How could he choose but clutch it? Yet the son Seemed worthy, for his parts were of that mould Oft-failing Nature strives to join in one, And shape a hero,—pure and wise and bold: In arts and arms the wonder of his peers, The flower of princes, prince of cavaliers; Tall, lithe of form, and of a Northern mien, Gentle in speech and thought,—while thus he shone, A rising star, though chosen of a queen, Why seek the skies less tranquil than his own? Why should he climb beside her perilous height, And in that noonday blaze eclipse his light? Ah, why?—one’s own life may be bravely led, But not another’s. Yet, as to and fro The buzzing private embassies were sped, And when the Queen’s own pages, bowing low, Told in his ear a sweet and secret story, The Prince, long trained to seek his house’s glory, Let every gracious sentence seem a plume Of love and beckoning beauty for his helm. So passed a season; then the cannon’s boom And belfry’s peal delivered to the realm The Queen’s betrothal, and the councils met, And for the nuptial rites a day was set. * * * * * Now when the time grew ripe, the favored Prince Rides forth, and through the little towns that mourn His loss, and past the boundaries; and, since To ape the pomp to which he was not born Seemed in his soul a foolish thing and vain, A few near comrades, only, made his train. Nor pressed the populace along the ways; But—for he wished it so—unheralded He rode from post to post through many days, Yet gained a greatness as the distance fled, As some dim comet, drawing near its bound, Takes lustre from the orb it courses round. And league by league his fantasies outran His progress, brooding on his mistress’ power, Until his own estate the while began To seem of lesser worth each passing hour; And with misdoubt this fortune weighed him down, As though a splendid mantle had been thrown About him, which he knew not well to wear, And might not forfeit. Yet he spurred apace, And reached a country-seat that bordered near The Capital. Here, for a little space, He was to rest from travel, and await His day of entrance at the city’s gate. Upon these grounds a gray-haired noble dwelt, A ribboned courtier of the former reign; A tedious proper man, who glibly knelt To royalty,—this ancient chamberlain,— Yoked with a girlish wife, and, for the rest, Proud of the charge that made a prince his guest. The highway ran beside a greenwood keep That reached, herefrom, quite to the city’s edge; Across, the fields with golden corn were deep; The level sunset pierced the wayside hedge; The banks were all abloom; a pheasant whirred Far in the bush; anon, some tuneful bird