The sacred mother's bosom, panting, burst

The laces toward her babe; but she nor cared

Nor knew it, clamouring on, till Ida heard,

Look'd 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, batter'd as he was,

Trail'd himself up on one knee: then he drew
Her robe to meet his lips, and down she look'd
At the arm'd man sideways, pitying, as it seem'd,

Or self-involved; but when she learnt his face,
Remembering his ill-omen'd song, arose

Once more thro' all her height, and o'er him grew
Tall as a figure lengthen'd 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 vanquish'd, you the Victor of your will.

What would you more? give her the child! remain Orb'd 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 darken'd future, crown'd with fire,
And tread you out for ever: but howsoe'er
Fix'd in yourself, never in your own arms
To hold your own, deny not her's 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 part 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 roll'd
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 open'd 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 waxen warmth about my milkless 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 bear the yoke, I wish it
Gentle as freedom '-here she kiss'd it: then-

All good go with thee! take it Sir' and so Laid the soft babe in his hard-mailed hands Who turn'd 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 hugg'd and never hugg'd it close enough,

And in her hunger mouth'd 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. Soul and life! 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 ;

Life! 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! tho'

your father sues: see how

you stand

Stiff as Lot's wife, and all the good knights maim'd,

I trust that there is no one hurt to death,