Across the threshold now abruptly strode 112 Her youth's stern guardian. "Child of RASENA," He said, "the lover on thy youth bestow'd For the last time on earth thine eyes survey, Unless thy power can chain the faithless breast, And sated bliss deigns gracious to be blest." "Not so!" cried Arthur, as his loyal knee 113 Bent to the earth, and with the knightly truth Of his right hand he clasp'd her own;--"to be Thine evermore; youth mingled with thy youth, Age with thine age; in thy grave mine; above, Soul with thy soul--this is the Christian's love! "Oft wouldst thou smile, believing smile, to hear 114 Thy lover speak of knighthood's holy vow-- That vow holds falsehood more abhorr'd than fear,-- And canst thou doubt both love and knighthood now?" His words rush'd on--told of the threaten'd land, The fates confided to the sceptred hand, Here gathering woes, and there suspended toil; 115 And the stern warning from the distant seer. "Thine be my people--thine this bleeding soil; Queen of my realm, its groaning murmurs hear! Then ask thyself, what manhood's choice should be; False to my country, were I worthy thee?" Dim through her struggling sense the light came slow, 116 Struck from those words of fire. Alas, poor child! What, in thine isle of roses, shouldst thou know Of earth's grave duties?--of that stormy wild Of care and carnage--the relentless strife Of man with happiness, and soul with life? Thou who hadst seen the sun but rise and set 117 O'er one Saturnian Arcady of rest, Snatch'd from the Age of Iron? Ever, yet, Dwells that fine instinct in the noble breast, Which each high truth intuitive receives, And what the Reason grasps not, Faith believes. So in mute woe, one hand to his resign'd, 118 And one press'd firmly on her swelling heart, Passive she heard, and in her labouring mind Strove with the dark enigma--"part!--to part!" Till, having solved it by the beams that broke From that clear soul on hers, struggling she spoke:-- "Thou bidst me trust thee!--This is my reply: 119 Trust is my life--to trust thee is to live! And ev'n farewell less bitter than thy sigh For something AEgle is too poor to give. Thou speak'st of dread and terror, strife and woe; And I might wonder why they tempt thee so; "And I might ask how more can mortals please 120 The heavens, than thankful to enjoy the earth? But through its mist my soul, though faintly, sees Where thine sweeps on beyond this mountain girth, And, awed and dazzled, bending I confess Life may have holier ends than happiness!