THE PRINCESS: A MEDLEY. PROLOGUE. SIR WALTER VIVIAN all a summer's day A Walter too,-with others of our set, 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 B 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, Huge Ammonites, and the first bones of Time; And on the tables every clime and age Claymore and snowshoe, toys in lava, fans Of sandal, amber, ancient rosaries, Laborious orient ivory sphere in sphere, The cursed Malayan crease, and battle-clubs From the isles of palm: and higher on the walls, Betwixt the monstrous horns of elk and deer, His own forefathers' arms and armour hung. 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 Dived in a hoard of tales that dealt with knights Half-legend, half-historic, counts and kings 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, 'O noble heart who, being strait-besieged By this wild king to force her to his wish, Nor bent, nor broke, nor shunn'd a soldier's death, 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- She trampled some beneath her horses' heels, And part were drown'd within the whirling brook: So sang the gallant glorious chronicle; And, I all wrapt 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 With happy faces and with holiday. 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, The fountain of the moment, playing now A twisted snake, and now a rain of pearls, Or steep-up spout whereon the gilded ball Danced like a wisp and somewhat lower down : A man with knobs and wires and vials fired A cannon Echo answer'd in her sleep For azure views; and there a group of girls In circle waited, whom the electric shock Dislink'd with shricks and laughter: round the 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 They flash'd a saucy message to and fro And shadow, while the twangling violin The broad ambrosial aisles of lofty lime Made noise with bees and breeze from end to end. 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 : |