Then laughing,' What if these weird seizures come To point you out the shadow from the truth! 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; 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, Cat-footed thro' the town and half in dread To hear my father's clamor at our backs With Ho!' from some bay-window shake the And almost my half-self, for still we moved 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. Who moves about the Princess; she, you know, The lady of three castles in that land; Thro' her this matter might be sifted clean.' And Cyril whisper'd: Take me with you too.' Then laughing, 'What if these weird seizures come Upon you in those lands, and no one near To point you out the shadow from the truth! Take 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 her 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; 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, Cat-footed thro' the town and half in dread To hear my father's clamor at our backs With Ho!' from some bay-window shake the But all was quiet. From the bastion'd walls His name was Gama; crack'd and small his voice, But bland the smile that like a wrinkling wind A little dry old man, without a star, Not like a king. Three days he feasted us, • All honor. We remember love ourself In our sweet youth. There did a compact pass They harp'd on this; with this our banquets rang; Nothing but this; my very ears were hot To hear them. Knowledge, so my daughter held, No critic I would call them masterpieces. Hard by your father's frontier. I said no, Yet being an easy man, gave it; and there, For maidens, on the spur she fled; and more Not even her brother Arac, nor the twins Her brethren, tho' they love her, look upon her Pardon me saying it — were much loth to breed |