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 stoop'd, re-father'd 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
Brook'd not, but clamoring 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-mouth'd,
And turn'd 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, clamoring 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
Fixt 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

n

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 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 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 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

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! 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,

For your wild whim.

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 flush'd 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 walk'd with, she
You talk'd 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,