Begone 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 But on my shoulder hung their heavy hands, 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. While I listen'd, came On a sudden the weird seizure and the doubt: I seem'd to move among a world of ghosts; With all its doings had and had not been, And all things were and were not. This went by As strangely as it came, and on my spirits Not long; I shook it off; for spite of doubts To whom the touch of all mischance but came As night to him that sitting on a hill Set into sunrise; then we moved away. Thy voice is heard thro' rolling drums, And gives the battle to his hands : The next, like fire he meets the foe, And strikes him dead for thine and thee. So Lilia sang we thought her half-possess'd, And he that next inherited the tale Half turning to the broken statue, said, 'Sir Ralph has got your colours: if I prove Your knight, and fight your battle, what for me?' It chanced, her empty glove upon the tomb She took it and she flung it. 'Fight' she said, And make us all we would be, great and good.' He knightlike in his cap instead of casque, A cap of Tyrol borrow'd from the hall, Arranged the favour, and assumed the Prince. Now, scarce three paces measured from the mound, And Stand, who goes?' 'Two from the palace' I. The drowsy folds of our great ensign shake Entering, the sudden light Dazed me half-blind: I stood and seem'd to hear, As in a poplar grove when a light wind wakes A lisping of the innumerous leaf and dies, Each hissing in his neighbour's ear; and then |