Yet, as the days went by, to face the world, He made himself a delicate mask of gold And silver, shaped like those that minstrels wear At carnival in Venice, or when love, Disguising its disguise of mortal flesh, Wooes as a nameless prince from far away. And when this world's day, with its blaze and coil Was ended, and the first white star awoke In that pure realm where all our tumults die, His eyes and hers, meeting on Hesperus, Renewed their troth. He seemed to see Christine, Ringed by the pine-trees on that distant hill, A small white figure, lost in space and time, Yet gazing at the sky, and conquering all, Height, depth, and heaven itself, by the sheer power Of love at one with everlasting laws, A love that shared the constancy of heaven, And spoke to him across, above, the world. III Not till he crossed the Danube did he find Among the fountains and the storied eaves Of Augsburg, one to share his task with him. Paul Hainzel, of that city, greatly loved To talk with Tycho of the strange new dreams Copernicus had kindled. Did this earth Move? Was the sun the centre of our scheme? And Tycho told him, there is but one way To know the truth, and that's to sweep aside All the dark cobwebs of old sophistry, And watch and learn that moving alphabet, Each smallest silver character inscribed Upon the skies themselves, noting them down, Till on a day we find them taking shape In phrases, with a meaning; and, at last, The hard-won beauty of that celestial book With all its epic harmonies unfold Like some great poet's universal song. He was a great magician, Tycho Brahe. "Hainzel," he said, "we have no magic wand, But what the truth can give us. If we find Even with a compass, through a bedroom window, That half the glittering Almagest is wrong, Think you, what noble conquests might be ours, Had we but nobler instruments." He showed Quivering with eagerness, his first rude plan For that great quadrant,--not the wooden toy Of old Scultetus, but a kingly weapon, Huge as a Roman battering-ram, and fine In its divisions as any goldsmith's work. "It could be built," said Tycho, "but the cost Would buy a dozen culverin for your wars." Then Hainzel, fired by Tycho's burning brain, Answered, "We'll make it. We've a war to wage On Chaos, and his kingdoms of the night." They chose the cunningest artists of the town, Clock-makers, jewellers, carpenters, and smiths, And, setting them all afire with Tycho's dream, Within a month his dream was oak and brass. Its beams were fourteen cubits, solid oak, Banded with iron. Its arch was polished brass Whereon five thousand exquisite divisions Were marked to show the minutes of degrees.