Those winters of abeyance all worn out, O noble Ida, to those thoughts that wait On you, their centre: let me say but this, That many a famous man and woman, town And landskip, have I heard of, after seen The dwarfs of presage: tho' when known, there grew Another kind of beauty in detail Made them worth knowing; but in you I found I cannot cease to follow you, as they say The breath of life; O more than poor men wealth, Than sick men health-yours, yours, not mine— but half Without you; with you, whole; and of those halves You worthiest; and howe'er you block and bar Your heart with system out from mine, I hold That it becomes no man to nurse despair, But in the teeth of clench'd antagonisms To follow up the worthiest till he die: Yet that I came not all unauthorized Behold your father's letter." On one knee Kneeling, I gave it, which she caught, and dash'd Unopen'd at her feet: a tide of fierce 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 : All open-mouth'd, all gazing to the light, Some crying there was an army in the land, Not peace she look'd, the Head: but rising up Glares ruin, and the wild birds on the light 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, And clad in iron burst the ranks of war, 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 Of thunder-shower, she floated to us and said: "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 floodThen 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 bearsO 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 usI 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, |