With their own blows they hurt themselves, nor knew

There dwelt an iron nature in the grain:

The glittering axe was broken in their arms,

Their arms were shatter'd to the shoulder blade.

Our enemies have fall'n, but this shall grow

A night of Summer from the heat, a breadth
Of Autumn, dropping fruits of power; and roll'd
With music in the growing breeze of Time,

The tops shall strike from star to star, the fangs
Shall move the stony bases of the world.

And now, O maids, behold our sanctuary

Is violate, our laws broken: fear we not

To break them more in their behoof, whose arms
Champion'd our cause and won it with a day
Blanch'd in our annals, and perpetual feast,
When dames and heroines of the golden year
Shall strip a hundred hollows bare of Spring,
To rain an April of ovation round

Their statues, borne aloft, the three: but come,

We will be liberal, since our rights are won.

U

Let them not lie in the tents with coarse mankind,

Ill nurses; but descend, and proffer these

The brethren of our blood and cause, that there

Lie bruised and maim'd, the tender ministries
Of female hands and hospitality.'

She spoke, and with the babe yet in her arms, Descending, burst the great bronze valves, and led A hundred maids in train across the Park.

Some cowl'd, and some bare-headed, on they came,
Their feet in flowers, her loveliest: by them went
The enamour'd air sighing, and on their curls
From the high tree the blossom wavering fell,
And over them the tremulous isles of light
Slided, they moving under shade: but Blanche
At distance follow'd: so they came: anon
Thro' open field into the lists they wound
Timorously; and as the leader of the herd
That holds a stately fretwork to the Sun,
And follow'd up by a hundred airy does,
Steps with a tender foot, light as on air,
The lovely, lordly creature floated on

To where her wounded brethren lay; there stay'd;
Knelt on one knee,-the child on one,-and prest
Their hands, and call'd them dear deliverers,

And happy warriors, and immortal names,

6

And said You shall not lie in the tents but here,

And nursed by those for whom you fought, and served With female hands and hospitality.'

Then, whether moved by this, or was it chance,

She past my way. Up started from my side
The old lion, glaring with his whelpless eye,
Silent; but when she saw me lying stark,
Dishelm'd and mute, and motionlessly pale,
Cold ev'n to her, she sigh'd; and when she saw
The haggard father's face and reverend beard
Of grisly twine, all dabbled with the blood

Of his own son, shudder'd, a twitch of pain
Tortured her mouth, and o'er her forehead past
A shadow, and her hue changed, and she said:
'He saved my life: my brother slew him for it'
No more at which the king in bitter scorn
Drew from my neck the painting and the tress,

And held them up: she saw them, and a day

Rose from the distance on her memory,

When the good Queen, her mother, shore the tress

With kisses, ere the days of Lady Blanche:

And then once more she look'd at my pale face :

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

6

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
Our progress falter to the woman's goal.'

She said but at the happy word 'he lives'

My father stoop'd, re-father'd o'er my wounds.
So those two foes above my fallen life,

With brow to brow like night and evening mixt