And paw'd about her sandal. I drew near; I gazed. On a sudden my strange seizure came Upon me, the weird vision of our house : The Princess Ida seem'd a hollow show, Her gay-furr'd cats a painted fantasy, Her college and her maidens, empty masks, For all things were and were not. Yet I felt My heart beat thick with passion and with awe ; Then from my breast the involuntary sigh Brake, as she smote me with the light of eyes knee desire to kneel, and shook That lent my My pulses, till to horse we got, and so The river as it narrow'd to the hills. I rode beside her and to me she said: I answer'd,' but to one of whom we spake Your Highness might have seem'd the thing you say.' 'Again?' she cried 'are you ambassadresses From him to me? we give you, being strange, A license speak, and let the topic die.' : I stammer'd that I knew him-could have wish'd Our king expects-was there no precontract? There is no truer-hearted—ah, you seem All he prefigured, and he could not see To follow surely, if your Highness keep 'Poor boy' she said 'can he not read—no books? Quoit, tennis, ball-no games? nor deals in that Which men delight in, martial exercise ? To nurse a blind ideal like a girl, Methinks he seems no better than a girl; As girls were once, as we ourselves have been: We had our dreams; perhaps he mixt with them : We touch on our dead self, nor shun to do it, Being other since we learnt our meaning here, To lift the woman's fall'n divinity Upon an even pedestal with man.' She paused, and added with a haughtier smile And as to precontracts, we move, my friend, At no man's beck, but know ourselves and thee, O Vashti, noble Vashti! Summon'd out She kept her state, and left the drunken king 'Alas your Highness breathes full East,' I said, 'On that which leans to you. I know the Prince, I prize his truth: and then how vast a work To assail this gray preeminence of man! You grant me license; might I use it? think, Ere half be done perchance your life may fail; F Then comes the feebler heiress of your plan, And takes and ruins all; and thus your pains May only make that footprint upon sand Resmooth to nothing: might I dread that you, With only Fame for spouse and your great deeds For issue, yet may live in vain, and miss, Meanwhile, what every woman counts her due, Love, children, happiness?' And she exclaim'd, Peace, you young savage of the Northern wild! What! tho' your Prince's love were like a God's, Have we not made ourself the sacrifice? You are bold indeed: we are not talk'd to thus: Yet will we say for children, would they grew Howe'er you babble, great deeds cannot die : Children-that men may pluck them from our hearts, Kill us with pity, break us with ourselves— O-children-there is nothing upon earth More miserable than she that has a son And sees him err: nor would we work for fame; Tho' she perhaps might reap the applause of Great, Who learns the one POU STO whence after-hands May move the world, tho' she herself effect But little wherefore up and act, nor shrink : For fear our solid aim be dissipated By frail successors. Would, indeed, we had been, In lieu of many mortal flies, a race Of giants living, each, a thousand years, That we might see our own work out, and watch The sandy footprint harden into stone.' I answer'd nothing, doubtful in myself And she broke out interpreting my thoughts: |