Then first the Sovereign Lady of the deep 11 Spoke;--and the waves and whispering leaves wore still, "Ever I rise before the eyes that weep When, born from sorrow, Wisdom wakes the will; But few behold the shadow through the dark, And few will dare the venture of the bark. "And now amid the Cuthites' temple halls 12 O'er which the waters undestroying flow, Heark'ning the mysteries hymn'd from silver falls Or from the springs that, gushing up below, Gleam to the surface, whence to Heaven updrawn, They form the clouds that harbinger the Dawn,-- "Say what the treasures which my deeps enfold 13 That thou would'st bear to the terrestrial day?" Then Arthur answer'd--and his quest he told, The prophet mission which his steps obey-- "Here springs the forest from the single stem: I seek the falchion welded from the gem!" "Pause," said the Phantom, "and survey the tree! 14 More worth one fruit that weighs a branchlet down, Than all which mortals in the sword can see. Thou ask'st the falchion to defend a crown-- But seize the fruit, and to thy grasp decreed More realms than Ormuzd lavish'd on the Mede; "Than great Darius left his doomed son, 15 From Scythian wastes to Abyssinian caves; From Nimrod's tomb in silenced Babylon To Argive islands fretting Asian waves; Than changed to sceptres the rude Lictor-rods, And placed the worm call'd Caesar with the gods! "Pause--take thy choice--each gem a host can buy, 16 Seize--and yoke kings to War's triumphant car! The Child of Earth, no Genii here defy, The fruits unguarded, and the fiends afar-- But dark the perils that surround the Sword, And slight its worth--ambitious if its Lord; "True to the warrior on his native soil, 17 Its blade would break in the Invader's clasp; A weapon meeter for the sons of Toil, When plough-shares turn to falchions in their grasp;-- Leave the rude boor to battle for his hearth-- Expand thy scope;--Ambition asks the Earth!" "Spirit or Sorceress," said the frowning King, 18 "Panic like the Sun illumes an Universe; But life and joy both Fame and Sun should bring; And God ordains no glory for a curse. The souls of kings should be the towers of law, We right the balance, if the sword we draw! "Not mine the crowns the Persian lost or won, 19 Tiaras glittering over kneeling slaves; Mine be the sword that freed at Marathon, The unborn races by the Father-graves-- Or stay'd the Orient in the Spartan pass, And carved on Time thy name, Leonidas."