With such a cry his conscience riotous Had thrown, perchance, the burden on it laid, But love and pity held his voice; and thus The paramours their constant penance made; False to themselves, before the world a lie, Yet each for each had cast the whole world by. In those transcendent moments, when the fire Leapt up between them rapturous and bright, One incompleteness bred a wild desire To let the rest have token of its light; So natural seemed their love,—so hapless, too, They might not make it glorious to view, And speak their joy. ’Twas all as they had come, They two, in some far wildwood wandering mazed, Upon a mighty cataract, whose foam And splendor ere that time had never dazed Men’s eyes, nor any hearing save their own Could listen to its immemorial moan, And felt amid their triumph bitter pain That only for themselves was spread that sight. Oft, when his comrades sang a tender strain, And music, talk, and wine, outlasted night, Rose in the Prince’s throat this sudden tide, “And I,—I also know where Love doth hide!” Yet still the seals were ever on his mouth; No heart, save one, his joy and dole might share. Passed on the winter’s rain and summer’s drouth; Friends more and more, and lovers true, the pair, Though life its passion and its youth had spent, Still kept their faith as seasons came and went. * * * * * One final hour, with stammering voice and halt, The Prince said: “Dear, for you,—whose only gain Was in your love that made such long default To self,—Heaven deems you sinless! but a pain Is on my soul, and shadow of guilt threefold: First, in your fair life, fettered by my hold; “Then in the ceaseless wrong I do the Queen, Who worships me, unknowing; worse than all, To wear before the world this painted mien! See to it: on my head some bolt will fall! We have sweet memories of the good years past, Now let this secret league no longer last.” So of her love and pure unselfishness She yielded at his word, yet fain would pray For one more tryst, one day of tenderness, Where first their lives were mated. Such a day Found them entwined together, met to part, Lips pressed to lips, and voiceless grief at heart. And last the Prince drew off his signet-stone, And gave it to his mistress,—as he rose To shut the book of happy moments gone, For so all earthly pleasures find a close,— Yet promised, at her time of utmost need And summons by that token, to take heed And do her will. “And from this hour,” he said, “No woman’s kiss save one my lips shall know.” So left her pale and trembling there, and fled, Nor looked again, resolved it must be so; But somewhere gained his horse, and through the wood Moved homeward with his thoughts, a phantom brood