Brake on us at our books, and marr'd our peace, Mask'd like our maids, blustering I know not what Of insolence and love, some pretext held Of baby troth, invalid, since my will Seal'd not the bond-the striplings !—for their sport! I tamed my leopards: shall I not tame these? Or you? or I? for since you think me touch'd In honour-what, I would not aught of falseIs not our cause pure? and whereas I know Your prowess, Arac, and what mother's blood You draw from, fight; you failing, I abide : What end soever fail you will not. Still dear Ο Brothers, the woman's Angel guards you, you We plant a solid foot into the Time, And mould a generation strong to move With claim on claim from right to right, till she Whose name is yoked with children's, know herself; And Knowledge in our own land make her free, And, ever following those two crowned twins, Commerce and conquest, shower the fiery grain Of freedom broadcast over all that orbs Between the Northern and the Southern morn." Then came a postscript dash'd across the rest. "See that there be no traitors in your camp: We seem a nest of traitors-none to trust Since our arms fail'd-this Egypt-plague of men! Almost our maids were better at their homes, Than thus man-girdled here: indeed I think Our chiefest comfort is the little child Of one unworthy mother; which she left: She shall not have it back: the child shall grow To prize the authentic mother of her mind. I took it for an hour in mine own bed This morning there the tender orphan hands Felt at my heart, and seem'd to charm from thence The wrath I nursed against the world: farewell." I ceased; he said, "Stubborn, but she may sit Upon a king's right hand in thunder-storms, And breed up warriors! See now, tho' yourself Be dazzled by the wildfire Love to sloughs That swallow common sense, the spindling king, This Gama swamp'd in lazy tolerance. When the man wants weight, the woman takes it up, And topples down the scales; but this is fixt Man for the field and woman for the hearth: Man for the sword and for the needle she: All else confusion. Look you! the gray mare Is ill to live with, when her whinny shrills Take, break her: strongly groom'd and straitly curb'd She might not rank with those detestable That let the bantling scald at home, and brawl But suffers change of frame. A lusty brace Thus the hard old king: I took my leave, for it was nearly noon : fall; And like a flash the weird affection came : King, camp and college turn'd to hollow shows; I seem'd to move in old memorial tilts, To dream myself the shadow of a dream: In conflict with the crash of shivering points, And out of stricken helmets sprang the fire. Part sat like rocks: part reel'd but kept their seats: Part roll'd on the earth and rose again and drew : |