A ninefold garland wrought of song-flowers nine Wound each with each in chance-inwoven accord Here at your feet I lay as on a shrine Whereof the holiest love that lives is lord. With faint strange hues their leaves are freaked and scored: The fable-flowering land wherein they grew Hath dreams for stars, and grey romance for dew: Perchance no flower thence plucked may flower anew. VII. No part have these wan legends in the sun Whose glory lightens Greece and gleams on Rome. Their elders live: but these—their day is done, Their records written of the wind in foam Fly down the wind, and darkness takes them home. What Homer saw, what Virgil dreamed, was truth, And dies not, being divine: but whence, in sooth, Might shades that never lived win deathless youth? VIII. The fields of fable, by the feet of faith Untrodden, bloom not where such deep mist drives. Dead fancy’s ghost, not living fancy’s wraith, Is now the storied sorrow that survives Faith in the record of these lifeless lives. Yet Milton’s sacred feet have lingered there, His lips have made august the fabulous air, His hands have touched and left the wild weeds fair. IX. So, in some void and thought-untrammelled hour, Let these find grace, my sister, in your sight, Whose glance but cast on casual things hath power To do the sun’s work, bidding all be bright With comfort given of love: for love is light. Were all the world of song made mine to give, The best were yours of all its flowers that live: Though least of all be this my gift, forgive. _July_ 1887. PERSONS REPRESENTED. LOCRINE, _King of Britain_. CAMBER, _King of Wales_, _brother to_ LOCRINE. MADAN, _son to_ LOCRINE _and_ GUENDOLEN. DEBON, _Lord Chamberlain_. GUENDOLEN, _Queen of Britain_, _cousin and wife to_ LOCRINE. ESTRILD, _a German princess_, _widow of the Scythian king_ HUMBER. SABRINA, _daughter to_ LOCRINE _and_ ESTRILD. _Scene_, BRITAIN. ACT I. SCENE I.—_Troynovant_. _A Room in the Palace_. _Enter_ GUENDOLEN _and_ MADAN. GUENDOLEN. Child, hast thou looked upon thy grandsire dead? MADAN. Ay. GUENDOLEN. Then thou sawest our Britain’s heart and head Death-stricken. Seemed not there my sire to thee More great than thine, or all men living? We Stand shadows of the fathers we survive: Earth bears no more nor sees such births alive. MADAN. Why, he was great of thews—and wise, thou say’st: Yet seems my sire to me the fairer-faced— The kinglier and the kindlier. GUENDOLEN.