96 Barbarians, grosser than your native bears — O would I had his sceptre for one hour! You that have dared to break our bound, and gull'd Our tutors, wrong'd and lied and thwarted us — 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 your face are loathsome to us: I trample Begone! on your offers and on you: we will not look upon you more. Here, push them out at gates.' In wrath she spake. Then those eight mighty daughters of the plough Bent their broad faces toward us and addressed Their motion: twice I sought to plead my cause, The weight of destiny: so from her face 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; till upon my spirits Which I shook off, for I was young, and one To whom the shadow 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. V. Now scarce three paces measured from the mound We stumbled on a stationary voice, And Stand, who goes?' 'Two from the palace,' I. The second two: they wait,' he said, 'pass on; His Highness wakes:' and one, that clash'd in arms The drowsy folds of our great ensign shake Entering, the sudden light Dazed me half-blind: I stood and seem'd to hear, A lisping of the innumerous leaf and dies, Each hissing in his neighbour's ear; and then On all sides, clamouring etiquette to death, The fresh young captains flash'd their glittering teeth, At length my Sire, his rough cheek wet with tears, Panted from weary sides, 'You are free, O King! We did but keep you surety for our son, If this be he, or a draggled mawkin, thou, That tends her bristled grunters in the sludge :' For I was drench'd with ooze, and torn with briers, More crumpled than a poppy from the sheath, And all one rag, disprinced from head to heel: 'But hence,' he said, 'indue yourselves like men. Your Cyril told us all.' As boys that slink From ferule and the trespass-chiding eye, Away we stole, and transient in a trice To sheathing splendours and the golden scale Leapt from the dewy shoulders of the Earth, We twain, with mutual pardon ask'd and given He show'd a tent A stone-shot off: we entered in, and there Among piled arms and rough accoutrements, Pitiful sight, wrapt in a soldier's cloak, |