While I lay drowned in an excess of joy, Fed but unsated, and insatiable. Ah! this interminable stress of life Intruding on the splendid pageantry, Wherein is decked the gaudy press of dreams, That flatter love, as if another sense, Imagination, showed us the true world. I am but half a dreamer, and can shut My purpose close unto the narrow view, To seize the nearest opportunity, Weaving it into this strange web of life, As now I make the fate of Merow mine. Yet am I compact of so many moods, That a great yearning comes on me at times For an illimitable night of stars, Jewelling with their fire the purple vault Of Heaven, wherein my soul would hang, alone, Unconscious of this striving purposeless, That vexes all our being; and anon Comes, soft as flutes on an enchanted night, The murmur of Life’s magic in mine ears. The old cajoler and her henchman Love Lure me into their arms again with spells, That veil the infinite in warm desires, Cloaks and dissimulations of her aim. “‘So have I fed on dreams this month or more. But a new motive quickens in my mind, And all my old ambitions are astir; Fredegonde day and night may toil and spin, I am the fresher for that I have slept If Gondovald may threaten her from Metz With armies of my followers and friends, Sworn to my service, may not I from here Threaten as well and equally be heard? And when her fear of armies is aroused, May I not lull to sleep those other fears Born of my love for Merow, telling her That he was but a means to my escape. Love never hindered her in the pursuit Of her ambition; lovers are her dupes: So let her judge of me. Merow will stay In Tours with you, hiding his yellow hair And simulated sorrow in a cowl, Till I am firmly seated by my son. Then let him come to me, and we shall weld The kingdoms of the Franks into one crown Imperial, whose might will shake the world, And roll Mahomet back to his own place Before our banners blazoned with the Cross. Lend me thy help in this, and I shall bless Thy church and Rome with many precious gifts, Spoiled of the conquered.’ And he answered me: “‘Thou art a woman such as deserts breed: A prophetess among the elect of God, Who lays his mission on thee, with his hand, As even once on Judith, and on Jael, On Miriam, and Esther; such an one As burns with all the strength and wrath of God, Consumed with zeal, devoted unto death, A sword of hatred to the impious. Plough up this land again with bloody war; And I shall bless thy work. A Herod sits Supreme above us: reach to pluck him down, This Nero of our time, this hangman king, Who spoils our abbeys and the Church’s land: Let him be as the quarry to thy hounds. What matter if the ruin of the rain