Invective seem'd to wait behind her lips, As waits a river level with the dam Ready to burst and flood the world with foam; pale, All open-mouth'd, all gazing to the light, Not peace she look'd, the Head; but rising up Robed in the long night of her deep hair, so To the open window moved, remaining there Fixt like a beacon-tower above the waves Of tempest, when the crimson-rolling eye Glares ruin, and the wild birds on the light Dash themselves dead. She stretch'd her arms and call'd Across the tumult, and the tumult fell. What fear ye, brawlers? am not I your Head? On me, me, me, the storm first breaks; I dare All these male thunderbolts; what is it ye fear? Peace! there are those to avenge us and they come; If not, myself were like enough, O girls, To unfurl the maiden banner of our rights, Die; yet I blame you not so much for fear; She, ending, waved her hands; thereat the crowd Muttering, dissolved; then with a smile, that look'd A stroke of cruel sunshine on the cliff, When all the glens are drown'd in azure gloom "You have done well and like a gentleman, And like a prince; you have our thanks for all. And you look well too in 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, 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 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. While I listen'd, came On a sudden the weird seizure and the doubt. I seem'd to move among a world of ghosts; The Princess with her monstrous woman-guard, The jest and earnest working side by side, The cataract and the tumult and the kings Were shadows; and the long fantastic night With all its doings had and had not been, And all things were and were not. This went by As strangely as it came, and on my spirits Settled a gentle cloud of melancholy Not long; I shook it off; for spite of doubts. And sudden ghostly shadowings I was one To whom the touch 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. INTERLUDE Thy voice is heard thro' rolling drums And gives the battle to his hands. And strikes him dead for thine and thee. So Lilia sang. We thought her half-possess'd, She struck such warbling fury thro' 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, Sir Ralph has got your colors; if I prove Your knight, and fight your battle, what for me?' It chanced, her empty glove upon the tomb She took it and she flung it. Fight,' she said, |