In their strong castles; but this company Have left the Court where sin and crime are crowned To wander with me through this pleasant land, Delighting in our minstrels and the chase: Or if thou wilt not choose among us here, Then pledge us in the cup, and so shall we Depart hence, for thy beauty troubles us; Yet shall we help thee into thine own land.’ “He spoke, and they applauded; and I took Out of his hand the curious wrought cup, And looked toward the page, even he who came That day to warn me, and he dropped his eyes And shuddered; but I shuddered not. ‘O Prince,’ I answered him, ‘could all my words avail To thank thee for thy kindliness to me, Yet there would still remain within my heart Thoughts too divine to rise in utterance, Which even lovers’ tongues may never tell, Though their hearts feel them, fluttering with wings. I would some sleight of thine had filled the cup With a love-potion, such as Iseult gave To Tristram, while they journeyed to King Marc In their beaked ship across the glooming sea, And thou hadst tasted of it, ere my lips Drank of the potent venom. But, O Prince, No potion is there to increase my love: Stronger it is than death, and deeper far Than the blue depths of the untravelled sea. Love fills me utterly, and is my blood; So that, belovéd, hadst thou bade me drink Of some death-working potion Fredegonde Had learned from Lapland sorcerers to brew, Thus would I drink it!’ and I drained the cup, Then spoke once more: ‘Yea, even if one came To warn me of the snare which she had laid, And that thy heart consented to the deed, As one did come to me.’ ‘Brunhild!’ he cried; And a loud cry arose from all his friends, A sudden turmoil, suddenly to cease, Leaving them mute, amazed. Then Merow spake: “‘Queen, to thine hosts impute no treachery, For Praetextatus and myself are free From guilt in this though Fredegonde conspired: Who said my heart consented lied to thee! O Queen of the white hands and smiling eyes, My heart is not a traitor to its love To harbour evil thoughts against thy peace; And ever since mine eyes first looked on thee To see the wind lift from thy placid brows A tendril of thine aureate, sunlit hair; And ever since mine ears first heard thy voice Fall through the darkness like a gleam of light, Enchanting them with its swift wizardry; And ever since I felt the gentle touch Of thy hand laid upon my hand, which woke And troubled the deep waters of my soul,— My heart has been thy captive. O, my Queen, Life was before me like a mystery Filled with innumerable tongues of fear; But at thy touch I saw the world and life Green with the promise of delightful days, And like a harp of many twisted strings My heart was, on which your white hand did play—