Fluctuated, as flowers in storm, some red, some pale,
All open-mouth'd, all gazing to the light,

Some crying there was an army in the land,

And some that men were in the very walls,

465 And some they cared not; till a clamour grew
As of a new-world Babel, a woman-built
And worse-confounded: high above them stood
The placid marble Muses, looking peace.

Not peace she look'd, the Head: but, rising up
470 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

475 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? 480 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,
Or, falling, protomartyr of our cause,

485 Die: yet I blame you not so much for fear;

Six thousand years of fear have made you that
From which I would redeem you: but for those
That stir this hubbub- you and you - I know
Your faces there in the crowd to-morrow morn
490 We hold a great convention: then shall they
That love their voices more than duty learn
With whom they deal, dismiss'd in shame to live
No wiser than their mothers, household stuff,

Live chattels, mincers of each other's fame, 495 Full of weak poison, turnspits for the clown, The drunkard's football, laughing-stocks of Time, Whose brains are in their hands and in their heels, But fit to flaunt, to dress, to dance, to thrum, To tramp, to scream, to burnish, and to scour, 500 For ever slaves at home and fools abroad."

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 505 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. 510 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, 515 You would-be quenchers of the light to be, Barbarians, grosser than your native bears Oh would I had his scepter for one hour! You that have dared to break our bound, and gull'd Our servants, wrong'd and lied and thwarted us

520 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,

Your falsehood and yourself are hateful to us :

525 I trample on your offers and on you:

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 plow Bent their broad faces toward us and address'd 530 Their motion: twice I sought to plead my cause, But on my shoulder hung their heavy hands, The weight of destiny: so from her face

535

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;
540 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,
545 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
550 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,
That beat to battle where he stands;
Thy face across his fancy comes,

And gives the battle to his hands:
A moment, while the trumpets blow,
He sees his brood about thy knee;
The next, like fire he meets the foe,
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 colours: if I prove

Your knight, and fight your battle, what for me?"
It chanced, her empty glove upon the tomb
Lay by her like a model of her hand.

She took it and she flung it. "Fight," she said,
"And make us all we would be, great and good."
He, knightlike in his cap instead of casque,
A cap of Tyrol borrow'd from the hall,
Arranged the favour, and assumed the Prince.