My father, (Tut, you know them not, the girls: With the air of the trumpet round him, and leaps in Flatter'd and fluster'd, wins, tho' dash'd with death He reddens what he kisses: thus I won Your mother, a good mother, a good wife, Worth winning; but this firebrand - gentleness To such as her! if Cyril spake her true, To catch a dragon in a cherry net, To trip a tigress with a gossamer, Were wisdom to it.' 'Wild natures need wise curbs. The soldier? No: What dares not Ida do that she should prize The soldier? I beheld her, when she rose The yesternight, and storming in extremes Stood for her cause, and flung defiance down Gagelike to man, and had not shunn'd the death, No, not the soldier's: yet I hold her, king, True woman: but you clash them all in one, The violet varies from the lily as far As oak from elm: one loves the soldier, one A maiden moon that sparkles on a sty, More breadth of culture: is not Ida right? They worth it? truer to the law within? Severer in the logic of a life? Twice as magnetic to sweet influences Of Earth and Heaven? and she of whom you speak, My mother, looks as whole as some serene Of sovereign artists; not a thought, a touch, But pure as lines of green that streak the white 108 Of the first snowdrop's inner leaves; I say, 'Nay, nay, you spake but sense,' Said Gama. 'We remember love ourselves Our own detention, why the causes weigh'd, We would do much to gratify your PrinceWe pardon it; and for your ingress here Upon the skirt and fringe of our fair land, You did but come as goblins in the night, Nor in the furrow broke the plowman's head, Nor robbed the farmer of his bowl of cream: But let your Prince (our loyal word upon it, I know not what - and ours shall see us friends. You, likewise, our late guests, if so you will, Follow us who knows? we four may build some plan Foursquare to opposition.' Here he reach'd White hands of farewell to my sire, who growl'd An answer which, half-muffled in his beard, Let so much out as gave us leave to go. Then rode we with the old king across the lawns Beneath huge trees, a thousand rings of Spring In every bole, a song on every spray Of birds that piped their Valentines, and woke In the old king's ears, who promised help, and oozed All o'er with honey'd answer as we rode; And blossom-fragrant slipt the heavy dews, Gather'd by night and peace, with each light air On our mail'd heads: but other thoughts than Peace Burnt in us, when we saw the embattled squares, And squadrons of the Prince, trampling the flowers With clamour: for among them rose a cry As if to greet the king; they made a halt; The horses yell'd; they clash'd their arms; the drum Beat; merrily-blowing shrill'd the martial fife; And in the blast and bray of the long horn And serpent-throated bugle, undulated The banner :) anon to meet us lightly pranced Three captains out; nor ever had I seen |