Chapter 17

So fell the blameless Prince. That day more lateThan wont he reached the presence of the Queen,Deep in a palace chamber, where she sateFondling 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 goodTo take a pleasure in her wedded lot,And watch the infant creeping where he stood;And, as he bent his head, she little wistWhat kisses burned upon the lips she kissed.And he, still kind and wise in his decline,Seeing her trustful calm, had little heartTo shake it. So his conduct gave no signOf broken faith; no slurring of his partBetrayed him to the courtiers or the wife.Perhaps a second spring-time in his lifeWaxed green, and fresh-bloomed love renewed againThe joys that light our youth and leave our prime,And women found him tenderer, and menA blither, heartier comrade; but, meantime,What hidden gladness made his visage brightThey could not guess; nor with what craft and sleightThe paramours, in fealty to that LoveWho laughs at locks and walks in hooded guise,Met here and there, yet made no careless moveNor bared their strategy to cunning eyes.And though, a portion of the winter year,The Queen’s own summons brought her rival nearThe Prince, among the ladies of her train,Then, meeting face to face at morn and night,They were as strangers. If it was a painTo 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 firstFelt the delight of drinking, while they quaffedAs 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, perchanceThe Prince’s lapse had caught some peering eye,But that his long repute, and maintenanceAgainst each test, had put suspicion by.Now no one watched or doubted him. So longHis 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 increaseOf Knowledge, gave to Commerce broader wings,And with his action strengthened fourfold moreThe 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 soughtTheir 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’ livesConformed 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 moodGrew warmer for his coldness; and the heartsOf 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 chasteBeyond all men?” and wist not what they said.The common folk,—because the Prince had casedHis limbs in silver mail, and on his headWorn 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 wholeTrue 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 fillOf stolen waters, find the greater blissThey sought? At first, to meet and part at willWas, for the peril’s sake, a happiness;Ay, even the sense of guilt made such delightsMore worth, as one we call the wisest writes.But with the later years Time brought aboutHis famed revenges. Not that love grew cold,The lady never found a cause to doubtThat 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 wealthIs in another’s name; to sigh at fateThat hedged her from possession, save by stealthAnd 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 completeTill at her breast the child of him she lovedMade life and love one name. Though love be sweet,And passing sweet, till then its growth has provedIn 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 pureHe felt the thing he seemed. For some brief spaceHis conscience took the reflex of his face.But lastly through his heart there crept a senseOf falseness, like a worm about the core,Until he grew to loathe the long pretenceOf blamelessness, and would the mask he woreBy some swift judgment from his face were torn,So might the outer quell the inner scorn.Such self-contempt befell him, when the feastRang with his praise, he blushed from nape to crown,And ground his teeth in silence, yet had ceasedTo bear it, crying, “Crush me not quite down,Who ask your scorn, as viler than you deemYour vilest, and am nothing that I seem!”With such a cry his conscience riotousHad thrown, perchance, the burden on it laid,But love and pity held his voice; and thusThe 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 fireLeapt up between them rapturous and bright,One incompleteness bred a wild desireTo 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 foamAnd splendor ere that time had never dazedMen’s eyes, nor any hearing save their ownCould listen to its immemorial moan,And felt amid their triumph bitter painThat 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!”Yet still the seals were ever on his mouth;No heart, save one, his joy and dole might share.Passed on the winter’s rain and summer’s drouth;Friends more and more, and lovers true, the pair,Though life its passion and its youth had spent,Still kept their faith as seasons came and went.

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 goodTo take a pleasure in her wedded lot,And watch the infant creeping where he stood;And, as he bent his head, she little wistWhat kisses burned upon the lips she kissed.

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 heartTo shake it. So his conduct gave no signOf broken faith; no slurring of his partBetrayed him to the courtiers or the wife.Perhaps a second spring-time in his life

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 againThe joys that light our youth and leave our prime,And women found him tenderer, and menA blither, heartier comrade; but, meantime,What hidden gladness made his visage brightThey could not guess; nor with what craft and sleight

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 LoveWho laughs at locks and walks in hooded guise,Met here and there, yet made no careless moveNor bared their strategy to cunning eyes.And though, a portion of the winter year,The Queen’s own summons brought her rival near

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 painTo 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.

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 firstFelt the delight of drinking, while they quaffedAs if the waters could not slake their thirst;That nicer sense unreached, when down we fling,And view the oasis around the spring.

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, perchanceThe Prince’s lapse had caught some peering eye,But that his long repute, and maintenanceAgainst each test, had put suspicion by.Now no one watched or doubted him. So longHis inner strength had made his outwork strong,

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;

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 increaseOf Knowledge, gave to Commerce broader wings,And with his action strengthened fourfold moreThe weight his precept in their councils bore.

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 soughtTheir good, the Queen’s desire, and these alone.Himself so pure, that fathers bade their sons,“Observe the Prince, who every license shuns;

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’ livesConformed to his. Such manhood wrapt him round,So winsome were his grace and knightly look,The dames at court their lesser spoil forsook,

“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 moodGrew warmer for his coldness; and the heartsOf 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.

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 chasteBeyond all men?” and wist not what they said.The common folk,—because the Prince had casedHis limbs in silver mail, and on his headWorn snowy plumes, and, covered thus in white,Shone in the fiercest turmoil of the fight;

“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 wholeTrue land the name became a household word.“God save the Queen!” the loyal people sung,“And the White Prince!” came back from every tongue.

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.

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 fillOf stolen waters, find the greater blissThey sought? At first, to meet and part at willWas, for the peril’s sake, a happiness;Ay, even the sense of guilt made such delightsMore worth, as one we call the wisest writes.

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 aboutHis famed revenges. Not that love grew cold,The lady never found a cause to doubtThat 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.

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 wealthIs in another’s name; to sigh at fateThat hedged her from possession, save by stealthAnd trespass on the guileless Queen’s estate;To see her lover farthest when most near,Nor dare before the world to make him dear.

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.

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 completeTill at her breast the child of him she lovedMade life and love one name. Though love be sweet,And passing sweet, till then its growth has provedIn woman’s paradise a sterile tree,Fruitless, though fair its leaves and blossoms be.

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 pureHe felt the thing he seemed. For some brief spaceHis conscience took the reflex of his face.

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 senseOf falseness, like a worm about the core,Until he grew to loathe the long pretenceOf blamelessness, and would the mask he woreBy some swift judgment from his face were torn,So might the outer quell the inner scorn.

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 feastRang with his praise, he blushed from nape to crown,And ground his teeth in silence, yet had ceasedTo bear it, crying, “Crush me not quite down,Who ask your scorn, as viler than you deemYour vilest, and am nothing that I seem!”

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 riotousHad thrown, perchance, the burden on it laid,But love and pity held his voice; and thusThe paramours their constant penance made;False to themselves, before the world a lie,Yet each for each had cast the whole world by.

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 fireLeapt up between them rapturous and bright,One incompleteness bred a wild desireTo let the rest have token of its light;So natural seemed their love,—so hapless, too,They might not make it glorious to view,

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 foamAnd splendor ere that time had never dazedMen’s eyes, nor any hearing save their ownCould listen to its immemorial moan,

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 painThat 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!”

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!”

Yet still the seals were ever on his mouth;No heart, save one, his joy and dole might share.Passed on the winter’s rain and summer’s drouth;Friends more and more, and lovers true, the pair,Though life its passion and its youth had spent,Still kept their faith as seasons came and went.

Yet still the seals were ever on his mouth;

No heart, save one, his joy and dole might share.

Passed on the winter’s rain and summer’s drouth;

Friends more and more, and lovers true, the pair,

Though life its passion and its youth had spent,

Still kept their faith as seasons came and went.

One final hour, with stammering voice and halt,The Prince said: “Dear, for you,—whose only gainWas in your love that made such long defaultTo self,—Heaven deems you sinless! but a painIs on my soul, and shadow of guilt threefold:First, in your fair life, fettered by my hold;“Then in the ceaseless wrong I do the Queen,Who worships me, unknowing; worse than all,To wear before the world this painted mien!See to it: on my head some bolt will fall!We have sweet memories of the good years past,Now let this secret league no longer last.”So of her love and pure unselfishnessShe yielded at his word, yet fain would prayFor one more tryst, one day of tenderness,Where first their lives were mated. Such a dayFound them entwined together, met to part,Lips pressed to lips, and voiceless grief at heart.And last the Prince drew off his signet-stone,And gave it to his mistress,—as he roseTo shut the book of happy moments gone,For so all earthly pleasures find a close,—Yet promised, at her time of utmost needAnd summons by that token, to take heedAnd do her will. “And from this hour,” he said,“No woman’s kiss save one my lips shall know.”So left her pale and trembling there, and fled,Nor looked again, resolved it must be so;But somewhere gained his horse, and through the woodMoved homeward with his thoughts, a phantom broodThat turned the long past over in his mind,Poising its good and evil, while a hazeGathered around him, of that sombre kindWhich follows from a place where many daysHave seen us go and come; and even if soreHas been our sojourn there, we feel the moreThat parting is a sorrow,—though we partWith those who loved us not, or go forlornFrom pain that ate its canker in the heart;But when we leave the paths where Love has borneHis garlands to us, Pleasure poured her wine,Where life was wholly precious and divine,Then go we forth as exiles. In such wiseThe loath, wan Prince his homeward journey made,Brooding, and marked not with his downcast eyesThe shadow that within the coppice shadeSank darker still; but at the horse’s gaitKept slowly on, and rode to meet his fate.For from the west a silent gathering drew,And hid the summer sky, and brought swift nightAcross that shire, and went devouring throughThe strong old forest, stronger in its might.With the first sudden crash the Prince’s steedTook the long stride, and galloped at good need.The wild pace tallied with the rider’s mood,And on he spurred, and even now had reachedThe storm that charged the borders of the wood,When one great whirlwind seized an oak which bleachedAcross his path, and felled it; and its fallBore down the Prince beneath it, horse and all.There lay he as he fell; but the mad horsePlunged out in fright, and reared upon his feet,And for the city struck a headlong course,With clatter of hoof along the central street,Nor halted till, thus masterless and late,Bleeding and torn, he reached the palace-gate.Then rose a clamor and the tidings spread,And servitors and burghers thronged about,Crying, “The Prince’s horse! the Prince is dead!”Till on the courser’s track they sallied out,And came upon the fallen oak, and foundThe Prince sore maimed and senseless on the ground.Then wattling boughs, they raised him in their hold,And after that rough litter, and before,The people went in silence; but there rolledA fiery vapor from the lights they bore,Like some red serpent huge along the road.Even thus they brought him back to his abode.There the pale Queen fell on him at the porch,Dabbling her robes in blood, and made ado,And over all his henchman held a torch,Until with reverent steps they took him through;And the doors closed, and midnight from the domesWas sounded, and the people sought their homes.But on the morrow, like a dreadful bird,Flew swift the tidings of this sudden woe,And reached the Prince’s paramour, who heardAghast, as one who crieth loud, “The blowIs fallen! I am the cause!”—as one who saith,“Now let me die, whose hands have given death!”So gat her to the town remorsefully,White with a mortal tremor and the sinWhich sealed her mouth, and waited what might be,And watched the doors she dared not pass within.Alas, poor lady! that lone week of fearsOutlived the length of all her former years.Some days the Prince, upon the skirts of death,Spake not a word nor heard the Queen’s one prayer,Nor turned his face, nor felt her loving breath,Nor saw his children when they gathered there,But rested dumb and motionless; and soThe Queen grew weak with watching and her woe,Till from his bed they bore her to her ownA little. In the middle-tide of night,Thereafter, he awoke with moan on moan,And saw his death anigh, and said outright,“I had all things, but love was worth them all!”Then sped they for the Queen, yet ere the callReached her, he cried once more, “Too late! too late!”And at those words, before they led her in,Come the sure dart of him that lay in wait.The Prince was dead: what goodness and what sinDied with him were untold. At sunrise fellAcross the capital his solemn knell.All respite it forbade, and joyance thence,To one for whom his passion till the lastWrought in the dying Prince. Her wan suspenseThus ended, a great fear upon her passed.“I was the cause!” she moaned from day to day,“Now let me bear the penance as I may!”So with her whole estate she sought and gainedA refuge in a nunnery close at view,And there for months withdrew her, and remainedIn tears and prayers. Anon a sickness grewUpon her, and her face the ghost becameOf what it was, the same and not the same.So died the blameless Prince. The spacious landWas smitten in his death, and such a wailArose, as when the midnight angel’s handWas laid on Egypt. Gossips ceased their tale,Or whispered of his goodness, and were mute;No sound was heard of viol or of lute;The streets were hung with black; the artisanForsook his forge; the artist dropped his brush;The tradesmen closed their windows. Man with manStruck hands together in the first deep hushOf grief; or, where the dead Prince lay in state,Spoke of his life, so blameless, pure, and great.But when, within the dark cathedral vault,They joined his ashes to the dust of kings,No royal pomp was shown; for Death made haltAbove the palace yet, on dusky wings,Waiting to gain the Queen, who still was proneAlong the couch where haply she had thrown,At knowledge of the end, her stricken frame.With visage pale as in a mortal swoundShe stayed, nor slept, nor wept, till, weeping, cameThe crown-prince and besought her to look roundAnd speak unto her children. Then she said:“Hereto no grief has fallen on our head;“Now all our earthly portion in one massIs loosed against us with this single stroke!Yet we are Queen, and still must live,—alas!—As he would have us.” Even as she spokeShe wept, and mended thence, yet bore the faceOf one whose fate delays but for a space.Thenceforth she worked and waited till the callOf Heaven should close the labor and the pause.Months, seasons passed, yet evermore a pallHung round the court. The sorrow and the causeWere always with her; after things were tameBeside the shadow of his deeds and fame.Her palaces and parks seemed desolate;No joy was left in sky or street or field;No age, she thought, would see the Prince’s mate:What matchless hand his knightly sword could wield?The world had lost, this royal widow said,Its one bright jewel when the Prince was dead.So that his fame might be enduring thereFor many a reign, and sacred through the land,She gathered bronze and lazuli, and rareSwart marbles, while her cunning artists plannedA stately cenotaph,—and bade them placeAbove its front the Prince’s form and face,Sculptured, as if in life. But the pale Queen,Watching the work herself, would somewhat lureHer heart from plaining; till, behind a screen,The tomb was finished, glorious and pure,Even like the Prince: and they proclaimed a dayWhen the Queen’s hand should draw its veil away.It chanced, the noon before, she bade them fetchHer equipage, and with her children rodeBeyond the city walls, across a stretchOf the green open country, where abodeHer subjects, happy in the field and grange,And with their griefs, that took a meaner range,Content. But as her joyless vision dweltOn beauty that so failed her wound to heal,She marked the Abbey’s ancient pile, and feltA longing at its chapel-shrine to kneel,To pray, and think awhile on Heaven,—her oneSole passion, now the Prince had thither gone.She reached the gate, and through the vestibuleThe nuns, with reverence for the royal sorrow,Led to the shrine, and left her there to schoolHer heart for that sad pageant of the morrow.O, what deep sighs, what piteous tearful prayers,What golden grief-blanched hair strewn unawares!Anon her coming through the place was sped,And when from that lone ecstasy she roseThe saintly Abbess held her steps, and said:“God rests those, daughter, who in others’ woesForget their own! In yonder corridorA sister-sufferer lies, and will no more“Pass through her door to catch the morning’s breath,—A worldling once, the chamberlain’s young wife,But now a pious novice, meet for death;She prays to see your face once more in life.”“She, too, is widowed,” thought the Queen. AloudShe answered, “I will visit her,” and bowedHer head, and, following, reached the room where layOne that had wronged her so; and shrank to seeThat beauteous pallid face, so pined away,And the starved lips that murmured painfully,“I have a secret none but she may hear.”At the Queen’s sign, they two were left anear.With that the dying rushed upon her speech,As one condemned, who gulps the poisoned wineNor pauses, lest to see it stand at reachWere crueller still. “Madam, I sought a sign,”She cried, “to know if God would have me makeConfession, and to you! now let me take“This meeting as the sign, and speak, and die!”“Child,” said the Queen, “your years are yet too few.See how I live,—and yet what sorrows lieAbout my heart.”—“I know,—the world spake true!You too have loved him; ay, he seems to standBetween us! Queen, you had the Prince’s hand,“But not his love!” Across the good Queen’s browA flame of anger reddened, as when oneMeets unprepared a swift and ruthless blow,But instant paled to pity, as she thought,“She wanders: ’tis the fever at her brain!”And looked her thought. The other cried again:“Yes! I am ill of body and soul indeed,Yet this was as I say. O, not for mePity, from you who wear the widow’s weed,Unknowing!”—“Woman, whose could that love be,If not all mine?” The other, with a moan,Rose in her bed; the pillow, backward thrown,Was darkened with the torrent of her hair.“’Twas hers,” she wailed,—“’twas hers who loved him best.”Then tore apart her night-robe, and laid bareHer flesh, and lo! against her poor white breastClose round her gloomed a shift of blackest serge,Fearful, concealed!—“I might not sing his dirge,”She said, “nor moan aloud and bring him shame,Nor haunt his tomb and cling about the grate,But this I fashioned when the tidings cameThat he was dead and I must expiate,Being left, our double sin!”—In the Queen’s heart,The tiger—that is prisoned at life’s startIn mortals, though perchance it never wakesFrom its mute sleep—began to rouse and crawl.Her lips grew white, and on her nostrils flakesOf wrath and loathing stood. “What, now, is allThis wicked drivel?” she cried; “how dare they bringThe Queen to listen to so foul a thing?”“Queen! I speak truth,—the truth, I say! He fedUpon these lips,—this hair he loved to praise!I held within these arms his bright fair headPressed close, ah, close!—Our lifetimes were the daysWe met,—the rest a void!”—“Thou spectral Sin,Be silent! or, if such a thing hath been,—“If this be not thy frenzy,—quick, the proof,Before I score the lie thy lips amid!”She spoke so dread the other crouched aloof,Panting, but with gaunt hands somewhere undidA knot within her hair, and thence she tookThe signet-ring and passed it. The Queen’s lookFell on it, and that moment the strong stay,Which held her from the instinct of her wrong,Broke, and therewith the whole device gave way,The grand ideal she had watched so long:As if a tower should fall, and on the plainOnly a scathed and broken pile remain.But in its stead she would not measure yetThe counter-chance, nor deem this sole attaintMade the Prince less than one in whom ’twas setTo prove him man. “I held him as a saint,”She thought, “no other:—of all men aloneMy blameless one! Too high my faith had flown:“So be it!” With a sudden bitter scornShe said: “You were his plaything, then! the foodWherewith he dulled what appetite is born,Of the gross kind, in men. His nobler moodYou knew not! How, shall I,—the fountain lifeOf yonder children,—his embosomed wife“Through all these years,—shall I, his Queen, for thisSin-smitten harlot’s gage of an hour’s shame,Misdoubt him?”—“Yes, I was his harlot,—yes,God help me! and had worn the loathly nameBefore the world, to have him in that guise!”“Thou strumpet! wilt thou have me of his prize“Rob Satan?” cried the Queen, and one step moved.“Queen, if you loved him, save me from your bane,As something that was dear to him you loved!”Then from beneath her serge she took the chainWhich, long ago in that lone wood, the PrinceHung round her,—she had never loosed it since,—And gave therewith the face which, in its yearsOf youthful, sunniest grace, a limner drew;And unsigned letters, darkened with her tears,Writ in the hand that hapless sovereign knewToo well;—then told the whole, strange, secret tale,As if with Heaven that penance could avail,Or with the Queen, who heard as idols listThe mad priest’s cry, nor changed her place nor moaned,But, clutching those mute tokens of each tryst,Hid them about her. But the other groaned:“The picture,—let me see it ere I die,—Then take them all! once, only!”—At that cryThe Queen strode forward with an awful stride,And seized the dying one, and bore her down,And rose her height, and said, “Thou shouldst have diedEre telling this, nor I have worn a crownTo hear it told. I am of God accurst!Of all his hated, may he smite thee first!”With that wild speech she fled, nor looked behind,Hasting to get her from that fearful room,Past the meek nuns in wait. These did not findThe sick one’s eyes—yet staring through the gloom,While her hands fumbled at her heart, and DeathMade her limbs quake, and combated her breath—More dreadful than the Queen’s look, as she thenceMade through the court, and reached her own arrayShe knew not how, and clamored, “Bear me hence!”And, even as her chariot moved away,High o’er the Abbey heard the minster tollIts doleful bell, as for a passing soul.Though midst her guardsmen, as they speeded back,The wont of royalty maintained her still,Where grief had been were ruin now and rack!The firm earth reeled about, nor could her willMake it seem stable, while her soul went throughHer wedded years in desperate review.The air seemed full of lies; the realm, unsound;Her courtiers, knaves; her maidens, good and fair,Most shameless bawds; her children clung aroundLike asps, to sting her; from the kingdom’s heir,Shuddering, she turned her face,—his features tookA shining horror from his father’s look.Along her city streets the thrifty crowd,As the Queen passed, their loving reverence made.“’Tis false! they love me not!” she cried aloud;So flung her from her chariot, and forbadeAll words, but waved her ladies back, and gainedHer inmost room, and by herself remained.“We have been alone these years, and knew it not,”She said; “now let us on the knowledge thrive!”So closed the doors, and all things else forgotThan her own misery. “I cannot liveAnd bear this death,” she said, “nor die, the moreTo meet him,—and that woman gone before!”Thus with herself she writhed, while midnight gloomed,As lone as any outcast of us all;And once, without a purpose, as the doomedStare round and count the shadows on the wall,Unclasped a poet’s book which near her lay,And turned its pages in that witless way,And read the song, some wise, sad man had made,With bitter frost about his doubting heart.“What is this life,” it plained, “what masqueradeOf which ye all are witnesses and part?’Tis but a foolish, smiling face to wearAbove your mortal sorrow, chill despair;“To mock your comrades and yourselves with mirthThat feeds the care ye cannot drive away;To vaunt of health, yet hide beneath the girthImpuissance, fell sickness, slow decay;To cloak defeat, and with the rich, the great,Applaud their fairer fortunes as their mate;“To brave the sudden woe, the secret loss,Though but to-morrow brings the open shame;To pay the tribute of your caste, and tossYour last to him that’s richer save in name;To judge your peers, and give the doleful meedTo crime that’s white beside your hidden deed;“To whisper love, where of true love is none,—Desire, where lust is dead; to live unchaste,And wear the priestly cincture;—last, to own,When the morn’s dream is gone and noontide waste,Some fate still kept ye from your purpose sweet,Down strange, circuitous paths it drew your feet!”Thus far she read, and, “Let me read no more,”She clamored, “since the scales have left mine eyesAnd freed the dreadful gift I lacked before!We are but puppets, in whatever guiseThey clothe us, to whatever tune we move;Albeit we prate of duty, dream of love.“Let me, too, play the common part, and weanMy life from hope, and look beneath the maskTo read the masker! I, who was a Queen,And like a hireling thought to ’scape my task!For some few seasons left this heart is schooled:Yet,—had it been a little longer fooled,—“O God!” And from her seat she bowed her down.The gentle sovereign of that spacious landLay prone beneath the bauble of her crown,Nor heard all night her whispering ladies standOutside the portal. Greatly, in the morn,They marvelled at her visage wan and worn.

One final hour, with stammering voice and halt,

The Prince said: “Dear, for you,—whose only gain

Was in your love that made such long default

To self,—Heaven deems you sinless! but a pain

Is on my soul, and shadow of guilt threefold:

First, in your fair life, fettered by my hold;

“Then in the ceaseless wrong I do the Queen,Who worships me, unknowing; worse than all,To wear before the world this painted mien!See to it: on my head some bolt will fall!We have sweet memories of the good years past,Now let this secret league no longer last.”

“Then in the ceaseless wrong I do the Queen,

Who worships me, unknowing; worse than all,

To wear before the world this painted mien!

See to it: on my head some bolt will fall!

We have sweet memories of the good years past,

Now let this secret league no longer last.”

So of her love and pure unselfishnessShe yielded at his word, yet fain would prayFor one more tryst, one day of tenderness,Where first their lives were mated. Such a dayFound them entwined together, met to part,Lips pressed to lips, and voiceless grief at heart.

So of her love and pure unselfishness

She yielded at his word, yet fain would pray

For one more tryst, one day of tenderness,

Where first their lives were mated. Such a day

Found them entwined together, met to part,

Lips pressed to lips, and voiceless grief at heart.

And last the Prince drew off his signet-stone,And gave it to his mistress,—as he roseTo shut the book of happy moments gone,For so all earthly pleasures find a close,—Yet promised, at her time of utmost needAnd summons by that token, to take heed

And last the Prince drew off his signet-stone,

And gave it to his mistress,—as he rose

To shut the book of happy moments gone,

For so all earthly pleasures find a close,—

Yet promised, at her time of utmost need

And summons by that token, to take heed

And do her will. “And from this hour,” he said,“No woman’s kiss save one my lips shall know.”So left her pale and trembling there, and fled,Nor looked again, resolved it must be so;But somewhere gained his horse, and through the woodMoved homeward with his thoughts, a phantom brood

And do her will. “And from this hour,” he said,

“No woman’s kiss save one my lips shall know.”

So left her pale and trembling there, and fled,

Nor looked again, resolved it must be so;

But somewhere gained his horse, and through the wood

Moved homeward with his thoughts, a phantom brood

That turned the long past over in his mind,Poising its good and evil, while a hazeGathered around him, of that sombre kindWhich follows from a place where many daysHave seen us go and come; and even if soreHas been our sojourn there, we feel the more

That turned the long past over in his mind,

Poising its good and evil, while a haze

Gathered around him, of that sombre kind

Which follows from a place where many days

Have seen us go and come; and even if sore

Has been our sojourn there, we feel the more

That parting is a sorrow,—though we partWith those who loved us not, or go forlornFrom pain that ate its canker in the heart;But when we leave the paths where Love has borneHis garlands to us, Pleasure poured her wine,Where life was wholly precious and divine,

That parting is a sorrow,—though we part

With those who loved us not, or go forlorn

From pain that ate its canker in the heart;

But when we leave the paths where Love has borne

His garlands to us, Pleasure poured her wine,

Where life was wholly precious and divine,

Then go we forth as exiles. In such wiseThe loath, wan Prince his homeward journey made,Brooding, and marked not with his downcast eyesThe shadow that within the coppice shadeSank darker still; but at the horse’s gaitKept slowly on, and rode to meet his fate.

Then go we forth as exiles. In such wise

The loath, wan Prince his homeward journey made,

Brooding, and marked not with his downcast eyes

The shadow that within the coppice shade

Sank darker still; but at the horse’s gait

Kept slowly on, and rode to meet his fate.

For from the west a silent gathering drew,And hid the summer sky, and brought swift nightAcross that shire, and went devouring throughThe strong old forest, stronger in its might.With the first sudden crash the Prince’s steedTook the long stride, and galloped at good need.

For from the west a silent gathering drew,

And hid the summer sky, and brought swift night

Across that shire, and went devouring through

The strong old forest, stronger in its might.

With the first sudden crash the Prince’s steed

Took the long stride, and galloped at good need.

The wild pace tallied with the rider’s mood,And on he spurred, and even now had reachedThe storm that charged the borders of the wood,When one great whirlwind seized an oak which bleachedAcross his path, and felled it; and its fallBore down the Prince beneath it, horse and all.

The wild pace tallied with the rider’s mood,

And on he spurred, and even now had reached

The storm that charged the borders of the wood,

When one great whirlwind seized an oak which bleached

Across his path, and felled it; and its fall

Bore down the Prince beneath it, horse and all.

There lay he as he fell; but the mad horsePlunged out in fright, and reared upon his feet,And for the city struck a headlong course,With clatter of hoof along the central street,Nor halted till, thus masterless and late,Bleeding and torn, he reached the palace-gate.

There lay he as he fell; but the mad horse

Plunged out in fright, and reared upon his feet,

And for the city struck a headlong course,

With clatter of hoof along the central street,

Nor halted till, thus masterless and late,

Bleeding and torn, he reached the palace-gate.

Then rose a clamor and the tidings spread,And servitors and burghers thronged about,Crying, “The Prince’s horse! the Prince is dead!”Till on the courser’s track they sallied out,And came upon the fallen oak, and foundThe Prince sore maimed and senseless on the ground.

Then rose a clamor and the tidings spread,

And servitors and burghers thronged about,

Crying, “The Prince’s horse! the Prince is dead!”

Till on the courser’s track they sallied out,

And came upon the fallen oak, and found

The Prince sore maimed and senseless on the ground.

Then wattling boughs, they raised him in their hold,And after that rough litter, and before,The people went in silence; but there rolledA fiery vapor from the lights they bore,Like some red serpent huge along the road.Even thus they brought him back to his abode.

Then wattling boughs, they raised him in their hold,

And after that rough litter, and before,

The people went in silence; but there rolled

A fiery vapor from the lights they bore,

Like some red serpent huge along the road.

Even thus they brought him back to his abode.

There the pale Queen fell on him at the porch,Dabbling her robes in blood, and made ado,And over all his henchman held a torch,Until with reverent steps they took him through;And the doors closed, and midnight from the domesWas sounded, and the people sought their homes.

There the pale Queen fell on him at the porch,

Dabbling her robes in blood, and made ado,

And over all his henchman held a torch,

Until with reverent steps they took him through;

And the doors closed, and midnight from the domes

Was sounded, and the people sought their homes.

But on the morrow, like a dreadful bird,Flew swift the tidings of this sudden woe,And reached the Prince’s paramour, who heardAghast, as one who crieth loud, “The blowIs fallen! I am the cause!”—as one who saith,“Now let me die, whose hands have given death!”

But on the morrow, like a dreadful bird,

Flew swift the tidings of this sudden woe,

And reached the Prince’s paramour, who heard

Aghast, as one who crieth loud, “The blow

Is fallen! I am the cause!”—as one who saith,

“Now let me die, whose hands have given death!”

So gat her to the town remorsefully,White with a mortal tremor and the sinWhich sealed her mouth, and waited what might be,And watched the doors she dared not pass within.Alas, poor lady! that lone week of fearsOutlived the length of all her former years.

So gat her to the town remorsefully,

White with a mortal tremor and the sin

Which sealed her mouth, and waited what might be,

And watched the doors she dared not pass within.

Alas, poor lady! that lone week of fears

Outlived the length of all her former years.

Some days the Prince, upon the skirts of death,Spake not a word nor heard the Queen’s one prayer,Nor turned his face, nor felt her loving breath,Nor saw his children when they gathered there,But rested dumb and motionless; and soThe Queen grew weak with watching and her woe,

Some days the Prince, upon the skirts of death,

Spake not a word nor heard the Queen’s one prayer,

Nor turned his face, nor felt her loving breath,

Nor saw his children when they gathered there,

But rested dumb and motionless; and so

The Queen grew weak with watching and her woe,

Till from his bed they bore her to her ownA little. In the middle-tide of night,Thereafter, he awoke with moan on moan,And saw his death anigh, and said outright,“I had all things, but love was worth them all!”Then sped they for the Queen, yet ere the call

Till from his bed they bore her to her own

A little. In the middle-tide of night,

Thereafter, he awoke with moan on moan,

And saw his death anigh, and said outright,

“I had all things, but love was worth them all!”

Then sped they for the Queen, yet ere the call

Reached her, he cried once more, “Too late! too late!”And at those words, before they led her in,Come the sure dart of him that lay in wait.The Prince was dead: what goodness and what sinDied with him were untold. At sunrise fellAcross the capital his solemn knell.

Reached her, he cried once more, “Too late! too late!”

And at those words, before they led her in,

Come the sure dart of him that lay in wait.

The Prince was dead: what goodness and what sin

Died with him were untold. At sunrise fell

Across the capital his solemn knell.

All respite it forbade, and joyance thence,To one for whom his passion till the lastWrought in the dying Prince. Her wan suspenseThus ended, a great fear upon her passed.“I was the cause!” she moaned from day to day,“Now let me bear the penance as I may!”

All respite it forbade, and joyance thence,

To one for whom his passion till the last

Wrought in the dying Prince. Her wan suspense

Thus ended, a great fear upon her passed.

“I was the cause!” she moaned from day to day,

“Now let me bear the penance as I may!”

So with her whole estate she sought and gainedA refuge in a nunnery close at view,And there for months withdrew her, and remainedIn tears and prayers. Anon a sickness grewUpon her, and her face the ghost becameOf what it was, the same and not the same.

So with her whole estate she sought and gained

A refuge in a nunnery close at view,

And there for months withdrew her, and remained

In tears and prayers. Anon a sickness grew

Upon her, and her face the ghost became

Of what it was, the same and not the same.

So died the blameless Prince. The spacious landWas smitten in his death, and such a wailArose, as when the midnight angel’s handWas laid on Egypt. Gossips ceased their tale,Or whispered of his goodness, and were mute;No sound was heard of viol or of lute;

So died the blameless Prince. The spacious land

Was smitten in his death, and such a wail

Arose, as when the midnight angel’s hand

Was laid on Egypt. Gossips ceased their tale,

Or whispered of his goodness, and were mute;

No sound was heard of viol or of lute;

The streets were hung with black; the artisanForsook his forge; the artist dropped his brush;The tradesmen closed their windows. Man with manStruck hands together in the first deep hushOf grief; or, where the dead Prince lay in state,Spoke of his life, so blameless, pure, and great.

The streets were hung with black; the artisan

Forsook his forge; the artist dropped his brush;

The tradesmen closed their windows. Man with man

Struck hands together in the first deep hush

Of grief; or, where the dead Prince lay in state,

Spoke of his life, so blameless, pure, and great.

But when, within the dark cathedral vault,They joined his ashes to the dust of kings,No royal pomp was shown; for Death made haltAbove the palace yet, on dusky wings,Waiting to gain the Queen, who still was proneAlong the couch where haply she had thrown,

But when, within the dark cathedral vault,

They joined his ashes to the dust of kings,

No royal pomp was shown; for Death made halt

Above the palace yet, on dusky wings,

Waiting to gain the Queen, who still was prone

Along the couch where haply she had thrown,

At knowledge of the end, her stricken frame.With visage pale as in a mortal swoundShe stayed, nor slept, nor wept, till, weeping, cameThe crown-prince and besought her to look roundAnd speak unto her children. Then she said:“Hereto no grief has fallen on our head;

At knowledge of the end, her stricken frame.

With visage pale as in a mortal swound

She stayed, nor slept, nor wept, till, weeping, came

The crown-prince and besought her to look round

And speak unto her children. Then she said:

“Hereto no grief has fallen on our head;

“Now all our earthly portion in one massIs loosed against us with this single stroke!Yet we are Queen, and still must live,—alas!—As he would have us.” Even as she spokeShe wept, and mended thence, yet bore the faceOf one whose fate delays but for a space.

“Now all our earthly portion in one mass

Is loosed against us with this single stroke!

Yet we are Queen, and still must live,—alas!—

As he would have us.” Even as she spoke

She wept, and mended thence, yet bore the face

Of one whose fate delays but for a space.

Thenceforth she worked and waited till the callOf Heaven should close the labor and the pause.Months, seasons passed, yet evermore a pallHung round the court. The sorrow and the causeWere always with her; after things were tameBeside the shadow of his deeds and fame.

Thenceforth she worked and waited till the call

Of Heaven should close the labor and the pause.

Months, seasons passed, yet evermore a pall

Hung round the court. The sorrow and the cause

Were always with her; after things were tame

Beside the shadow of his deeds and fame.

Her palaces and parks seemed desolate;No joy was left in sky or street or field;No age, she thought, would see the Prince’s mate:What matchless hand his knightly sword could wield?The world had lost, this royal widow said,Its one bright jewel when the Prince was dead.

Her palaces and parks seemed desolate;

No joy was left in sky or street or field;

No age, she thought, would see the Prince’s mate:

What matchless hand his knightly sword could wield?

The world had lost, this royal widow said,

Its one bright jewel when the Prince was dead.

So that his fame might be enduring thereFor many a reign, and sacred through the land,She gathered bronze and lazuli, and rareSwart marbles, while her cunning artists plannedA stately cenotaph,—and bade them placeAbove its front the Prince’s form and face,

So that his fame might be enduring there

For many a reign, and sacred through the land,

She gathered bronze and lazuli, and rare

Swart marbles, while her cunning artists planned

A stately cenotaph,—and bade them place

Above its front the Prince’s form and face,

Sculptured, as if in life. But the pale Queen,Watching the work herself, would somewhat lureHer heart from plaining; till, behind a screen,The tomb was finished, glorious and pure,Even like the Prince: and they proclaimed a dayWhen the Queen’s hand should draw its veil away.

Sculptured, as if in life. But the pale Queen,

Watching the work herself, would somewhat lure

Her heart from plaining; till, behind a screen,

The tomb was finished, glorious and pure,

Even like the Prince: and they proclaimed a day

When the Queen’s hand should draw its veil away.

It chanced, the noon before, she bade them fetchHer equipage, and with her children rodeBeyond the city walls, across a stretchOf the green open country, where abodeHer subjects, happy in the field and grange,And with their griefs, that took a meaner range,

It chanced, the noon before, she bade them fetch

Her equipage, and with her children rode

Beyond the city walls, across a stretch

Of the green open country, where abode

Her subjects, happy in the field and grange,

And with their griefs, that took a meaner range,

Content. But as her joyless vision dweltOn beauty that so failed her wound to heal,She marked the Abbey’s ancient pile, and feltA longing at its chapel-shrine to kneel,To pray, and think awhile on Heaven,—her oneSole passion, now the Prince had thither gone.

Content. But as her joyless vision dwelt

On beauty that so failed her wound to heal,

She marked the Abbey’s ancient pile, and felt

A longing at its chapel-shrine to kneel,

To pray, and think awhile on Heaven,—her one

Sole passion, now the Prince had thither gone.

She reached the gate, and through the vestibuleThe nuns, with reverence for the royal sorrow,Led to the shrine, and left her there to schoolHer heart for that sad pageant of the morrow.O, what deep sighs, what piteous tearful prayers,What golden grief-blanched hair strewn unawares!

She reached the gate, and through the vestibule

The nuns, with reverence for the royal sorrow,

Led to the shrine, and left her there to school

Her heart for that sad pageant of the morrow.

O, what deep sighs, what piteous tearful prayers,

What golden grief-blanched hair strewn unawares!

Anon her coming through the place was sped,And when from that lone ecstasy she roseThe saintly Abbess held her steps, and said:“God rests those, daughter, who in others’ woesForget their own! In yonder corridorA sister-sufferer lies, and will no more

Anon her coming through the place was sped,

And when from that lone ecstasy she rose

The saintly Abbess held her steps, and said:

“God rests those, daughter, who in others’ woes

Forget their own! In yonder corridor

A sister-sufferer lies, and will no more

“Pass through her door to catch the morning’s breath,—A worldling once, the chamberlain’s young wife,But now a pious novice, meet for death;She prays to see your face once more in life.”“She, too, is widowed,” thought the Queen. AloudShe answered, “I will visit her,” and bowed

“Pass through her door to catch the morning’s breath,—

A worldling once, the chamberlain’s young wife,

But now a pious novice, meet for death;

She prays to see your face once more in life.”

“She, too, is widowed,” thought the Queen. Aloud

She answered, “I will visit her,” and bowed

Her head, and, following, reached the room where layOne that had wronged her so; and shrank to seeThat beauteous pallid face, so pined away,And the starved lips that murmured painfully,“I have a secret none but she may hear.”At the Queen’s sign, they two were left anear.

Her head, and, following, reached the room where lay

One that had wronged her so; and shrank to see

That beauteous pallid face, so pined away,

And the starved lips that murmured painfully,

“I have a secret none but she may hear.”

At the Queen’s sign, they two were left anear.

With that the dying rushed upon her speech,As one condemned, who gulps the poisoned wineNor pauses, lest to see it stand at reachWere crueller still. “Madam, I sought a sign,”She cried, “to know if God would have me makeConfession, and to you! now let me take

With that the dying rushed upon her speech,

As one condemned, who gulps the poisoned wine

Nor pauses, lest to see it stand at reach

Were crueller still. “Madam, I sought a sign,”

She cried, “to know if God would have me make

Confession, and to you! now let me take

“This meeting as the sign, and speak, and die!”“Child,” said the Queen, “your years are yet too few.See how I live,—and yet what sorrows lieAbout my heart.”—“I know,—the world spake true!You too have loved him; ay, he seems to standBetween us! Queen, you had the Prince’s hand,

“This meeting as the sign, and speak, and die!”

“Child,” said the Queen, “your years are yet too few.

See how I live,—and yet what sorrows lie

About my heart.”—“I know,—the world spake true!

You too have loved him; ay, he seems to stand

Between us! Queen, you had the Prince’s hand,

“But not his love!” Across the good Queen’s browA flame of anger reddened, as when oneMeets unprepared a swift and ruthless blow,But instant paled to pity, as she thought,“She wanders: ’tis the fever at her brain!”And looked her thought. The other cried again:

“But not his love!” Across the good Queen’s brow

A flame of anger reddened, as when one

Meets unprepared a swift and ruthless blow,

But instant paled to pity, as she thought,

“She wanders: ’tis the fever at her brain!”

And looked her thought. The other cried again:

“Yes! I am ill of body and soul indeed,Yet this was as I say. O, not for mePity, from you who wear the widow’s weed,Unknowing!”—“Woman, whose could that love be,If not all mine?” The other, with a moan,Rose in her bed; the pillow, backward thrown,

“Yes! I am ill of body and soul indeed,

Yet this was as I say. O, not for me

Pity, from you who wear the widow’s weed,

Unknowing!”—“Woman, whose could that love be,

If not all mine?” The other, with a moan,

Rose in her bed; the pillow, backward thrown,

Was darkened with the torrent of her hair.“’Twas hers,” she wailed,—“’twas hers who loved him best.”Then tore apart her night-robe, and laid bareHer flesh, and lo! against her poor white breastClose round her gloomed a shift of blackest serge,Fearful, concealed!—“I might not sing his dirge,”

Was darkened with the torrent of her hair.

“’Twas hers,” she wailed,—“’twas hers who loved him best.”

Then tore apart her night-robe, and laid bare

Her flesh, and lo! against her poor white breast

Close round her gloomed a shift of blackest serge,

Fearful, concealed!—“I might not sing his dirge,”

She said, “nor moan aloud and bring him shame,Nor haunt his tomb and cling about the grate,But this I fashioned when the tidings cameThat he was dead and I must expiate,Being left, our double sin!”—In the Queen’s heart,The tiger—that is prisoned at life’s start

She said, “nor moan aloud and bring him shame,

Nor haunt his tomb and cling about the grate,

But this I fashioned when the tidings came

That he was dead and I must expiate,

Being left, our double sin!”—In the Queen’s heart,

The tiger—that is prisoned at life’s start

In mortals, though perchance it never wakesFrom its mute sleep—began to rouse and crawl.Her lips grew white, and on her nostrils flakesOf wrath and loathing stood. “What, now, is allThis wicked drivel?” she cried; “how dare they bringThe Queen to listen to so foul a thing?”

In mortals, though perchance it never wakes

From its mute sleep—began to rouse and crawl.

Her lips grew white, and on her nostrils flakes

Of wrath and loathing stood. “What, now, is all

This wicked drivel?” she cried; “how dare they bring

The Queen to listen to so foul a thing?”

“Queen! I speak truth,—the truth, I say! He fedUpon these lips,—this hair he loved to praise!I held within these arms his bright fair headPressed close, ah, close!—Our lifetimes were the daysWe met,—the rest a void!”—“Thou spectral Sin,Be silent! or, if such a thing hath been,—

“Queen! I speak truth,—the truth, I say! He fed

Upon these lips,—this hair he loved to praise!

I held within these arms his bright fair head

Pressed close, ah, close!—Our lifetimes were the days

We met,—the rest a void!”—“Thou spectral Sin,

Be silent! or, if such a thing hath been,—

“If this be not thy frenzy,—quick, the proof,Before I score the lie thy lips amid!”She spoke so dread the other crouched aloof,Panting, but with gaunt hands somewhere undidA knot within her hair, and thence she tookThe signet-ring and passed it. The Queen’s look

“If this be not thy frenzy,—quick, the proof,

Before I score the lie thy lips amid!”

She spoke so dread the other crouched aloof,

Panting, but with gaunt hands somewhere undid

A knot within her hair, and thence she took

The signet-ring and passed it. The Queen’s look

Fell on it, and that moment the strong stay,Which held her from the instinct of her wrong,Broke, and therewith the whole device gave way,The grand ideal she had watched so long:As if a tower should fall, and on the plainOnly a scathed and broken pile remain.

Fell on it, and that moment the strong stay,

Which held her from the instinct of her wrong,

Broke, and therewith the whole device gave way,

The grand ideal she had watched so long:

As if a tower should fall, and on the plain

Only a scathed and broken pile remain.

But in its stead she would not measure yetThe counter-chance, nor deem this sole attaintMade the Prince less than one in whom ’twas setTo prove him man. “I held him as a saint,”She thought, “no other:—of all men aloneMy blameless one! Too high my faith had flown:

But in its stead she would not measure yet

The counter-chance, nor deem this sole attaint

Made the Prince less than one in whom ’twas set

To prove him man. “I held him as a saint,”

She thought, “no other:—of all men alone

My blameless one! Too high my faith had flown:

“So be it!” With a sudden bitter scornShe said: “You were his plaything, then! the foodWherewith he dulled what appetite is born,Of the gross kind, in men. His nobler moodYou knew not! How, shall I,—the fountain lifeOf yonder children,—his embosomed wife

“So be it!” With a sudden bitter scorn

She said: “You were his plaything, then! the food

Wherewith he dulled what appetite is born,

Of the gross kind, in men. His nobler mood

You knew not! How, shall I,—the fountain life

Of yonder children,—his embosomed wife

“Through all these years,—shall I, his Queen, for thisSin-smitten harlot’s gage of an hour’s shame,Misdoubt him?”—“Yes, I was his harlot,—yes,God help me! and had worn the loathly nameBefore the world, to have him in that guise!”“Thou strumpet! wilt thou have me of his prize

“Through all these years,—shall I, his Queen, for this

Sin-smitten harlot’s gage of an hour’s shame,

Misdoubt him?”—“Yes, I was his harlot,—yes,

God help me! and had worn the loathly name

Before the world, to have him in that guise!”

“Thou strumpet! wilt thou have me of his prize

“Rob Satan?” cried the Queen, and one step moved.“Queen, if you loved him, save me from your bane,As something that was dear to him you loved!”Then from beneath her serge she took the chainWhich, long ago in that lone wood, the PrinceHung round her,—she had never loosed it since,—

“Rob Satan?” cried the Queen, and one step moved.

“Queen, if you loved him, save me from your bane,

As something that was dear to him you loved!”

Then from beneath her serge she took the chain

Which, long ago in that lone wood, the Prince

Hung round her,—she had never loosed it since,—

And gave therewith the face which, in its yearsOf youthful, sunniest grace, a limner drew;And unsigned letters, darkened with her tears,Writ in the hand that hapless sovereign knewToo well;—then told the whole, strange, secret tale,As if with Heaven that penance could avail,

And gave therewith the face which, in its years

Of youthful, sunniest grace, a limner drew;

And unsigned letters, darkened with her tears,

Writ in the hand that hapless sovereign knew

Too well;—then told the whole, strange, secret tale,

As if with Heaven that penance could avail,

Or with the Queen, who heard as idols listThe mad priest’s cry, nor changed her place nor moaned,But, clutching those mute tokens of each tryst,Hid them about her. But the other groaned:“The picture,—let me see it ere I die,—Then take them all! once, only!”—At that cry

Or with the Queen, who heard as idols list

The mad priest’s cry, nor changed her place nor moaned,

But, clutching those mute tokens of each tryst,

Hid them about her. But the other groaned:

“The picture,—let me see it ere I die,—

Then take them all! once, only!”—At that cry

The Queen strode forward with an awful stride,And seized the dying one, and bore her down,And rose her height, and said, “Thou shouldst have diedEre telling this, nor I have worn a crownTo hear it told. I am of God accurst!Of all his hated, may he smite thee first!”

The Queen strode forward with an awful stride,

And seized the dying one, and bore her down,

And rose her height, and said, “Thou shouldst have died

Ere telling this, nor I have worn a crown

To hear it told. I am of God accurst!

Of all his hated, may he smite thee first!”

With that wild speech she fled, nor looked behind,Hasting to get her from that fearful room,Past the meek nuns in wait. These did not findThe sick one’s eyes—yet staring through the gloom,While her hands fumbled at her heart, and DeathMade her limbs quake, and combated her breath—

With that wild speech she fled, nor looked behind,

Hasting to get her from that fearful room,

Past the meek nuns in wait. These did not find

The sick one’s eyes—yet staring through the gloom,

While her hands fumbled at her heart, and Death

Made her limbs quake, and combated her breath—

More dreadful than the Queen’s look, as she thenceMade through the court, and reached her own arrayShe knew not how, and clamored, “Bear me hence!”And, even as her chariot moved away,High o’er the Abbey heard the minster tollIts doleful bell, as for a passing soul.

More dreadful than the Queen’s look, as she thence

Made through the court, and reached her own array

She knew not how, and clamored, “Bear me hence!”

And, even as her chariot moved away,

High o’er the Abbey heard the minster toll

Its doleful bell, as for a passing soul.

Though midst her guardsmen, as they speeded back,The wont of royalty maintained her still,Where grief had been were ruin now and rack!The firm earth reeled about, nor could her willMake it seem stable, while her soul went throughHer wedded years in desperate review.

Though midst her guardsmen, as they speeded back,

The wont of royalty maintained her still,

Where grief had been were ruin now and rack!

The firm earth reeled about, nor could her will

Make it seem stable, while her soul went through

Her wedded years in desperate review.

The air seemed full of lies; the realm, unsound;Her courtiers, knaves; her maidens, good and fair,Most shameless bawds; her children clung aroundLike asps, to sting her; from the kingdom’s heir,Shuddering, she turned her face,—his features tookA shining horror from his father’s look.

The air seemed full of lies; the realm, unsound;

Her courtiers, knaves; her maidens, good and fair,

Most shameless bawds; her children clung around

Like asps, to sting her; from the kingdom’s heir,

Shuddering, she turned her face,—his features took

A shining horror from his father’s look.

Along her city streets the thrifty crowd,As the Queen passed, their loving reverence made.“’Tis false! they love me not!” she cried aloud;So flung her from her chariot, and forbadeAll words, but waved her ladies back, and gainedHer inmost room, and by herself remained.

Along her city streets the thrifty crowd,

As the Queen passed, their loving reverence made.

“’Tis false! they love me not!” she cried aloud;

So flung her from her chariot, and forbade

All words, but waved her ladies back, and gained

Her inmost room, and by herself remained.

“We have been alone these years, and knew it not,”She said; “now let us on the knowledge thrive!”So closed the doors, and all things else forgotThan her own misery. “I cannot liveAnd bear this death,” she said, “nor die, the moreTo meet him,—and that woman gone before!”

“We have been alone these years, and knew it not,”

She said; “now let us on the knowledge thrive!”

So closed the doors, and all things else forgot

Than her own misery. “I cannot live

And bear this death,” she said, “nor die, the more

To meet him,—and that woman gone before!”

Thus with herself she writhed, while midnight gloomed,As lone as any outcast of us all;And once, without a purpose, as the doomedStare round and count the shadows on the wall,Unclasped a poet’s book which near her lay,And turned its pages in that witless way,

Thus with herself she writhed, while midnight gloomed,

As lone as any outcast of us all;

And once, without a purpose, as the doomed

Stare round and count the shadows on the wall,

Unclasped a poet’s book which near her lay,

And turned its pages in that witless way,

And read the song, some wise, sad man had made,With bitter frost about his doubting heart.“What is this life,” it plained, “what masqueradeOf which ye all are witnesses and part?’Tis but a foolish, smiling face to wearAbove your mortal sorrow, chill despair;

And read the song, some wise, sad man had made,

With bitter frost about his doubting heart.

“What is this life,” it plained, “what masquerade

Of which ye all are witnesses and part?

’Tis but a foolish, smiling face to wear

Above your mortal sorrow, chill despair;

“To mock your comrades and yourselves with mirthThat feeds the care ye cannot drive away;To vaunt of health, yet hide beneath the girthImpuissance, fell sickness, slow decay;To cloak defeat, and with the rich, the great,Applaud their fairer fortunes as their mate;

“To mock your comrades and yourselves with mirth

That feeds the care ye cannot drive away;

To vaunt of health, yet hide beneath the girth

Impuissance, fell sickness, slow decay;

To cloak defeat, and with the rich, the great,

Applaud their fairer fortunes as their mate;

“To brave the sudden woe, the secret loss,Though but to-morrow brings the open shame;To pay the tribute of your caste, and tossYour last to him that’s richer save in name;To judge your peers, and give the doleful meedTo crime that’s white beside your hidden deed;

“To brave the sudden woe, the secret loss,

Though but to-morrow brings the open shame;

To pay the tribute of your caste, and toss

Your last to him that’s richer save in name;

To judge your peers, and give the doleful meed

To crime that’s white beside your hidden deed;

“To whisper love, where of true love is none,—Desire, where lust is dead; to live unchaste,And wear the priestly cincture;—last, to own,When the morn’s dream is gone and noontide waste,Some fate still kept ye from your purpose sweet,Down strange, circuitous paths it drew your feet!”

“To whisper love, where of true love is none,—

Desire, where lust is dead; to live unchaste,

And wear the priestly cincture;—last, to own,

When the morn’s dream is gone and noontide waste,

Some fate still kept ye from your purpose sweet,

Down strange, circuitous paths it drew your feet!”

Thus far she read, and, “Let me read no more,”She clamored, “since the scales have left mine eyesAnd freed the dreadful gift I lacked before!We are but puppets, in whatever guiseThey clothe us, to whatever tune we move;Albeit we prate of duty, dream of love.

Thus far she read, and, “Let me read no more,”

She clamored, “since the scales have left mine eyes

And freed the dreadful gift I lacked before!

We are but puppets, in whatever guise

They clothe us, to whatever tune we move;

Albeit we prate of duty, dream of love.

“Let me, too, play the common part, and weanMy life from hope, and look beneath the maskTo read the masker! I, who was a Queen,And like a hireling thought to ’scape my task!For some few seasons left this heart is schooled:Yet,—had it been a little longer fooled,—

“Let me, too, play the common part, and wean

My life from hope, and look beneath the mask

To read the masker! I, who was a Queen,

And like a hireling thought to ’scape my task!

For some few seasons left this heart is schooled:

Yet,—had it been a little longer fooled,—

“O God!” And from her seat she bowed her down.The gentle sovereign of that spacious landLay prone beneath the bauble of her crown,Nor heard all night her whispering ladies standOutside the portal. Greatly, in the morn,They marvelled at her visage wan and worn.

“O God!” And from her seat she bowed her down.

The gentle sovereign of that spacious land

Lay prone beneath the bauble of her crown,

Nor heard all night her whispering ladies stand

Outside the portal. Greatly, in the morn,

They marvelled at her visage wan and worn.

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