What fear ye brawlers? am not I your Head? On me, me, me, the storm first breaks: I dare All these male thunderbolts: what is it ye fear? And clad in iron burst the ranks of war, The drunkard's football, laughing-stocks of Time, Whose brains are in their hands and in their heels, But fit to flaunt, to dress, to dance, to thrum, To tramp, to scream, to burnish, and to scour, For ever slaves at home and fools abroad.' She, ending, waved her hands: thereat the crowd Muttering, dissolved: then with a smile, that look'd A stroke of cruel sunshine on the cliff When all the glens are drown'd in azure gloom • You have done well and like a gentleman, And like a prince: you have our thanks for all : And you look well too in your woman's dress : Well have you done and like a gentleman. You have saved our life: we owe you bitter thanks : Better have died and spilt our bones in the flood— Then men had said-but now-What hinders me To take such bloody vengeance on you both? Yet since our father-Wasps in the wholesome hive, You would-be quenchers of the light to be, Barbarians, grosser than your native bears- You that have dared to break our bound, and gull'd Our tutors, wrong'd and lied and thwarted us— I wed with thee! I bound by precontract Your bride, your bondslave! not tho' all the gold And every spoken tongue should lord you. Sir, Your falsehood and your face are loathsome to us : I trample on your offers and on you: Begone we will not look upon you more. Here, push them out at gates.' In wrath she spake. Then those eight mighty daughters of the plough But on my shoulder hung their heavy hands, The weight of destiny: so from her face They push'd us, down the steps, and thro' the court, And with grim laughter thrust us out at gates. We cross'd the street and gain'd a petty mound Beyond it, whence we saw the lights and heard The voices murmuring; till upon my spirits Settled a gentle cloud of melancholy, Which I shook off, for I was young, and one To whom the shadow of all mischance but came As night to him that sitting on a hill Sees the midsummer, midnight, Norway sun, Set into sunrise: then we moved away. 6 Two from the palace' I. The second two: they wait,' he said, ‘pass on ; His Highness wakes:' and one, that clash'd in arms By glimmering lanes and walls of canvas, led The drowsy folds of our great ensign shake Entering, the sudden light Dazed me half-blind: I stood and seem'd to hear, As in a poplar grove when a light wind wakes A lisping of the innumerous leaf and dies, |