And partly that I hoped to win you back, And partly conscious of my own deserts, And partly that you were my civil head, And chiefly you were born for something great When time should serve; and thus a noble scheme Up in one night and due to sudden sun: We took this palace; but even from the first You stood in your own light and darken'd mine. To Lady Psyche, younger, not so wise, A foreigner, and I your countrywoman, I your old friend and tried, she new in all ? But still her lists were swell'd and mine were lean; Yet I bore up in hope she would be known: Then came these wolves: they knew her : they endured, Long-closeted with her the yestermorn, To tell her what they were, and she to hear: And me none told: not less to an eye like mine, Last night, their mask was patent, and my foot To meet a cold 'We thank you, we shall hear of it I spoke not then at first, but watch'd them well, That surely she will tell you; if not, then I. Did she these monsters blazon'd what they were I grant in her the merit of shame, she flies; I, that have wasted here health, wealth and time And talents, I-you know it I will not boast. Dismiss me, and I prophesy your plan, Divorced from my experience, will be chaff For every gust of chance, and men will say We did not know the real light, but chased The wisp that flickers where no foot can tread.' She ceased the Princess answer'd coldly, 'Good: Your oath is broken: we dismiss you go. For this lost lamb (she pointed to the child) Our mind is changed: we assume it to ourselves.' Thereat the Lady stretch'd a vulture throat, And shot from crooked lips a haggard smile. 'The plan was mine. I built the nest,' she said, To hatch the cuckoo. Rise!' and stoop'd to updrag Melissa she, half on her mother propt, A liquid look on Ida, full of prayer, Which melted Florian's fancy as she hung, A Niobëan daughter, one arm out, About the doors, and on a sudden ran in A woman-post in flying raiment. Fear Stared in her eyes, and chalk'd her face, and wing'd Her transit to the throne, whereby she fell And cheek and bosom brake the wrathful bloom As of some fire against a stormy cloud, When the wild peasant rights himself, and the rick For anger most it seem'd, while now her breast, In the dead hush the papers that she held Rustle at once the lost lamb at her feet Sent out a bitter bleating for its dam; The plaintive cry jarr'd on her ire; she crush'd As if to speak, but, utterance failing her, She whirl'd them on to me, as who should say 'Read,' and I read two letters one her sire's. 'Fair daughter, when we sent the Prince your way We knew not your ungracious laws, which learnt, We, conscious of what temper you are built, Came all in haste to hinder wrong, but fell |