THE PRINCESS; A MEDLEY. PROLOGUE. IR Walter Vivian all a summer's day Gave his broad lawns until the set of sun Up to the people: thither flock'd at noon Five others: we were seven at Vivian-place. And me that morning Walter show'd the house, Greek, set with busts: from vases in the hall Flowers of all heavens, and lovelier than their names, Grew side by side; and on the pavement lay Carved stones of the Abbey-ruin in the park, The cursed Malayan crease, and battle-clubs And "this" he said "was Hugh's at Agincourt; And that was old Sir Ralph's at Ascalon : A good knight he! we keep a chronicle With all about him "—which he brought, and I And mixt with these, a lady, one that arm'd Her own fair head, and sallying thro' the gate, Had beat her foes with slaughter from her walls. O miracle of women," said the book, By this wild king to force her to his wish, But now when all was lost or seem'd as lost Her stature more than mortal in the burst Of sunrise, her arm lifted, eyes on fire- So sang the gallant glorious chronicle; And, I all rapt in this, "Come out," he said, "To the Abbey: there is Aunt Elizabeth And sister Lilia with the rest." We went (I kept the book and had my finger in it) Down thro' the park: strange was the sight to me; For all the sloping pasture murmur'd, sown There moved the multitude, a thousand heads: The patient leaders of their Institute Taught them with facts. One rear'd a font of stone And drew, from butts of water on the slope, A twisted snake, and now a rain of pearls, Or steep-up spout whereon the gilded ball lake A little clock-work steamer paddling plied And shook the lilies: perch'd about the knolls A dozen angry models jetted steam: A petty railway ran: a fire-balloon Rose gem-like up before the dusky groves Struck up with Soldier-laddie, and overhead The broad ambrosial aisles of lofty lime Strange was the sight and smacking of the time; And long we gazed, but satiated at length Came to the ruins. High-arch'd and ivy-claspt, Of finest Gothic lighter than a fire, Thro' one wide chasm of time and frost they gave The park, the crowd, the house; but all within The sward was trim as any garden lawn : And here we lit on Aunt Elizabeth, |