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 The fresh young captains flash'd their glittering teeth, And slain with laughter roll'd 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 draggled mawkin, thou, That tends her bristled grunters in the sludge : 'But hence' he said 'indue yourselves like men. As boys that slink From ferule and the trespass-chiding eye, Away we stole, and transient in a trice Leapt from the dewy shoulders of the Earth, We twain, with mutual pardon ask'd and given For stroke and song, resolder'd peace, whereon Followed his tale. Amazed he fled away Thro' 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, nor stir.' He show'd a tent A stone-shot off: we entered in, and there Among piled arms and rough accoutrements, Pitiful sight, wrapt in a soldier's cloak, Like some sweet sculpture draped from head to foot, And push'd 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 charr'd and wrinkled piece of womanhood, ༦ Then Florian knelt, and Come' he whisper'd 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 fall'n 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 moan'd, 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-betray'd her cause and mine— Where shall I breathe? why kept ye not your faith? O base and bad! what comfort? none for me!' 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 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: Until they hate to hear me like a wind And satisfy my soul with kissing her: Ah! what might that man not deserve of me, Said Cyril you shall have it :' but again She veil'd her brows, and prone she sank, and so Like tender things that being caught feign death, Spoke not, nor stirr'd. By this a murmur ran Thro' all the camp and inward raced the scouts With rumour of Prince Arac hard at hand. We left her by the woman, and without |