The paramours, in fealty to that Love Who laughs at locks and walks in hooded guise, Met here and there, yet made no careless move Nor bared their strategy to cunning eyes. And though, a portion of the winter year, The Queen’s own summons brought her rival near The Prince, among the ladies of her train, Then, meeting face to face at morn and night, They were as strangers. If it was a pain To pass so coldly on, in love’s despite, It was a joy to hear each other’s tone, And keep the life-long secret still their own. Once having dipped their palms they drank full draught, And, like the desert-parched, alone at first Felt the delight of drinking, while they quaffed As if the waters could not slake their thirst; That nicer sense unreached, when down we fling, And view the oasis around the spring. And, in that first bewilderment, perchance The Prince’s lapse had caught some peering eye, But that his long repute, and maintenance Against each test, had put suspicion by. Now no one watched or doubted him. So long His inner strength had made his outwork strong, So long had smoothed his face, ’twas light to take, From what had been his blamelessness, a mask. And still, for honor’s and the country’s sake, He set his hands to every noble task; Held firmly yet his place among the great, Won by the sword and saviour of the state; And as in war, so now in civic peace, He led the people on to higher things, And fostered Art and Song, and brought increase Of Knowledge, gave to Commerce broader wings, And with his action strengthened fourfold more The weight his precept in their councils bore. Then as the mellow years their fruitage brought, And fair strong children made secure the throne, He reared them wisely, heedfully; and sought Their good, the Queen’s desire, and these alone. Himself so pure, that fathers bade their sons, “Observe the Prince, who every license shuns; “Who, being most brave, is purest!” Wedded wives, Happy themselves, the Queen still happiest found, And plighted maids still wished their lovers’ lives Conformed to his. Such manhood wrapt him round, So winsome were his grace and knightly look, The dames at court their lesser spoil forsook, And wove a net to snare him, and their mood Grew warmer for his coldness; and the hearts Of those most heartless beat with quicker blood, Foiled of his love; yet, heedless of their arts, Courteous to all, he went his way content, Nor ever from his princely station bent. “What is this charm,” they asked, “that makes him chaste Beyond all men?” and wist not what they said. The common folk,—because the Prince had cased His limbs in silver mail, and on his head Worn snowy plumes, and, covered thus in white, Shone in the fiercest turmoil of the fight;