Together from the higher clime, By terraced cliff and copse along, Adown the slant we stept, in time To many another pilgrim’s song, And came where faded far away, Each side, the kingdom’s ancient wall, From breaking unto dying day; Beyond, the magic valley lay, With glimpse of shimmering stream and fall; And here, between twin turrets, ran, Built o’er with arch and barbacan, The entrance to Bohemia. IV. Beneath the lichened parapet Grim-sculptured Gog and Magog bore The Royal Arms,—Hope’s Anchor, set In azure, on a field of _or_, With pendent mugs, and hands that wield A lute and tambour, graven clear; What seemed a poet’s scroll revealed The antique legend of the shield: Cambrinus. Rex. helde. Wassaille. here. Joyned. with. ye. Kinge. of. Yvetot. O. worlde-worne. Pilgrim. passe. belowe. To. entre. fayre. Bohemia. V. No churlish warder barred the gate, Nor other pass was needed there Than equal heart for either fate, And barren scrip, and hope to spare. Through the gray archway, hand in hand, We walked, beneath the rampart high, And on within the wondrous land; There, changed as by enchanter’s wand, My sweetheart, fairer to the eye Than ever, moved along serene In hood and cloak,—a gypsy queen, Born princess of Bohemia! VI. A fairy realm! where slope and stream, Champaign and upland, town and grange, Like shadowy shiftings of a dream, Forever blend and interchange; A magic clime! where, hour by hour, Storm, cloud, and sunshine, fleeting by, Commingle, and, through shine and shower, Bright castles, lit with rainbows, tower, Emblazoning the distant sky With glimmering glories of a land Far off, yet ever close at hand As hope, in brave Bohemia. VII. On either side the travelled way, Encamped along the sunny downs, The blithesome, bold Bohemians lay; Or hid, in quaintly-gabled towns, At smoke-stained inns of musty date, And spider-haunted attic nooks In empty houses of the great, Still smacking of their ancient state,— Strewn round with pipes and mouldy books, And robes and buskins over-worn, That well become the careless scorn And freedom of Bohemia. VIII. For, loving Beauty, and, by chance, Too poor to make her all in all, They spurn her half-way maintenance, And let things mingle as they fall; Dissevered from all other climes, Yet compassing the whole round world, Where’er are jests, and jousts at rhymes, True love, and careless, jovial times, Great souls by jilting Fortune whirled, Men that were born before their day, Kingly, without a realm to sway, Yet monarchs in Bohemia; IX.