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That loved me closer than his own right eye,
Thrust in between; but Arac rode him down.
And Cyril seeing it, push'd against the Prince,
With Psyche's color round his helmet, tough,
Strong, supple, sinew-corded, apt at arms;
But tougher, heavier, stronger, he that smote
And threw him. Last I spurr'd; I felt my veins
Stretch with fierce heat; a moment hand to hand,
And sword to sword, and horse to horse we hung,
Till I struck out and shouted; the blade glanced,
I did but shear a feather, and dream and truth
Flow'd from me; darkness closed me, and I fell.

Home they brought her warrior dead;
She nor swoon'd nor utter'd cry.

All her maidens, watching, said,

She must weep or she will die.'

Then they praised him, soft and low,
Call'd him worthy to be loved,

Truest friend and noblest foe;

Yet she neither spoke nor moved.

Stole a maiden from her place,
Lightly to the warrior stept,

Took the face-cloth from the face ;
Yet she neither moved nor wept.

Rose a nurse of ninety years,

Set his child upon her knee

Like summer tempest came her tears —

Sweet my child, I live for thee.'

VI

My dream had never died or lived again;
As in some mystic middle state I lay.
Seeing I saw not, hearing not I heard;
Tho', if I saw not, yet they told me all
So often that I speak as having seen.

For so it seem'd, or so they said to me, That all things grew more tragic and more strange; That when our side was vanquish'd and my cause For ever lost, there went up a great cry,

The Prince is slain!' My father heard and ran In on the lists, and there unlaced my casque And grovell'd on my body, and after him Came Psyche, sorrowing for Aglaïa.

But high upon the palace Ida stood
With Psyche's babe in arm; there on the roofs
Like that great dame of Lapidoth she sang.

Our enemies have fallen, have fallen: the seed,
The little seed they laugh'd at in the dark,
Has risen and cleft the soil, and grown a bulk
Of spanless girth, that lays on every side

A thousand arms and rushes to the sun.

• Our enemies have fallen, have fallen: they came; The leaves were wet with women's tears; they heard A noise of songs they would not understand;

They mark'd it with the red cross to the fall,

And would have strown it, and are fallen themselves.

Our enemies have fallen, have fallen: they came,
The woodmen with their axes: lo the tree!

But we will make it faggots for the hearth,
And shape it plank and beam for roof and floor,
And boats and bridges for the use of men.

Our enemies have fallen, have fallen; they struck; With their own blows they hurt themselves, nor knew There dwelt an iron nature in the grain;

The glittering axe was broken in their arms,
Their arms were shatter'd to the shoulder blade.

. Our enemies have fallen, but this shall grow
A night of Summer from the heat, a breadth
Of Autumn, dropping fruits of power; and roll'd
With music in the growing breeze of Time,
The tops shall strike from star to star, the fangs
Shall move the stony bases of the world.

• And now, O maids, behold our sanctuary
Is violate, our laws broken; fear we not
To break them more in their behoof, whose arms
Champion'd our cause and won it with a day
Blanch'd in our annals, and perpetual feast,
When dames and heroines of the golden year
Shall strip a hundred hollows bare of Spring,
To rain an April of ovation round

Their statues, borne aloft, the three; but come,
We will be liberal, since our rights are won.
Let them not lie in the tents with coarse mankind,
Ill nurses; but descend, and proffer these

The brethren of our blood and cause, that there Lie bruised and maim'd, the tender ministries Of female hands and hospitality.'

She spoke, and with the babe yet in her arms, Descending, burst the great bronze valves, and led A hundred maids in train across the park.

Some cowl'd, and some bare-headed, on they came,
Their feet in flowers, her loveliest. By them went
The enamor❜d air sighing, and on their curls
From the high tree the blossom wavering fell,
And over them the tremulous isles of light
Slided, they moving under shade; but Blanche
At distance follow'd. So they came: anon
Thro' open field into the lists they wound
Timorously; and as the leader of the herd
That holds a stately fretwork to the sun,
And follow'd up by a hundred airy does,
Steps with a tender foot, light as on air,
The lovely, lordly creature floated on

To where her wounded brethren lay; there stay'd,
Knelt on one knee, - the child on one,

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Their hands, and call'd them dear deliverers,

And happy warriors, and immortal names,

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And said, 'You shall not lie in the tents, but here, And nursed by those for whom you fought, and

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With female hands and hospitality.'

Then, whether moved by this, or was it chance,
She past my way. Up started from my side
The old lion, glaring with his whelpless eye,
Silent; but when she saw me lying stark,
Dishelm'd and mute, and motionlessly pale,
Cold even to her, she sigh'd; and when she saw
The haggard father's face and reverend beard
Of grisly twine, all dabbled with the blood
Of his own son, shudder'd, a twitch of pain
Tortured her mouth, and o'er her forehead past
A shadow, and her hue changed, and she said:
'He saved my life; my brother slew him for it.'
No more; at which the king in bitter scorn
Drew from my neck the painting and the tress,
And held them up. She saw them, and a day
Rose from the distance on her memory,

When the good queen, her mother, shore the tress
With kisses, ere the days of Lady Blanche.
And then once more she look'd at my pale face;
Till understanding all the foolish work

Of Fancy, and the bitter close of all,

✓ Her iron will was broken in her mind ;

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Her noble heart was molten in her breast;

She bow'd, she set the child on the earth; she laid

A feeling finger on my brows, and presently

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O Sire,' she said, he lives; he is not dead!
O, let me have him with my brethren here
In our own palace; we will tend on him
Like one of these; if so, by any means,

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