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,

My shadow, my half-self, for still we moved
Together, kin 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, snow'd it down, and rent
The wonder of the loom thro' 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 chew'd
The thrice-turn'd cud of wrath, and cook'd 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:

6

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:

Thro' her this matter might be sifted clean.'

Then whisper'd Cyril: Take me with you too.

Trust me, I'll serve you better in a strait ;

I grate on rusty hinges here: but No!'

Roar'd the rough king, you shall not; we ourself

Will crush these pretty maiden fancies dead

In iron gauntlets: break the council up.'

But when the council broke, I rose and past Thro' the wild woods that hung about the town ; Found a still place, and pluck'd her likeness out;

C

Laid it on flowers, and watch'd it lying bathed

In the green gleam of dewy-tassell'd trees:

What were those fancies? wherefore break her troth?

Proud look'd the lips but while I meditated

A wind arose and rush'd 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.
Down from the bastion'd wall, suspense by night,
Like threaded spiders from a balk, we dropt,
And flying reach'd the frontier: then we crost
To a livelier land; and so by tilth and grange,
And vines, and blowing bosks of wilderness,
We gain'd the mother-city thick with towers,
And in the imperial palace found the king.

His name was Gama; crack'd and small his voice,

But bland the smile that pucker'd up his cheeks;

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

betroth❜d.

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 fail'd.

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 harp'd on this; with this our banquets rang;

Our dances broke and buzz'd in knots of talk ;

Nothing but this; my very ears were hot