The Prince, divided from the world so far, Sat with the lady on a fallen tree; They looked like lovers, yet a prison-bar Between them had not made the two less free. Only their eyes told what they could not say, For still their lips spoke alien words that day. She told a legend of an early king Who knew the fairy of this wildwood glen, And often sought her haunt, far off to fling His grandeur, and be loved like common men. He died long since, the lady said; but she, Who could not die, how weary she must be! They talked of the strange beauty of the spot, The light that glinted through the ancient trees, Their own young lives, the Prince’s future lot; Then jested with false laughs. Like tangled bees, Each other and themselves they sweetly stung; They sung fond songs, and mocked the words they sung. At last he hung his picture by a chain About her neck, and on it graved the date. Her merry eyes grew soft with tender pain; She heard him sigh, “Alas, by what rude fate Our lives, like ships at sea, an instant meet, Then part forever on their courses fleet!” And in sheer pity of herself she dropped Her lovely head; and, though with self she strove, One hot tear fell. The shadow, which had stopped On her life’s dial, moved again, and Love Went sobbing by, and only left his wraith; For both were loyal to their given faith. Farewells they breathed and self-reproaches found, Half gliding with the current to the fall, Yet struggling for the shore. Was she not bound? Did not his plighted future, like a wall, Jut ’cross the stream? They feared themselves, and rose, And through the forest gained the mansion-close Unmissed, and parted thus, nor met anew; For on the morrow, when the Prince took horse, The lady feigned an illness, or ’twas true,— Yet maybe from her oriel marked his course, Watching his plume, that into distance past, Like some dear sail which sinks from sight at last. He rode beneath their arch, where pennons flared And standards with his colors blazoned in. Then thousands shouted welcome; trumpets blared; He felt the glories of his life begin! Far, far behind, that eddy in its stream Now seemed; its vanished shores, in turn, a dream. Enough; he passed the ways and reached the Queen. With pomp and pageantry the vows were said Leave to the chroniclers the storied scene, The church, the court, the masks and jousts that sped; Not theirs, but ours, to follow Love apart, Where first the bridegroom held his bride to heart, And saw her purity and regnant worth Thus kept for him and yielded to his care. What marvel that of all who dwelt on earth He seemed most fortunate and she most fair That self-same hour? And “By God’s grace,” he thought, “May I to some ignoble end be brought,