HOME they brought her warrior dead: She nor swoon'd, nor utter'd cry: All her maidens, watching, said, "She must weep or she will die." Then they praised him, soft and low, Call'd him worthy to be loved, Truest friend and noblest foe; Yet she neither spoke nor moved. Stole a maiden from her place, Rose a nurse of ninety years, Set his child upon her knee Like summer tempest came her tears— "Sweet my child, I live for thee." VI. My dream had never died or lived again. For so it seem'd, or so they said to me, That all things grew more tragic and more strange; The Prince is slain. My father heard and ran But high upon the palace Ida stood |