And then, with a smile that partook of the awful, Turned her over to his yellow mother To learn what was decorous and lawful; And the mother smelt blood with a cat-like instinct, As her cheek quick whitened through all its quince-tinct. Oh, but the lady heard the whole truth at once! What meant she?--Who was she?--Her duty and station, The wisdom of age and the folly of youth, at once, Its decent regard and its fitting relation-- In brief, my friends, set all the devils in hell free {320} And turn them out to carouse in a belfry And treat the priests to a fifty-part canon, And then you may guess how that tongue of hers ran on! Well, somehow or other it ended at last, And, licking her whiskers, out she passed; And after her,--making (he hoped) a face Like Emperor Nero or Sultan Saladin, Stalked the Duke’s self with the austere grace Of ancient hero or modern paladin, From door to staircase--oh, such a solemn {330} Unbending of the vertebral column! -- 263. wind a mort: announce that the deer is taken. 273. sealed: more properly spelt ‘seeled’, a term in falconry; Lat. ‘cilium’, an eyelid; ‘seel’, to close up the eyelids of a hawk, or other bird (Fr. ‘ciller les yeux’). “Come, seeling Night, Skarfe vp the tender Eye of pittiful Day.” ‘Macbeth’, III. II. 46. 322. fifty-part canon: “A canon, in music, is a piece wherein the subject is repeated, in various keys: and being strictly obeyed in the repetition, becomes the ‘canon’--the imperative LAW--to what follows. Fifty of such parts would be indeed a notable peal: to manage three is enough of an achievement for a good musician.”--From Poet’s Letter to the Editor. 12. However, at sunrise our company mustered; And here was the huntsman bidding unkennel, And there ‘neath his bonnet the pricker blustered, With feather dank as a bough of wet fennel; For the court-yard walls were filled with fog You might cut as an axe chops a log-- Like so much wool for color and bulkiness; And out rode the Duke in a perfect sulkiness, Since, before breakfast, a man feels but queasily, {340} And a sinking at the lower abdomen Begins the day with indifferent omen. And lo! as he looked around uneasily, The sun ploughed the fog up and drove it asunder, This way and that, from the valley under; And, looking through the court-yard arch, Down in the valley, what should meet him But a troop of gypsies on their march? No doubt with the annual gifts to greet him. 13.