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And like a prince: you have our thanks for all:

And look well too in you

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 gull'd
Our servants, wrong'd and lied and thwarted us—

I wed with thee! I bound by precontract

Your bride, your bondslave! not tho' all the gold

That veins the world were pack'd to make your crown,

And every spoken tongue should lord you. Sir,

Your falsehood and your face are loathsome 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 address'd

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 push'd us, down the steps, and thro' the court, And with grim laughter thrust us out at gates.

We cross'd the street and gain'd a petty mound Beyond it, whence we saw the lights and heard The voices murmuring; till upon my spirits Settled a gentle cloud of melancholy,

Which I shook off, for I was ever one

To whom the shadow 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.

THE

When all among the thundering drums
Thy soldier in the battle 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,
Strikes him dead for them and thee!

Tara ta tantara !

So Lilia sang we thought her half-possess'd

She struck such warbling fury through the words;

And, after, feigning pique at what she call'd
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,

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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.

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She took it and she flung it. Fight' she said,

6

• And make us all we would be, great and good.'

He knightlike in his cap instead of casque,

A cap of Tyrol borrow'd 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 clash'd 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 blazon'd lions o'er the imperial tent
Whispers of war.

Entering, the sudden light

Dazed me half-blind: I stood and seem'd to hear,

As in a poplar grove when a light wind wakes

A lisping of the innumerous leaf and dies,

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