About her neck, and on it graved the date.
Her merry eyes grew soft with tender pain;
She heard him sigh, “Alas, by what rude fate
Our lives, like ships at sea, an instant meet,
Then part forever on their courses fleet!”
And in sheer pity of herself she dropped
Her lovely head; and, though with self she strove,
One hot tear fell. The shadow, which had stopped
On her life’s dial, moved again, and Love
Went sobbing by, and only left his wraith;
For both were loyal to their given faith.
Farewells they breathed and self-reproaches found,
Half gliding with the current to the fall,
Yet struggling for the shore. Was she not bound?
Did not his plighted future, like a wall,
Jut ’cross the stream? They feared themselves, and rose,
And through the forest gained the mansion-close
Unmissed, and parted thus, nor met anew;
For on the morrow, when the Prince took horse,
The lady feigned an illness, or ’twas true,—
Yet maybe from her oriel marked his course,
Watching his plume, that into distance past,
Like some dear sail which sinks from sight at last.
He rode beneath their arch, where pennons flared
And standards with his colors blazoned in.
Then thousands shouted welcome; trumpets blared;
He felt the glories of his life begin!
Far, far behind, that eddy in its stream
Now seemed; its vanished shores, in turn, a dream.
Enough; he passed the ways and reached the Queen.
With pomp and pageantry the vows were said
Leave to the chroniclers the storied scene,
The church, the court, the masks and jousts that sped;
Not theirs, but ours, to follow Love apart,
Where first the bridegroom held his bride to heart,
And saw her purity and regnant worth
Thus kept for him and yielded to his care.
What marvel that of all who dwelt on earth
He seemed most fortunate and she most fair
That self-same hour? And “By God’s grace,” he thought,
“May I to some ignoble end be brought,
“Unless I so reward her for her choice,
And shape my future conduct in this land
By her deserving, that the world’s great voice
Proclaim me not unworthy! Let my hand
Henceforward make her tasks its own; my life
Be merged in this fair ruler, precious wife,
“The paragon and glory of her kind!”
Who reads his own heart will not think it strange
He put that yester romance from his mind
So readily. Men’s lives, like oceans, change
In shifting tides, and ebb from either shore
Till the strong planet draws them on once more.
* * * * *
And as a pilgrim, shielded by the wings
Of some bright angel, crosses perilous ground,
Through unknown ways, and, while she leads and sings,
Forgets the past, nor sees what pits surround
His footsteps, so the young Prince cast away
That self-distrust, and with his sovereign May
The gladness joined, and with her sat in state,
Beneath the ancient scutcheons of her throne,
And welcome gave, and led the revels late;
But when the still and midnight heavens shone
They fled the masquers, and the city’s hum
Was silent, and the palace halls grew dumb,
And Love and Sleep in that serene eclipse
Moved, making prince and clown of one degree,
Then was she all his own; then from her lips
He learned with what a sweet humility
She, whose least word a spacious kingdom ruled,
In Love’s free vassalage would fain be schooled.
How poor, she said, her sovereignty seemed,
Unless it made her richer in his eye!
And poor his life, until her sunlight beamed
Upon it, said the Prince. So months went by;
They were a gracious pair; the Queen was glad;
Peace smiled, and the wide land contentment had.
And for a time the courteous welcome paid
The chosen consort, and the people’s joy
In the Queen’s joy, kept silent those who weighed
The Prince’s make, and sought to find alloy
In his fine gold; but, when the freshness fled
From these things told, some took new thought and said:
“Look at the Queen: her heart is wholly set
Upon the Prince! what if he warp her mind
To errant policies, and rule us yet
By proxy?” “What and if he prove the kind
Of trifling gallant,” others said, “to slight
Our mistress, for each new and base delight?
“Ay, we will watch him, lest he do her wrong!”
And his due station, even from the first,
The peers of haughty rank and lineage long,
Jealous of one whose blossom at a burst
Outflamed their own, begrudged him; till their pique
grew plain, and sent proud color to his cheek.
So now he fared as some new actor fares,
Who through dark arras gains the open boards,
Facing the lights, and feels a thousand stares
Come full upon him; and the great throng hoards
Its plaudits; and, as he begins his tale,
His rivals wait to mock him if he fail.
But here a brave simplicity of soul
And careless vigilance, by honor bred,
Stayed him, and o’er his actions held control.
A host of generous virtues stood in stead,
To help him on; with patient manliness
He kept his rank, no greater and no less;
His life was as a limpid rivulet;
His thoughts, like golden sands, were through it seen,
Not on himself in poor ambition set,
But on his chosen country and the Queen;
And with such gentle tact he bore a sense
Of conduct due, nor took nor gave offence,
That, as time went, he earned their trust, who first
Withheld it him, and brought them, one by one,
To seek him for a comrade; but he nursed
His friendships with such equal care that none
Could claim him as their own; nor was his word
Of counsel dulled by being often heard;
Nor would he sully his fresh youth among
The roisterers and pretty wanton dames
Who strove to win him; nor with ribald tongue
Joined in the talk that round a palace flames;
Nor came and went alone, save—’twas his wont
In his own land—he haply left the hunt
On forest days, and, plunging down the wood,
There in the brakes and copses half forgot
The part he bore, and caught anew the mood
Of youth, and felt a heart for any lot;
Then, loitering cityward behind the train,
With fresher courage took his place again.
His pure life made the wits about the court
Find in its very blamelessness a fault
That lacked the generous failings of their sort.
“With so much sweet,” they swore, “a grain of salt
Were welcome! lighter tongue and freer mood
Were something more of man, if less of prude!”
And others to his praises would oppose
Suspicion of his prowess, and they said,
“Our rose of princes is a thornless rose,
A woman’s toy!” and, when the months were sped,
And the glad Queen was childed with a son,
Light jests upon his mission well begun
They bandied; yet the Prince, who felt the sting,
Bided his time. Till on the land there brake
A sudden warfare; for that haughty king,
Gathering a mighty armament to take
Revenge for his lost suit, with sword and flame
Against the borders on short pretext came.
Then with hot haste the Queen’s whole forces poured
To meet him. With the call to horse and blade
The Prince, deep-chafed in spirit, placed his sword
At orders of the General, and prayed
A humble station, but, as due his rank,
Next in command was made, and led the flank.
And so with doubtful poise a fierce war raged,
Till on a day encountered face to face
The two chief hosts, and dreadful battle waged
To close the issue. In its opening space
Death smote the General, and in tumult sore
The line sank back; but swiftly, at the fore
Placing himself, the Prince right onward hurled
The strife once more, and with his battle-shout
Woke victory; again his forces whirled
The hostile troops, and drove them on in rout.
The strength of ten battalions seemed to yield
Before his arm; and so he won that field,
And slew with his own hand the vengeful king,
And with that death-stroke brought the war to end,
Conquering the common foe, and conquering
The hate, from which he would not else defend
His clear renown than with such manful deeds
As fall to faith and valor at their needs.
Again—this time the chaplet was his own—
The people wreathed their laurels for his brow;
His horses trod on flowers; the city shone
With flags of victory; and none but now—
As with no vaunting mien he wore his bays—
Confessed him brave as good, and gave their praise.
Peace smiled anew; the kingdom was at rest.
Ah, happy Queen! whom every matron’s tongue
Ran envious of, with such a consort blest
As wins the heart of women, old and young;
So gallant, yet so good, the gentlest maid
By this fair standard her own suitor weighed.
I hold the perfect mating of two souls,
Through wedded love, to be the sum of bliss.
When Earth, this fruit that ripens as it rolls
In sunlight, grows more prime, lives will not miss
Their counterparts, and each shall find its own;
But now with what blind chance the lots are thrown!
And because Love sets with a rising tide
Along the drift where much has gone before
One holds of worth,—we lavish first, beside,
Heart, honors, regal gifts, and love the more
When yielding most,—for this the Queen’s love knew
No slack, but still its current deeper grew.
And because Love is free, and follows not
On gratitude, nor comes from what is given
So much as on the giving; and, I wot,
Partly because it irks one to have thriven
At hands which seem the weaker, and should thrive
While those of him they cling to lift and strive;
And partly that his marriage seemed a height
Which raised him from the passions of our kind,
Nor with his own intent; and that, despite
Its clear repose, he somehow longed to find
The lower world, starve, hunger, and be fed
With joy and sorrow, sweet and bitter bread,—
For all these things the Prince loved not the Queen
With that sufficience which alone can take
A rapture in itself and rest serene;
Yet knew not what his life lacked that should make
It worth to live,—our custom has such art
To dull the craving of the famished heart,—
Perchance had never known it, but a light
Flashed in his path and lit a fiery train
About him; else, day following day, and night
By night, through years his soul had felt no pain,
No triumph, but had shared the common lull,
Been all it seemed, as blameless, true, and dull.
And yet in one fair woman beauty, youth,
And passion were united, and her love
Was framed about his likeness. Some, forsooth,
May shift their changeful worship as they rove,
Or clowns or princes; but her fancy slept,
Dreaming upon that picture which she kept,
A secret pain and pleasance. With what strife
Men sought her love she wist not, for the prize
Was not for them. She lived a duteous life.
’Twas something thus to let her constant eyes
Feed on his face, to hear his name,—to know
He lived, had walked those paths, had loved her so.
There is a painting of a youthful monk
Who sits within a walled and cloistered nook,
His breviary closed, and listens, sunk
In day-dreams, to a viol,—with a look
Of strange regret fixed on two pairing doves,
Who find their fate and simple natural loves.
Yet bonds of gold, linked hands, and chancel vows,
Even spousal beds, do not a marriage make.
When such things chain the soul that never knows
Love’s mating, little vantage shall it take,
Wandering with alien feet throughout the wide,
Hushed temple, over those who pine outside!
So this young wife forecast her horoscope
And found its wedded lines of little worth,
Yet owned not to herself what hopeless hope
Or dumb intent made green her spot of earth.
So passed three changeless years, as such years be;
At last the old lord died, and left her free,
The mistress of his rank and broad estate,
In honor of her constancy. Then life
Rushed back; she saw her beauty grown more great,
Ripened as if a summer field were rife
With grain, the harvester neglectful, since
Hers was no mean desire that sought a prince,
Eager to make his birth and bloom her own,
Or reign a wanton favorite. But she thought,
“I might have loved and clung to him alone,
Am fairer than he knew me; yet, if aught
Of rarity make sweet my hair and lips,
What sweetness hath the honey that none sips?”
After her time of mourning she grew bold,
And said, “Once let me look upon his face!
The Queen will take no harm if I behold
What all the world can see.” She left her place,
And with a kinsman, at a palace rout,
Followed the long line passing in and out
Before the dais. The Prince’s eyes and hers
Met like the clouds that lighten. In a breath
Swift memory flamed between them, as, when stirs
No wind, and the dark sky is still as death,
One lance of living fire is hurled across;
Then comes the whirlwind, and the forests toss!
Yet as she bent her beauteous shoulders down,
And heard the kindly greeting of the Queen,
He spoke such words as one who wears a crown
Speaks, and no more; and with a low, proud mien
She murmured answer, from the presence past
Lightly, nor any look behind her cast.
In that first glimpse each read the other’s heart;
But not without a summoning of himself
To judgment did the Prince forever part
From truth and fealty. As he pondered, still
With stronger voice Love claimed a debt unpaid,
And youth’s hot pulses would not be gainsaid.
She with a fierce, full gladness saw again
Their broken threads of love begin to spin
In one red strand, and let it guide her then,
Whether it led to danger or to sin;
And shortly, on the morrow, took the road,
And gained her country-seat, and there abode.
The Prince, a bright near morning, mounted horse,
Garbed for the hunt, and left the town, and through
The deep-pathed wood rode on a wayward course,
With a set purpose in him,—though he knew
It not, and let his steed go where it might;
For this sole thought pursued him since that night:—
“What recompense for me who have not sown
The seed and reaped the harvest of my days?
Youth passes like a bird; but love alone
Makes wealth of riches, power of rank, men’s praise
A goodly sound. Of such things have I aught?
There is a foil to make their substance naught.
“What were his gifts who made each lovely thing,
Yet lacked the gift of love? or what the fame
Of some dwarfed poet, whose numbers still we sing,
If no fair woman trembled where he came?
The beggar dying in ditch is not accurst
If love once crowned him! Fate may do her worst.
“For Age that erst has drawn the wine of love
And filled its birth-cup to the jewelled brim,
And, while it sparkled, held it high above,
And drained it slowly, swiftly,—then, though dim
Grow the blurred eyes, and comfort and desire
Are but the ashes of their ancient fire,
“Yet will it bide its exit in content,
Remembering the past, nor grudge, with hoar
And ravenous look, the youth we have not spent.
No earthly sting has power to harm it more;
It lived and loved, was young, and now is old,
And life is rounded like a ring of gold.”
Thereat with sudden rein the Prince wheeled horse,
And sought a pathway that he long had known
Yet shunned till now. Beside a water-course
It led him for a winding league and lone;
Then made a rugged circuit,—where the brook
Down a steep ledge of rock its plunges took,—
And ended at an open sward, the same
Against whose edge the leaping cataract fell
From those high cliffs. Five years ago he came
To bury youth and love within that dell,
And, as again he reached the spot he sought,
Truth, fame, his child, the Queen, were all as naught.
Dismounting then, he pushed afoot, between
The alder saplings, to the outer wood,
The grounds, the garden-walks, and found, unseen,
A private door, nor tarried till he stood
Within the threshold of my Lady’s room,—
A shadowed nook, all stillness and perfume.
Jasmine and briony the lattice climbed,
The rose and honeysuckle trailed above;
’Twas such an hour as poets oft have rhymed,
And such a chamber as all lovers love.
He found her there, and at her footstool knelt.
Each in the other’s fancies had so dwelt,
That, as one sees for days a sweet strange face,
Until at night in dreams he does caress
Its owner, and next morning in some place
Meets her, and wonders if she too can guess
How near and known he thinks her,—in this wise
They read one story in each other’s eyes.
Her thick hair falling from its lilies hid
Their first long kiss of passion and content.
He heard her soft, glad murmur, as she slid
Within his hold, and ’gainst his bosom leant,
Whispering: “At last! at last! the years were sore.”
“Their spite,” he said, “shall do us wrong no more!”
What else, when mingled longings swell full-tide,
And the heart’s surges leap their bounds for aye,
And fell the landmarks? What but fate defied,
Time clutched, and any future held at bay?
They recked not of the thorn, but seized the flower;
For all the sin, their joy was great that hour.
And since, for all the joy, theirs was a sin
That baned them with one bane; since many men
Had sought her love, but one alone could win
That largess, with his blameless life till then
Inviolate,—they bargained for love’s sake
No severance of their covert league to make.
Yet, since nobility compelled them still,
They pledged themselves for honor’s sake to hold
This hidden unto death; at either’s will
To meet and part in secret; to infold
In their own hearts their trespass and delight,
Nor look their love, but guard it day or night.
* * * * *
So fell the blameless Prince. That day more late
Than wont he reached the presence of the Queen,
Deep in a palace chamber, where she sate
Fondling his child. The sunset lit her mien,
And made a saintly glory in her hair;
An awe came on him as he saw her there.
And, because perfect love suspecteth not,
She found no blot upon his brow. ’Twas good
To take a pleasure in her wedded lot,
And watch the infant creeping where he stood;
And, as he bent his head, she little wist
What kisses burned upon the lips she kissed.
And he, still kind and wise in his decline,
Seeing her trustful calm, had little heart
To shake it. So his conduct gave no sign
Of broken faith; no slurring of his part
Betrayed him to the courtiers or the wife.
Perhaps a second spring-time in his life
Waxed green, and fresh-bloomed love renewed again
The joys that light our youth and leave our prime,
And women found him tenderer, and men
A blither, heartier comrade; but, meantime,
What hidden gladness made his visage bright
They could not guess; nor with what craft and sleight
The paramours, in fealty to that Love
Who laughs at locks and walks in hooded guise,
Met here and there, yet made no careless move
Nor bared their strategy to cunning eyes.
And though, a portion of the winter year,
The Queen’s own summons brought her rival near
The Prince, among the ladies of her train,
Then, meeting face to face at morn and night,
They were as strangers. If it was a pain
To pass so coldly on, in love’s despite,
It was a joy to hear each other’s tone,
And keep the life-long secret still their own.
Once having dipped their palms they drank full draught,
And, like the desert-parched, alone at first
Felt the delight of drinking, while they quaffed
As if the waters could not slake their thirst;
That nicer sense unreached, when down we fling,
And view the oasis around the spring.
And, in that first bewilderment, perchance
The Prince’s lapse had caught some peering eye,
But that his long repute, and maintenance
Against each test, had put suspicion by.
Now no one watched or doubted him. So long
His inner strength had made his outwork strong,
So long had smoothed his face, ’twas light to take,
From what had been his blamelessness, a mask.
And still, for honor’s and the country’s sake,
He set his hands to every noble task;
Held firmly yet his place among the great,
Won by the sword and saviour of the state;
And as in war, so now in civic peace,
He led the people on to higher things,
And fostered Art and Song, and brought increase
Of Knowledge, gave to Commerce broader wings,
And with his action strengthened fourfold more
The weight his precept in their councils bore.
Then as the mellow years their fruitage brought,
And fair strong children made secure the throne,
He reared them wisely, heedfully; and sought
Their good, the Queen’s desire, and these alone.
Himself so pure, that fathers bade their sons,
“Observe the Prince, who every license shuns;
“Who, being most brave, is purest!” Wedded wives,
Happy themselves, the Queen still happiest found,
And plighted maids still wished their lovers’ lives
Conformed to his. Such manhood wrapt him round,
So winsome were his grace and knightly look,
The dames at court their lesser spoil forsook,
And wove a net to snare him, and their mood
Grew warmer for his coldness; and the hearts
Of those most heartless beat with quicker blood,
Foiled of his love; yet, heedless of their arts,
Courteous to all, he went his way content,
Nor ever from his princely station bent.
“What is this charm,” they asked, “that makes him chaste
Beyond all men?” and wist not what they said.
The common folk,—because the Prince had cased
His limbs in silver mail, and on his head
Worn snowy plumes, and, covered thus in white,
Shone in the fiercest turmoil of the fight;
And mostly for the whiteness of his soul,
Which seemed so virginal and all unblurred,—
They called him the White Prince, and through the whole
True land the name became a household word.
“God save the Queen!” the loyal people sung,
“And the White Prince!” came back from every tongue.
So passed the stages of a glorious reign.
The Queen in tranquil goodness reached her noon;
The Prince wore year by year his double chain;
His mistress kept her secret like the moon,
That hides one half its splendor and its shade;
And newer times and men their entrance made.
But did these two, who took their secret fill
Of stolen waters, find the greater bliss
They sought? At first, to meet and part at will
Was, for the peril’s sake, a happiness;
Ay, even the sense of guilt made such delights
More worth, as one we call the wisest writes.
But with the later years Time brought about
His famed revenges. Not that love grew cold,
The lady never found a cause to doubt
That with the Prince his passion kept its hold;
And while their loved are loyal to them yet,
’Tis not the wont of women to regret.
Yet ’twas her lot to live as one whose wealth
Is in another’s name; to sigh at fate
That hedged her from possession, save by stealth
And trespass on the guileless Queen’s estate;
To see her lover farthest when most near,
Nor dare before the world to make him dear.
To see her perfect beauty but a lure,
That made men list to follow where she went,
And kneel to woo the hand they deemed so pure,
And hunger for her pitying mouth’s consent;
Calling her hard, who was so gently made,
Nor found delight in all their homage paid.
Nor ever yet was woman’s life complete
Till at her breast the child of him she loved
Made life and love one name. Though love be sweet,
And passing sweet, till then its growth has proved
In woman’s paradise a sterile tree,
Fruitless, though fair its leaves and blossoms be.
Meanwhile the Prince put on his own disguise,
Holding it naught for what it kept secure,
Nor wore it only in his comrades’ eyes;
Beneath this cloak and seeming to be pure
He felt the thing he seemed. For some brief space
His conscience took the reflex of his face.
But lastly through his heart there crept a sense
Of falseness, like a worm about the core,
Until he grew to loathe the long pretence
Of blamelessness, and would the mask he wore
By some swift judgment from his face were torn,
So might the outer quell the inner scorn.
Such self-contempt befell him, when the feast
Rang with his praise, he blushed from nape to crown,
And ground his teeth in silence, yet had ceased
To bear it, crying, “Crush me not quite down,
Who ask your scorn, as viler than you deem
Your vilest, and am nothing that I seem!”
With such a cry his conscience riotous
Had thrown, perchance, the burden on it laid,
But love and pity held his voice; and thus
The paramours their constant penance made;
False to themselves, before the world a lie,
Yet each for each had cast the whole world by.
In those transcendent moments, when the fire
Leapt up between them rapturous and bright,
One incompleteness bred a wild desire
To let the rest have token of its light;
So natural seemed their love,—so hapless, too,
They might not make it glorious to view,
And speak their joy. ’Twas all as they had come,
They two, in some far wildwood wandering mazed,
Upon a mighty cataract, whose foam
And splendor ere that time had never dazed
Men’s eyes, nor any hearing save their own
Could listen to its immemorial moan,
And felt amid their triumph bitter pain
That only for themselves was spread that sight.
Oft, when his comrades sang a tender strain,
And music, talk, and wine, outlasted night,
Rose in the Prince’s throat this sudden tide,
“And I,—I also know where Love doth hide!”