not yours, but mine: give me the child' +Ceased all on tremble: piteous was the cry: +So stood the unhappy mother open-mouthed, +And turned each face her way: wan was her cheek +With hollow watch, her blooming mantle torn, +Red grief and mother's hunger in her eye, +And down dead-heavy sank her curls, and half +The sacred mother's bosom, panting, burst +The laces toward her babe; but she nor cared +Nor knew it, clamouring on, till Ida heard, +Looked up, and rising slowly from me, stood +Erect and silent, striking with her glance +The mother, me, the child; but he that lay +Beside us, Cyril, battered as he was, +Trailed himself up on one knee: then he drew +Her robe to meet his lips, and down she looked +At the armed man sideways, pitying as it seemed, +Or self-involved; but when she learnt his face, +Remembering his ill-omened song, arose +Once more through all her height, and o'er him grew +Tall as a figure lengthened on the sand +When the tide ebbs in sunshine, and he said: + + 'O fair and strong and terrible! Lioness +That with your long locks play the Lion's mane! +But Love and Nature, these are two more terrible +And stronger. See, your foot is on our necks, +We vanquished, you the Victor of your will. +What would you more? Give her the child! remain +Orbed in your isolation: he is dead, +Or all as dead: henceforth we let you be: +Win you the hearts of women; and beware +Lest, where you seek the common love of these, +The common hate with the revolving wheel +Should drag you down, and some great Nemesis +Break from a darkened future, crowned with fire, +And tread you out for ever: but howso'er +Fixed in yourself, never in your own arms +To hold your own, deny not hers to her, +Give her the child! O if, I say, you keep +One pulse that beats true woman, if you loved +The breast that fed or arm that dandled you, +Or own one port of sense not flint to prayer, +Give her the child! or if you scorn to lay it, +Yourself, in hands so lately claspt with yours, +Or speak to her, your dearest, her one fault, +The tenderness, not yours, that could not kill, +Give ~me~ it: ~I~ will give it her. + He said: +At first her eye with slow dilation rolled +Dry flame, she listening; after sank and sank +And, into mournful twilight mellowing, dwelt +Full on the child; she took it: 'Pretty bud! +Lily of the vale! half opened bell of the woods! +Sole comfort of my dark hour, when a world +Of traitorous friend and broken system made +No purple in the distance, mystery, +Pledge of a love not to be mine, farewell; +These men are hard upon us as of old, +We two must part: and yet how fain was I +To dream thy cause embraced in mine, to think +I might be something to thee, when I felt +Thy helpless warmth about my barren breast +In the dead prime: but may thy mother prove +As true to thee as false, false, false to me! +And, if thou needs must needs bear the yoke, I wish it +Gentle as freedom'--here she kissed it: then-- +'All good go with thee! take it Sir,' and so +Laid the soft babe in his hard-mailèd hands, +Who turned half-round to Psyche as she sprang +To meet it, with an eye that swum in thanks; +Then felt it sound and whole from head to foot, +And hugged and never hugged it close enough, +And in her hunger mouthed and mumbled it, +And hid her bosom with it; after that +Put on more calm and added suppliantly: + + 'We two were friends: I go to mine own land +For ever: find some other: as for me +I scarce am fit for your great plans: yet speak to me, +Say one soft word and let me part forgiven.' + + But Ida spoke not, rapt upon the child. +Then Arac. 'Ida--'sdeath! you blame the man; +You wrong yourselves--the woman is so hard +Upon the woman. Come, a grace to me! +I am your warrior: I and mine have fought +Your battle: kiss her; take her hand, she weeps: +'Sdeath! I would sooner fight thrice o'er than see it.' + + But Ida spoke not, gazing on the ground, +And reddening in the furrows of his chin, +And moved beyond his custom, Gama said: + + 'I've heard that there is iron in the blood, +And I believe it. Not one word? not one? +Whence drew you this steel temper? not from me, +Not from your mother, now a saint with saints. +She said you had a heart--I heard her say it-- +"Our Ida has a heart"--just ere she died-- +"But see that some on with authority +Be near her still" and I--I sought for one-- +All people said she had authority-- +The Lady Blanche: much profit! Not one word; +No! though your father sues: see how you stand +Stiff as Lot's wife, and all the good knights maimed, +I trust that there is no one hurt to death, +For our wild whim: and was it then for this, +Was it for this we gave our palace up, +Where we withdrew from summer heats and state, +And had our wine and chess beneath the planes, +And many a pleasant hour with her that's gone, +Ere you were born to vex us? Is it kind? +Speak to her I say: is this not she of whom, +When first she came, all flushed you said to me +Now had you got a friend of your own age, +Now could you share your thought; now should men see +Two women faster welded in one love +Than pairs of wedlock; she you walked with, she +You talked with, whole nights long, up in the tower, +Of sine and arc, spheroïd and azimuth, +And right ascension, Heaven knows what; and now +A word, but one, one little kindly word, +Not one to spare her: out upon you, flint! +You love nor her, nor me, nor any; nay, +You shame your mother's judgment too. Not one? +You will not? well--no heart have you, or such +As fancies like the vermin in a nut +Have fretted all to dust and bitterness.' +So said the small king moved beyond his wont. + + But Ida stood nor spoke, drained of her force +By many a varying influence and so long. +Down through her limbs a drooping languor wept: +Her head a little bent; and on her mouth +A doubtful smile dwelt like a clouded moon +In a still water: then brake out my sire, +Lifted his grim head from my wounds. 'O you, +Woman, whom we thought woman even now, +And were half fooled to let you tend our son, +Because he might have wished it--but we see, +The accomplice of your madness unforgiven, +And think that you might mix his draught with death, +When your skies change again: the rougher hand +Is safer: on to the tents: take up the Prince.' + + He rose, and while each ear was pricked to attend +A tempest, through the cloud that dimmed her broke +A genial warmth and light once more, and shone +Through glittering drops on her sad friend. + 'Come hither. +O Psyche,' she cried out, 'embrace me, come, +Quick while I melt; make reconcilement sure +With one that cannot keep her mind an hour: +Come to the hollow hear they slander so! +Kiss and be friends, like children being chid! +~I~ seem no more: ~I~ want forgiveness too: +I should have had to do with none but maids, +That have no links with men. Ah false but dear, +Dear traitor, too much loved, why?--why?--Yet see, +Before these kings we embrace you yet once more +With all forgiveness, all oblivion, +And trust, not love, you less. + And now, O sire, +Grant me your son, to nurse, to wait upon him, +Like mine own brother. For my debt to him, +This nightmare weight of gratitude, I know it; +Taunt me no more: yourself and yours shall have +Free adit; we will scatter all our maids +Till happier times each to her proper hearth: +What use to keep them here--now? grant my prayer. +Help, father, brother, help; speak to the king: +Thaw this male nature to some touch of that +Which kills me with myself, and drags me down +From my fixt height to mob me up with all +The soft and milky rabble of womankind, +Poor weakling even as they are.' + Passionate tears +Followed: the king replied not: Cyril said: +'Your brother, Lady,--Florian,--ask for him +Of your great head--for he is wounded too-- +That you may tend upon him with the prince.' +'Ay so,' said Ida with a bitter smile, +'Our laws are broken: let him enter too.' +Then Violet, she that sang the mournful song, +And had a cousin tumbled on the plain, +Petitioned too for him. 'Ay so,' she said, +'I stagger in the stream: I cannot keep +My heart an eddy from the brawling hour: +We break our laws with ease, but let it be.' +'Ay so?' said Blanche: 'Amazed am I to her +Your Highness: but your Highness breaks with ease +The law your Highness did not make: 'twas I. +I had been wedded wife, I knew mankind, +And blocked them out; but these men came to woo +Your Highness--verily I think to win.' + + So she, and turned askance a wintry eye: +But Ida with a voice, that like a bell +Tolled by an earthquake in a trembling tower, +Rang ruin, answered full of grief and scorn. + + 'Fling our doors wide! all, all, not one, but all, +Not only he, but by my mother's soul, +Whatever man lies wounded, friend or foe, +Shall enter, if he will. Let our girls flit, +Till the storm die! but had you stood by us, +The roar that breaks the Pharos from his base +Had left us rock. She fain would sting us too, +But shall not. Pass, and mingle with your likes. +We brook no further insult but are gone.' + She turned; the very nape of her white neck +Was rosed with indignation: but the Prince +Her brother came; the king her father charmed +Her wounded soul with words: nor did mine own +Refuse her proffer, lastly gave his hand. + + Then us they lifted up, dead weights, and bare +Straight to the doors: to them the doors gave way +Groaning, and in the Vestal entry shrieked +The virgin marble under iron heels: +And on they moved and gained the hall, and there +Rested: but great the crush was, and each base, +To left and right, of those tall columns drowned +In silken fluctuation and the swarm +Of female whisperers: at the further end +Was Ida by the throne, the two great cats +Close by her, like supporters on a shield, +Bow-backed with fear: but in the centre stood +The common men with rolling eyes; amazed +They glared upon the women, and aghast +The women stared at these, all silent, save +When armour clashed or jingled, while the day, +Descending, struck athwart the hall, and shot +A flying splendour out of brass and steel, +That o'er the statues leapt from head to head, +Now fired an angry Pallas on the helm, +Now set a wrathful Dian's moon on flame, +And now and then an echo started up, +And shuddering fled from room to room, and died +Of fright in far apartments. + Then the voice +Of Ida sounded, issuing ordinance: +And me they bore up the broad stairs, and through +The long-laid galleries past a hundred doors +To one deep chamber shut from sound, and due +To languid limbs and sickness; left me in it; +And others otherwhere they laid; and all +That afternoon a sound arose of hoof +And chariot, many a maiden passing home +Till happier times; but some were left of those +Held sagest, and the great lords out and in, +From those two hosts that lay beside the walls, +Walked at their will, and everything was changed. + + +Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea; + The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape + With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape; +But O too fond, when have I answered thee? + Ask me no more. + +Ask me no more: what answer should I give? + I love not hollow cheek or faded eye: + Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die! +Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live; + Ask me no more. + +Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are sealed: + I strove against the stream and all in vain: + Let the great river take me to the main: +No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield; + Ask me no more. + + + + +VII + + + +So was their sanctuary violated, +So their fair college turned to hospital; +At first with all confusion: by and by +Sweet order lived again with other laws: +A kindlier influence reigned; and everywhere +Low voices with the ministering hand +Hung round the sick: the maidens came, they talked, +They sang, they read: till she not fair began +To gather light, and she that was, became +Her former beauty treble; and to and fro +With books, with flowers, with Angel offices, +Like creatures native unto gracious act, +And in their own clear element, they moved. + + But sadness on the soul of Ida fell, +And hatred of her weakness, blent with shame. +Old studies failed; seldom she spoke: but oft +Clomb to the roofs, and gazed alone for hours +On that disastrous leaguer, swarms of men +Darkening her female field: void was her use, +And she as one that climbs a peak to gaze +O'er land and main, and sees a great black cloud +Drag inward from the deeps, a wall of night, +Blot out the slope of sea from verge to shore, +And suck the blinding splendour from the sand, +And quenching lake by lake and tarn by tarn +Expunge the world: so fared she gazing there; +So blackened all her world in secret, blank +And waste it seemed and vain; till down she came, +And found fair peace once more among the sick. + + And twilight dawned; and morn by morn the lark +Shot up and shrilled in flickering gyres, but I +Lay silent in the muffled cage of life: +And twilight gloomed; and broader-grown the bowers +Drew the great night into themselves, and Heaven, +Star after Star, arose and fell; but I, +Deeper than those weird doubts could reach me, lay +Quite sundered from the moving Universe, +Nor knew what eye was on me, nor the hand +That nursed me, more than infants in their sleep. + + But Psyche tended Florian: with her oft, +Melissa came; for Blanche had gone, but left +Her child among us, willing she should keep +Court-favour: here and there the small bright head, +A light of healing, glanced about the couch, +Or through the parted silks the tender face +Peeped, shining in upon the wounded man +With blush and smile, a medicine in themselves +To wile the length from languorous hours, and draw +The sting from pain; nor seemed it strange that soon +He rose up whole, and those fair charities +Joined at her side; nor stranger seemed that hears +So gentle, so employed, should close in love, +Than when two dewdrops on the petals shake +To the same sweet air, and tremble deeper down, +And slip at once all-fragrant into one. + + Less prosperously the second suit obtained +At first with Psyche. Not though Blanche had sworn +That after that dark night among the fields +She needs must wed him for her own good name; + Not though he built upon the babe restored; +Nor though she liked him, yielded she, but feared +To incense the Head once more; till on a day +When Cyril pleaded, Ida came behind +Seen but of Psyche: on her foot she hung +A moment, and she heard, at which her face +A little flushed, and she past on; but each +Assumed from thence a half-consent involved +In stillness, plighted troth, and were at peace. + + Nor only these: Love in the sacred halls +Held carnival at will, and flying struck +With showers of random sweet on maid and man. +Nor did her father cease to press my claim, +Nor did mine own, now reconciled; nor yet +Did those twin-brothers, risen again and whole; +Nor Arac, satiate with his victory. + + But I lay still, and with me oft she sat: +Then came a change; for sometimes I would catch +Her hand in wild delirium, gripe it hard, +And fling it like a viper off, and shriek +'You are not Ida;' clasp it once again, +And call her Ida, though I knew her not, +And call her sweet, as if in irony, +And call her hard and cold which seemed a truth: +And still she feared that I should lose my mind, +And often she believed that I should die: +Till out of long frustration of her care, +And pensive tendance in the all-weary noons, +And watches in the dead, the dark, when clocks +Throbbed thunder through the palace floors, or called +On flying Time from all their silver tongues-- +And out of memories of her kindlier days, +And sidelong glances at my father's grief, +And at the happy lovers heart in heart-- +And out of hauntings of my spoken love, +And lonely listenings to my muttered dream, +And often feeling of the helpless hands, +And wordless broodings on the wasted cheek-- +From all a closer interest flourished up, +Tenderness touch by touch, and last, to these, +Love, like an Alpine harebell hung with tears +By some cold morning glacier; frail at first +And feeble, all unconscious of itself, +But such as gathered colour day by day. + +Last I woke sane, but well-nigh close to death +For weakness: it was evening: silent light +Slept on the painted walls, wherein were wrought +Two grand designs; for on one side arose +The women up in wild revolt, and stormed +At the Oppian Law. Titanic shapes, they crammed +The forum, and half-crushed among the rest +A dwarf-like Cato cowered. On the other side +Hortensia spoke against the tax; behind, +A train of dames: by axe and eagle sat, +With all their foreheads drawn in Roman scowls, +And half the wolf's-milk curdled in their veins, +The fierce triumvirs; and before them paused +Hortensia pleading: angry was her face. + + I saw the forms: I knew not where I was: +They did but look like hollow shows; nor more +Sweet Ida: palm to palm she sat: the dew +Dwelt in her eyes, and softer all her shape +And rounder seemed: I moved: I sighed: a touch +Came round my wrist, and tears upon my hand: +Then all for languor and self-pity ran +Mine down my face, and with what life I had, +And like a flower that cannot all unfold, +So drenched it is with tempest, to the sun, +Yet, as it may, turns toward him, I on her +Fixt my faint eyes, and uttered whisperingly: + + 'If you be, what I think you, some sweet dream, +I would but ask you to fulfil yourself: +But if you be that Ida whom I knew, +I ask you nothing: only, if a dream, +Sweet dream, be perfect. I shall die tonight. +Stoop down and seem to kiss me ere I die.' + + I could no more, but lay like one in trance, +That hears his burial talked of by his friends, +And cannot speak, nor move, nor make one sign, +But lies and dreads his doom. She turned; she paused; +She stooped; and out of languor leapt a cry; +Leapt fiery Passion from the brinks of death; +And I believed that in the living world +My spirit closed with Ida's at the lips; +Till back I fell, and from mine arms she rose +Glowing all over noble shame; and all +Her falser self slipt from her like a robe, +And left her woman, lovelier in her mood +Than in her mould that other, when she came +From barren deeps to conquer all with love; +And down the streaming crystal dropt; and she +Far-fleeted by the purple island-sides, +Naked, a double light in air and wave, +To meet her Graces, where they decked her out +For worship without end; nor end of mine, +Stateliest, for thee! but mute she glided forth, +Nor glanced behind her, and I sank and slept, +Filled through and through with Love, a happy sleep. + + Deep in the night I woke: she, near me, held +A volume of the Poets of her land: +There to herself, all in low tones, she read. + + + 'Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white; +Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk; +Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font: +The fire-fly wakens: wake thou with me. + + Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost, +And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. + + Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars, +And all thy heart lies open unto me. + + Now lies the silent meteor on, and leaves +A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me. + + Now folds the lily all her sweetness up, +And slips into the bosom of the lake: +So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip +Into my bosom and be lost in me.' + + +I heard her turn the page; she found a small +Sweet Idyl, and once more, as low, she read: + + + 'Come down, O maid, from yonder mountain height: +What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang) +In height and cold, the splendour of the hills? +But cease to move so near the Heavens, and cease +To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine, +To sit a star upon the sparkling spire; +And come, for love is of the valley, come, +For love is of the valley, come thou down +And find him; by the happy threshold, he, +Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize, +Or red with spirted purple of the vats, +Or foxlike in the vine; nor cares to walk +With Death and Morning on the silver horns, +Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine, +Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice, +That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls +To roll the torrent out of dusky doors: +But follow; let the torrent dance thee down +To find him in the valley; let the wild +Lean-headed Eagles yelp alone, and leave +The monstrous ledges there to slope, and spill +Their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke, +That like a broken purpose waste in air: +So waste not thou; but come; for all the vales +Await thee; azure pillars of the hearth +Arise to thee; the children call, and I +Thy shepherd pipe, and sweet is every sound, +Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet; +Myriads of rivulets hurrying through the lawn, +The moan of doves in immemorial elms, +And murmuring of innumerable bees.' + + +So she low-toned; while with shut eyes I lay +Listening; then looked. Pale was the perfect face; +The bosom with long sighs laboured; and meek +Seemed the full lips, and mild the luminous eyes, +And the voice trembled and the hand. She said +Brokenly, that she knew it, she had failed +In sweet humility; had failed in all; +That all her labour was but as a block +Left in the quarry; but she still were loth, +She still were loth to yield herself to one +That wholly scorned to help their equal rights +Against the sons of men, and barbarous laws. +She prayed me not to judge their cause from her +That wronged it, sought far less for truth than power +In knowledge: something wild within her breast, +A greater than all knowledge, beat her down. +And she had nursed me there from week to week: +Much had she learnt in little time. In part +It was ill counsel had misled the girl +To vex true hearts: yet was she but a girl-- +'Ah fool, and made myself a Queen of farce! +When comes another such? never, I think, +Till the Sun drop, dead, from the signs.' + Her voice +choked, and her forehead sank upon her hands, +And her great heart through all the faultful Past +Went sorrowing in a pause I dared not break; +Till notice of a change in the dark world +Was lispt about the acacias, and a bird, +That early woke to feed her little ones, +Sent from a dewy breast a cry for light: +She moved, and at her feet the volume fell. + + 'Blame not thyself too much,' I said, 'nor blame +Too much the sons of men and barbarous laws; +These were the rough ways of the world till now. +Henceforth thou hast a helper, me, that know +The woman's cause is man's: they rise or sink +Together, dwarfed or godlike, bond or free: +For she that out of Lethe scales with man +The shining steps of Nature, shares with man +His nights, his days, moves with him to one goal, +Stays all the fair young planet in her hands-- +If she be small, slight-natured, miserable, +How shall men grow? but work no more alone! +Our place is much: as far as in us lies +We two will serve them both in aiding her-- +Will clear away the parasitic forms +That seem to keep her up but drag her down-- +Will leave her space to burgeon out of all +Within her--let her make herself her own +To give or keep, to live and learn and be +All that not harms distinctive womanhood. +For woman is not undevelopt man, +But diverse: could we make her as the man, +Sweet Love were slain: his dearest bond is this, +Not like to like, but like in difference. +Yet in the long years liker must they grow; +The man be more of woman, she of man; +He gain in sweetness and in moral height, +Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world; +She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care, +Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind; +Till at the last she set herself to man, +Like perfect music unto noble words; +And so these twain, upon the skirts of Time, +Sit side by side, full-summed in all their powers, +Dispensing harvest, sowing the To-be, +Self-reverent each and reverencing each, +Distinct in individualities, +But like each other even as those who love. +Then comes the statelier Eden back to men: +Then reign the world's great bridals, chaste and calm: +Then springs the crowning race of humankind. +May these things be!' + Sighing she spoke 'I fear +They will not.' + 'Dear, but let us type them now +In our own lives, and this proud watchword rest +Of equal; seeing either sex alone +Is half itself, and in true marriage lies +Nor equal, nor unequal: each fulfils +Defect in each, and always thought in thought, +Purpose in purpose, will in will, they grow, +The single pure and perfect animal, +The two-celled heart beating, with one full stroke, +Life.' + And again sighing she spoke: 'A dream +That once was mind! what woman taught you this?' + + 'Alone,' I said, 'from earlier than I know, +Immersed in rich foreshadowings of the world, +I loved the woman: he, that doth not, lives +A drowning life, besotted in sweet self, +Or pines in sad experience worse than death, +Or keeps his winged affections clipt with crime: +Yet was there one through whom I loved her, one +Not learnèd, save in gracious household ways, +Not perfect, nay, but full of tender wants, +No Angel, but a dearer being, all dipt +In Angel instincts, breathing Paradise, +Interpreter between the Gods and men, +Who looked all native to her place, and yet +On tiptoe seemed to touch upon a sphere +Too gross to tread, and all male minds perforce +Swayed to her from their orbits as they moved, +And girdled her with music. Happy he +With such a mother! faith in womankind +Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high +Comes easy to him, and though he trip and fall +He shall not blind his soul with clay.' + 'But I,' +Said Ida, tremulously, 'so all unlike-- +It seems you love to cheat yourself with words: +This mother is your model. I have heard +of your strange doubts: they well might be: I seem +A mockery to my own self. Never, Prince; +You cannot love me.' + 'Nay but thee' I said +'From yearlong poring on thy pictured eyes, +Ere seen I loved, and loved thee seen, and saw +Thee woman through the crust of iron moods +That masked thee from men's reverence up, and forced +Sweet love on pranks of saucy boyhood: now, +Given back to life, to life indeed, through thee, +Indeed I love: the new day comes, the light +Dearer for night, as dearer thou for faults +Lived over: lift thine eyes; my doubts are dead, +My haunting sense of hollow shows: the change, +This truthful change in thee has killed it. Dear, +Look up, and let thy nature strike on mine, +Like yonder morning on the blind half-world; +Approach and fear not; breathe upon my brows; +In that fine air I tremble, all the past +Melts mist-like into this bright hour, and this +Is morn to more, and all the rich to-come +Reels, as the golden Autumn woodland reels +Athwart the smoke of burning weeds. Forgive me, +I waste my heart in signs: let be. My bride, +My wife, my life. O we will walk this world, +Yoked in all exercise of noble end, +And so through those dark gates across the wild +That no man knows. Indeed I love thee: come, +Yield thyself up: my hopes and thine are one: +Accomplish thou my manhood and thyself; +Lay thy sweet hands in mine and trust to me.' + + + + +CONCLUSION + + + +So closed our tale, of which I give you all +The random scheme as wildly as it rose: +The words are mostly mine; for when we ceased +There came a minute's pause, and Walter said, +'I wish she had not yielded!' then to me, +'What, if you drest it up poetically?' +So prayed the men, the women: I gave assent: +Yet how to bind the scattered scheme of seven +Together in one sheaf? What style could suit? +The men required that I should give throughout +The sort of mock-heroic gigantesque, +With which we bantered little Lilia first: +The women--and perhaps they felt their power, +For something in the ballads which they sang, +Or in their silent influence as they sat, +Had ever seemed to wrestle with burlesque, +And drove us, last, to quite a solemn close-- +They hated banter, wished for something real, +A gallant fight, a noble princess--why +Not make her true-heroic--true-sublime? +Or all, they said, as earnest as the close? +Which yet with such a framework scarce could be. +Then rose a little feud betwixt the two, +Betwixt the mockers and the realists: +And I, betwixt them both, to please them both, +And yet to give the story as it rose, +I moved as in a strange diagonal, +And maybe neither pleased myself nor them. + + But Lilia pleased me, for she took no part +In our dispute: the sequel of the tale +Had touched her; and she sat, she plucked the grass, +She flung it from her, thinking: last, she fixt +A showery glance upon her aunt, and said, +'You--tell us what we are' who might have told, +For she was crammed with theories out of books, +But that there rose a shout: the gates were closed +At sunset, and the crowd were swarming now, +To take their leave, about the garden rails. + + So I and some went out to these: we climbed +The slope to Vivian-place, and turning saw +The happy valleys, half in light, and half +Far-shadowing from the west, a land of peace; +Gray halls alone among their massive groves; +Trim hamlets; here and there a rustic tower +Half-lost in belts of hop and breadths of wheat; +The shimmering glimpses of a stream; the seas; +A red sail, or a white; and far beyond, +Imagined more than seen, the skirts of France. + + 'Look there, a garden!' said my college friend, +The Tory member's elder son, 'and there! +God bless the narrow sea which keeps her off, +And keeps our Britain, whole within herself, +A nation yet, the rulers and the ruled-- +Some sense of duty, something of a faith, +Some reverence for the laws ourselves have made, +Some patient force to change them when we will, +Some civic manhood firm against the crowd-- +But yonder, whiff! there comes a sudden heat, +The gravest citizen seems to lose his head, +The king is scared, the soldier will not fight, +The little boys begin to shoot and stab, +A kingdom topples over with a shriek +Like an old woman, and down rolls the world +In mock heroics stranger than our own; +Revolts, republics, revolutions, most +No graver than a schoolboys' barring out; +Too comic for the serious things they are, +Too solemn for the comic touches in them, +Like our wild Princess with as wise a dream +As some of theirs--God bless the narrow seas! +I wish they were a whole Atlantic broad.' + + 'Have patience,' I replied, 'ourselves are full +Of social wrong; and maybe wildest dreams +Are but the needful preludes of the truth: +For me, the genial day, the happy crowd, +The sport half-science, fill me with a faith. +This fine old world of ours is but a child +Yet in the go-cart. Patience! Give it time +To learn its limbs: there is a hand that guides.' + + In such discourse we gained the garden rails, +And there we saw Sir Walter where he stood, +Before a tower of crimson holly-hoaks, +Among six boys, head under head, and looked +No little lily-handed Baronet he, +A great broad-shouldered genial Englishman, +A lord of fat prize-oxen and of sheep, +A raiser of huge melons and of pine, +A patron of some thirty charities, +A pamphleteer on guano and on grain, +A quarter-sessions chairman, abler none; +Fair-haired and redder than a windy morn; +Now shaking hands with him, now him, of those +That stood the nearest--now addressed to speech-- +Who spoke few words and pithy, such as closed +Welcome, farewell, and welcome for the year +To follow: a shout rose again, and made +The long line of the approaching rookery swerve +From the elms, and shook the branches of the deer +From slope to slope through distant ferns, and rang +Beyond the bourn of sunset; O, a shout +More joyful than the city-roar that hails +Premier or king! Why should not these great Sirs +Give up their parks some dozen times a year +To let the people breathe? So thrice they cried, +I likewise, and in groups they streamed away. + + But we went back to the Abbey, and sat on, +So much the gathering darkness charmed: we sat +But spoke not, rapt in nameless reverie, +Perchance upon the future man: the walls +Blackened about us, bats wheeled, and owls whooped, +And gradually the powers of the night, +That range above the region of the wind, +Deepening the courts of twilight broke them up +Through all the silent spaces of the worlds, +Beyond all thought into the Heaven of Heavens. + + Last little Lilia, rising quietly, +Disrobed the glimmering statue of Sir Ralph +From those rich silks, and home well-pleased we went. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Princess, by Tennyson + diff --git a/old/prncs09.zip b/old/prncs09.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9397aaa --- /dev/null +++ b/old/prncs09.zip |