But that there rose a shout: the gates were closed At sundown, and the crowd were swarming now, And I and some went out, and mingled with them. Among six boys, head under head, and look'd A great broad-shoulder'd genial Englishman, A lord of fat prize-oxen and of sheep, A raiser of huge melons and of pine, A patron of some thirty charities, A pamphleteer on guano and on grain, A quarter-sessions chairman, abler none; Now shaking hands with him, now him, of those To follow a shout arose again, and made The long line of the approaching rookery swerve From the elms, and shook the branches of the deer From slope to slope thro' distant ferns, and rang Beyond the bourn of sunset; O, a shout More joyful than the city-roar that hails But we went back to the Abbey, and sat on, So much the gathering darkness charm'd: we sat Saying little, rapt in nameless reverie, Perchance upon the future man: the walls Blacken'd about us, bats wheel'd, and owls whoop'd, And gradually the powers of the night, That range above the region of the wind, Deepening the courts of twilight broke them up Beyond all thought into the Heaven of Heavens. 168 THE PRINCESS; A MEDLEY. Last little Lilia, rising without sound, Disrobed the glimmering statue of Sir Ralph From those rich silks, and home well-pleased we went. THE END. |