And while, the last court-tidings running o’er, Their talk on this and that at random fell, And the trains joined behind, the lady bore Her beauteous head askance, yet wist full well How the Prince looked and spoke; unwittingly, With the strange female sense and secret eye, Made of him there her subtile estimate, Forecast his lot, and thought how all things flow To those who have a surfeit. Could the great, The perfect Queen, she marvelled, truly know And love him at his value? In his turn, He read her face as ’twere a marble urn Embossed with Truth and blushful Innocence, Yet with the wild Loves carven in repose; And as he looked he felt, and knew not whence, A thought like this come as the wind that blows: “A face to lose one’s life for; ay, and more, To live for!”—So they reached the sculptured door And casements gilded with the dying light. That eve the host spread out a stately board, And with his household far into the night Feasted the Prince. The lady, next her lord, Drooped like a musk-rose trained beside a tomb. Loath was the guest that night to seek his room. * * * * * Ah! wherefore tell again an oft-told tale,— That of the sleeping knight who lost his wage In the enchanted land, though cased with mail, And bore the sacred shrine an empty gage? How this thing went it were not worth to view But for the triple coil which thence outgrew; How, with the morn, the ancient chamberlain Made off, and on the marriage business moved; How day by day those young hearts fed amain Upon the food of lovers, till—they loved. Beneath the mists of duty and degree A warmth of passion crept deliciously About the twain; and there, within the gleam Of those gray languid eyes, his nearing fate Seemed to the one a far, unquiet dream. So when the heralds said, “All things await Your princely coming,” the glad summons broke Upon him like a harsh bell’s jangling stroke, And waked him, and he knew he must be gone And put that honeyed chalice quite away; Yet once more met the lady, and alone, It chanced, within the grounds. The two, that day, Lured by a falling water’s sound, went deep Beyond the sunlight, in the forest-keep. Here from a range of wooded uplands leapt A mountain brook and far-off meadows sought; Now under firs and tasselled chestnuts crept, Then on through jagged rocks a passage fought, Until it clove this shadowy gorge and cool In one white cataract,—with a dark, broad pool Beneath, the home of mottled trout. One side Rose the cliff’s hollowed height, and overhung An open sward across that basin wide. The liberal sun through slanting larches flung Rich spots of gold upon the tufted ground, And the great royal forest gloomed around.