First in the field: some ages had been lost;
But woman ripen'd earlier, and her life
Was longer; and albeit their glorious names
Were fewer, scatter'd stars, yet since in truth
The highest is the measure of the man,
And not the Kaffir, Hottentot, Malay,
Nor those horn-handed breakers of the glebe,
But Homer, Plato, Verulam; even so
With woman and in arts of government
Elizabeth and others; arts of war

The peasant Joan and others; arts of grace
Sappho and others vied with any man :

And, last not least, she who had left her place,
And bow'd her state to them, that they might grow
To use and power on this Oasis, lapt

In the arms of leisure, sacred from the blight
Of ancient influence and scorn."

She rose upon a wind of prophecy

At last

Dilating on the future; "everywhere

Two heads in council, two beside the hearth,
Two in the tangled business of the world,
Two in the liberal offices of life,

Two plummets dropt for one to sound the abyss
Of science, and the secrets of the mind:
Musician, painter, sculptor, critic, more:

And everywhere the broad and bounteous Earth
Should bear a double growth of those rare souls,
Poets, whose thoughts enrich the blood of the world."

She ended here, and beckon'd us: the rest
Parted; and, glowing full-faced welcome, she
Began to address us, and was moving on
In gratulation, till as when a boat

Tacks, and the slacken'd sail flaps, all her voice
Faltering and fluttering in her throat, she cried

My brother!" "Well, my sister." "O" she said "What do you here? and in this dress? and these? Why who are these? a wolf within the fold!

A pack of wolves! the Lord be gracious to me!
A plot, a plot, a plot to ruin all !"

"No plot, no plot," he answer'd. "Wretched boy,
How saw you not the inscription on the gate,
LET NO MAN ENTER IN ON PAIN OF DEATH?"
"And if I had" he answer'd "who could think

The softer Adams of your Academe,

O sister, Sirens tho' they be, were such
As chanted on the blanching bones of men ?"
"But you will find it otherwise" she said.
"You jest: ill jesting with edge-tools! my vow
Binds me to speak, and O that iron will,
That axelike edge unturnable, our Head,
The Princess." "Well then, Psyche, take my life,
And nail me like a weasel on a grange
For warning: bury me beside the gate,
And cut this epitaph above my bones;
Here lies a brother by a sister slain,
All for the common good of womankind."
"Let me die too" said Cyril “having seen
And heard the Lady Psyche."

I struck in:
"Albeit so mask'd, Madam, I love the truth;
Receive it; and in me behold the Prince
Your countryman, affianced years ago

To the Lady Ida: here, for here she was,
And thus (what other way was left) I came.”
"O Sir, O Prince, I have no country; none;
If any, this; but none. Whate'er I was

Disrooted, what I am is grafted here.

Affianced, Sir? love-whispers may not breathe
Within this vestal limit, and how should I,
Who am not mine, say, live: the thunderbolt
Hangs silent; but prepare: I speak; it falls."
Yet pause,' I said: "for that inscription there,
I think no more of deadly lurks therein,
Than in a clapper clapping in a garth,

To scare the fowl from fruit: if more there be,
If more and acted on, what follows? war;
Your own work marr'd: for this your Academe,
Whichever side be Victor, in the halloo
Will topple to the trumpet down, and pass
With all fair theories only made to gild
A stormless summer." "Let the Princess judge
Of that" she said: "farewell Sir-and to you.
I shudder at the sequel, but I go."

"Are you that Lady Psyche" I rejoin'd, "The fifth in line from that old Florian, Vet hangs his portrait in my father's hall The gaunt old Baron with his beetle brow

Sun-shaded in the heat of dusty fights)

As he bestrode my Grandsire, when he fell,
And all else fled: we point to it, and we say,
The loyal warmth of Florian is not cold,
But branches current yet in kindred veins.”
"Are you that Psyche " Florian added "she
With whom I sang about the morning hills,
Flung ball, flew kite, and raced the purple fly,
And snared the squirrel of the glen? are you
That Psyche, wont to bind my throbbing brow,
To smoothe my pillow, mix the foaming draught
Of fever, tell me pleasant tales, and read
My sickness down to happy dreams? are you
That brother-sister Psyche, both in one?
You were that Psyche, but what are you now?"
"You are that Psyche," Cyril said, "for whom
I would be that for ever which I seem,
Woman, if I might sit beside your feet,
And glean your scatter'd sapience."

Then once more,

"Are you that Lady Psyche" I began,
"That on her bridal morn before she past
From all her old companions, when the king
Kiss'd her pale cheek, declared that ancient ties
Would still be dear beyond the southern hills;
That were there any of our people there
In want or peril, there was one to hear

And help them? look! for such are these and I."
"Are you that Psyche " Florian ask'd "to whom
In gentler days, your arrow-wounded fawn
Came flying while you sat beside the well?
The creature laid his muzzle on your lap,

And sobb'd, and you sobb'd with it, and the blood
Was sprinkled on your kirtle, and you wept.
That was fawn's blood, not brother's, yet you wept.
O by the bright head of my little niece,

You were that Psyche, and what are you now?”
"You are that Psyche" Cyril said again,
"The mother of the sweetest little maid,
That ever crow'd for kisses."

"Out upon it!"

She answer'd, "peace! and why should I not play

The Spartan Mother with emotion, be

The Lucius Junius Brutus of my kind?

Him you call great: he for the common weal,

The fading politics of mortal Rome,

As I might slay this child, if good need were,
Slew both his sons: and I, shall I, on whom
The secular emancipation turns

Of half this world, be swerved from right to save
A prince, a brother? a little will I yield.
Best so, perchance, for us, and well for you.
O hard, when love and duty clash! I fear
My conscience will not count me fleckless; yet—
Hear my conditions: promise (otherwise
You perish) as you came to slip away,

To-day, to-morrow, soon: it shall be said,

These women were too barbarous, would not learn;
They fled, who might have shamed us: promise, all."
What could we else, we promised each; and she,
Like some wild creature newly-caged, commenced
A to-and-fro, so pacing till she paused
By Florian; holding out her lily arms
Took both his hands, and smiling faintly said:
"I knew you at the first: tho' you have grown
You scarce have alter'd: I am sad and glad
To see you, Florian. I give thee to death
My brother! it was duty spoke, not I.
My needful seeming harshness, pardon it.
Our mother, is she well?"

With that she kiss'd

His forehead, then, a moment after, clung

About him, and betwixt them blossom'd up
From out a common vein of memory

Sweet household talk, and phrases of the hearth,
And far allusion, till the gracious dews
Began to glisten and to fall: and while

They stood, so rapt, we gazing, came a voice,
"I brought a message here from Lady Blanche."
Back started she, and turning round we saw
The Lady Blanche's daughter where she stood,
Melissa, with her hand upon the lock,
A rosy blonde, and in a college gown,
That clad her like an April daffodilly
(Her mother's colour) with her lips apart,
And all her thoughts as fair within her eyes,
As bottom agates seen to wave and float
In crystal currents of clear morning seas.

So stood that same fair creature at the door.

Then Lady Psyche "Ah-Melissa-you!
You heard us?" and Melissa, “O pardon me!
I heard, I could not help it, did not wish :
But, dearest Lady, pray you fear me not,
Nor think I bear that heart within my breast,
To give three gallant gentlemen to death."
"I trust you" said the other "for we two
Were always friends, none closer, elm and vine :
But yet your mother's jealous temperament-
Let not your prudence, dearest, drowse, or prove
The Danaïd of a leaky vase, for fear

This whole foundation ruin, and I lose
My honour, these their lives."

"Ah, fear me not" Replied Melissa "no-I would not tell,

No, not for all Aspasia's cleverness,

No, not to answer, Madam, all those hard things
That Sheba came to ask of Solomon."

"Be it so" the other "that we still may lead
The new light up, and culminate in peace,
For Solomon may come to Sheba yet."
Said Cyril "Madam, he the wisest man
Feasted the woman wisest then, in halls
Of Lebanonian cedar: nor should you
(Tho' madam
you should answer, we would ask)
Less welcome find among us, if you came
Among us, debtors for our lives to you,

Myself for something more." He said not what,
But "Thanks," she answer'd "go: we have been too long
Together: keep your hoods about the face;

They do so that affect abstraction here.
Speak little; mix not with the rest; and hold
Your promise: all, I trust, may yet be well."

We turn'd to go, but Cyril took the child,
And held her round the knees against his waist,
And blew the swoll'n cheek of a trumpeter,
While Psyche watch'd them, smiling, and the child
Push'd her flat hand against his face and laugh'd;
And thus our conference closed.

And then we stroll'd

For half the day thro' stately theatres

Bench'd crescent-wise. In each we sat, we heard
The grave Professor. On the lecture slate

The circle rounded under female hands
With flawless demonstration: follow'd then