Of echoes, and a moment, and once more
The trumpet, and again: at which the storm
Of galloping hoofs bare on the ridge of spears
And riders front to front, until they closed
In conflict with the crash of shivering points,
And thunder. Yet it seem'd a dream; I
dream'd

Of fighting. On his haunches rose the steed,
And into fiery splinters leapt the lance,
And out of stricken helmets sprang the fire.
A noble dream! what was it else I saw?
Part sat like rocks; part reel'd but kept their

From those two bulks at Arac's side, and down

From Arac's arm, as from a giant's flail, The large blows rain'd, as here and everywhere

He rode the mellay, lord of the ringing lists, And all the plain - brand, mace, and shaft, and shield

Shock'd, like an iron-clanging anvil bang'd
With hammers; till I thought, can this be he
From Gama's dwarfish loins? if this be so,
The mother makes us most-and in my
dream

I glanced aside, and saw the palace-front
Alive with fluttering scarfs and ladies' eyes,
And highest, among the statues, statue-like,
Between a cymbal'd Miriam and a Jael,
With Psyche's babe, was Ida watching us,
A single band of gold about her hair,
Like a Saint's glory up in heaven: but she
No saint- inexorable - no tenderness -
Too hard, too cruel: yet she sees me fight,
Yea, let her see me fall! with that I drave
Among the thickest and bore down a Prince,
And Cyril, one. Yea, let me make my dream
All that I would. But that large-moulded
man,

His visage all agrin as at a wake,

Made at me thro' the press, and, staggering back

With stroke on stroke the horse and horse

man came

As comes a pillar of electric cloud,
Flaying the roofs and sucking up the drains,
And shadowing down the champaign till it
strikes

On a wood, and takes, and breaks, and cracks, and splits,

And twists the grain with such a roar that
Earth

Reels, and the herdsmen cry; for everything
Gave way before him: only Florian, he
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 ñerce 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 kneeLike summer tempest came her tears. "Sweet my child, I live for thee."

VI.

Till understanding all the foolish work
Of Fancy, and the bitter close of all,

Her iron will was broken in her mind;
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 "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,
To lighten this great clog of thanks, that

make

mine not yours,

It is not yours, but mine: give me the child," Ceased all on tremble: piteous was the cry: So stood the unhappy mother open-mouth'd, And turn'd each face her way: wan was her cheek

With hollow watch, her blooming mantle torn,
Red grief and mother's hunger in her eye,
And down dead-heavy sank her curls, and
half

The sacred mother's bosom, panting, burst
The laces toward her babe; but she nor cared
Nor knew it, clamoring on, till Ida heard,
Look'd up, and rising slowly from me, stood
Erect and silent, striking with her glance
The mother, me, the child; but he that lay
Beside us, Cyril, batter'd as he was,

'rail'd himself up on one knee: then he drew

Her robe to meet his lips, and down she look'd

At the arm'd man sideways, pitying, as it seem'd,

Or self-involved; but when she learnt his

But Love and Nature, these are two more terrible

And stronger. See, your foot is on our necks, We vanquish'd, you the Victor of your will. What would you more? give her the child! remain

Orb'd in your isolation: he is dead,

Or all as dead: henceforth we let you be : Win you the hearts of women; and beware Lest, where you seek the common love of these,

The common hate with the revolving wheel Should drag you down, and some great Nemesis

Break from a darken'd future, crown'd with fire,

And tread you out forever: but howsoe'er
Fix'd in yourself, never in your own arms
To hold your own, deny not hers to her,
Give her the child! O if, I say, you keep
One pulse that beats true woman, if you loved
The breast that fed or arm that dandled you,

Or own one part of sense not flint to prayer,
Give her the child! or if you scorn to lay it,
Yourself, in hands so lately claspt with yours,
Or speak to her, your dearest, her one fault
The tenderness, not yours, that could not kill,
Give me it; I will give it her."
He said:

At first her eye with slow dilation roll'd
Dry flame, she listening; after sank and sank
And, into mournful twilight mellowing, dwelt
Full on the child; she took it: "Pretty bud!
Lily of the vale! half-open'd bell of the
woods!

Sole comfort of my dark hour, when a world
Of traitorous friend and broken system made
No purple in the distance, mystery,
Pledge of a love not to be mine, farewell;
These men are hard upon us as of old,
We two must part: and yet how fain was I
To dream thy cause embraced in mine, to
think

I might be something to thee, when I felt
Thy helpless warmth about my barren breast
In the dead prime: but may thy mother prove
As true to thee as false, false, false to me!
And, if thou needs must bear the yoke, I

wish it

Gentle as freedom"- -here she kissed it: then

"All good go with thee! take it, Sir," and

foot,

And hugg'd and never hugg'd it close enough, And in her hunger mouth'd and mumbled it, And hid her bosom with it; after that

Put on more calm and added suppliantly:

"We two were friends: I go to mine own land

Forever find some other: as for me I scarce am fit for your great plans: yet speak to me,

Say one soft word and let me part forgiven.”

But Ida spoke not, rapt upon the child. Then Arac. "Ida-'sdeath! you blame the man;

You wrong yourselves -the woman is so hard
Upon the woman. Come, a grace to me!
I am your warrior; I and mine have fought
Your battle: kiss her; take her hand, she

Of your great head- for he is wounded tooThat you may tend upon him with the prince."

66

66

Ay so," said Ida with a bitter smile, "Our laws are broken: let him enter too." Then Violet, she that sang the mournful song, And had a cousin tumbled on the plain, Petition'd too for him. Ay so, "she said, "I stagger in the stream: I cannot keep My heart an eddy from the brawling hour: We break our laws with ease, but let it be." "Ay so?" said Blanche: "Amazed am I to hear

Your Highness: but your Highness breaks with ease

The law your Highness did not make : 't was I.

I had been wedded wife, I knew mankind, And block'd them out; but these men came

to woo

Your Highness- verily I think to win."

So she, and turn'd askance a wintry eye: But Ida with a voice, that like a bell Toll'd by an earthquake in a trembling

tower,

Rang ruin, answer'd full of grief and scorn.

"Fling our doors wide! all, all, not one, but all,

Not only he, but by my mother's soul,
Whatever man lies wounded, friend or foe,
Shall enter, if he will. Let our girls flit,
Till the storm die! but had you stood by us,
The roar that breaks the Pharos from his
base

Had left us rock. She fain would sting us too,

But shall not. Pass, and mingle with your likes.

We brook no further insult but are gone."

She turn'd; the very nape of her white neck

Was rosed with indignation: but the Prince Her brother came; the king her father charm'd

Her wounded soul with words: nor did mine

Own

Refuse her proffer, lastly gave his hand.

Then us they lifted up, dead weights, and bare

Straight to the doors: to them the doors

gave way

Groaning, and in the Vestal entry shriek'd
The virgin marble under iron heels:

And on they moved and gain'd the hall, and there

Rested but great the crush was, and each base,

To left and right, of those tall columns drown'd

In silken fluctuation and the swarm

Of female whisperers: at the further end
Was Ida by the throne, the two great cats
Close by her, like supporters on a shield,
Bow-back'd with fear: but in the centre
stood

The common men with rolling eyes; amazed
They glared upon the women, and aghast
The women stared at these, all silent, save
When armor clash'd or jingled, while the day,
Descending, struck athwart the hall, and shot
A flying splendor out of brass and steel,
That o'er the statues leapt from head to
head,

Now fired an angry Pallas on the helm,
Now set a wrathful Dian's moon on flame,
And now and then an echo started up,
And shuddering fled from room to room, and
died

Of fright in far apartments.
Then the voice
Of Ida sounded, issuing ordinance :
And me they bore up the broad stairs, and
thro'

The long-laid galleries past a hundred doors
To one deep chamber shut from sound, and

due

So was their sanctuary violated,
So their fair college turn'd to hospital;
At first with all confusion: by and by
Sweet order lived again with other laws:
A kindlier influence reign'd; and everywhere
Low voices with the ministering hand
Hung round the sick the maidens came,
they talk'd,

They sang, they read: till she not fair, began
To gather light, and she that was, became
Her former beauty treble; and to and fro
With books, with flowers, with Angel offices,
Like creatures native unto gracious act,
And in their own clear element, they moved.

But sadness on the soul of Ida fell, And hatred of her weakness, blent with shame.

Old studies fail'd; seldom she spoke; but oft

Clomb to the roofs, and gazed alone for hours On that disastrous leaguer, swarms of men Darkening her female field: void was her