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THE PRINCESS;
A shadow, and all her hue changed, and she said: 'He saved my life: my brother slew him for it'No more; at which the king in bitter scornDrew from my neck the painting and the tress, And held them up: she saw them, and a dayRose from the distance on her memory,When the good Queen, her mother, shore the tress With kisses, ere the days of Lady Blanche:And then once more she look'd at my pale-face: Till understanding all the foolish workOf Fancy, and the bitter close of all,Her iron will was broken in her mind;Her noble heart was molten in her breast;She bow'd, she set the child on the earth; she laid A feeling finger on my brows, and presently'O Sire,' she said, 'he lives: he is not dead:O let me have him with my brethren hereIn our own palace: we will tend on himLike one of these; if so, by any means,To lighten this great clog of thanks, that makesOur progress falter to the woman's goal.'
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