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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
Bent their broad faces toward us and address'd
Their motion: twice I sought to plead my cause,

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;
The Princess with her monstrous woman-guard,
The jest and earnest working side by side,
The cataract and the tumult and the kings
Were shadows; and the long fantastic night

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
Settled a gentle cloud of melancholy;

Not long; I shook it off; for spite of doubts
And sudden ghostly shadowings I was one

To whom the touch 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.

Thy voice is heard thro' rolling drums,
That beat to battle where he stands ;
Thy face across his fancy comes,

And gives the battle to his hands :
A moment, while the trumpets blow,
He sees his brood about thy knee;

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,
She struck such warbling fury thro' the words;
And, after, feigning pique at what she call'd
The raillery, or grotesque, or false sublime-
Like one that wishes at a dance to change
The music-clapt her hands and cried for war,
Or some grand fight to kill and make an end:

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
Lay by her like a model of her hand.

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,
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,
By glimmering lanes and walls of canvas, led
Threading the soldier-city, till we heard

The drowsy folds of our great ensign shake
From blazon'd lions o'er the imperial tent
Whispers of war.

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

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