As are the roots of earth and base of all;
Man for the field and woman for the hearth:

Man for the sword and for the needle she:

Man with the head and woman with the heart:
Man to command and woman to obey;

All else confusion. Look you! the gray mare

Is ill to live with, when her whinny shrills
From tile to scullery, and her small goodman
Shrinks in his arm-chair while the fires of Hell

Mix with his hearth: but you-she 's yet a colt

Take, break her: strongly groom'd and straitly curb'd

She might not rank with those detestable

That let the bantling scald at home, and brawl

Their rights or wrongs like potherbs in the street.
They say she's comely; there's the fairer chance:

I like her none the less for rating at her!

Besides, the woman wed is not as we,

But suffers change of frame. A lusty brace

Of twins may weed her of her folly. Boy,
The bearing and the training of a child

Is woman's wisdom.'

Thus the hard old king:

I took my leave, for it was nearly noon:

I pored upon her letter which I held,

And on the little clause 'take not his life :'
I mused on that wild morning in the woods,
And on the Follow, follow, thou shalt win: '
I thought on all the wrathful king had said,
And how the strange betrothment was to end:
Then I remember'd that burnt sorcerer's curse

That one should fight with shadows and should fall;

And like a flash the weird affection came:

King, camp and college turn'd to hollow shows;

I seem'd to move in old memorial tilts,
And doing battle with forgotten ghosts,
To dream myself the shadow of a dream:
And ere I woke it was the point of noon,
The lists were ready. Empanoplied and plumed
We enter'd in, and waited, fifty there
Opposed to fifty, till the trumpet blared
At the barrier like a wild horn in a land
Of echoes, and a moment, and once more
The trumpet, and again: at which the storm
Of galloping hoofs bare on the ridge of spears

And riders front to front, until they closed

In conflict with the crash of shivering points,

And thunder. Yet it seem'd a dream, I dream'd

Of fighting. On his haunches rose the steed,

And into fiery splinters leapt the lance,

And out of stricken helmets sprang the fire.

Part sat like rocks: part reel'd but kept their seats:
Part roll'd on the earth and rose again and drew:
Part stumbled mixt with floundering horses. Down
From those two bulks at Arac's side, and down
From Arac's arm, as from a giant's flail,

The large blows rain'd, as here and everywhere

He rode the mellay, lord of the ringing lists,

And all the plain,-brand, mace, and shaft, and shieldShock'd, like an iron-clanging anvil bang'd

With hammers; till I thought, can this be he

From Gama's dwarfish loins? if this be so,

The mother makes us most-and in my dream

I glanced aside, and saw the palace-front

Alive with fluttering scarfs and ladies' eyes,
And highest, among the statues, statuelike,
Between a cymbal'd Miriam and a Jael,

T

With Psyche's babe, was Ida watching us,

A single band of gold about her hair,

Like a Saint's glory up in heaven: but she
No saint-inexorable-no tenderness-
Too hard, too cruel: yet she sees me fight,
Yea, let her see me fall! with that I drave
Among the thickest and bore down a Prince,
And Cyril, one. Yea, let me make my dream
All that I would. But that large-moulded man,
His visage all agrin as at a wake,

Made at me thro' the press, and, staggering back

With stroke on stroke the horse and horseman, came

As comes a pillar of electric cloud,

Flaying the roofs and sucking up the drains,

And shadowing down the champain till it strikes

On a wood, and takes, and breaks, and cracks, and splits,

And twists the grain with such a roar that Earth

Reels, and the herdsmen cry; for everything

Gave way before him: only Florian, he

That loved me closer than his own right eye,
Thrust in between; but Arac rode him down:
And Cyril seeing it, push'd against the Prince,

With Psyche's colour round his helmet, tough,
Strong, supple, sinew-corded, apt at arms;
But tougher, heavier, stronger, he that smote