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THE PRINCESS;
The sacred mother's bosom, panting, burstThe laces toward her babe; but she nor cared Nor knew it, clamouring on, till Ida heard, Look'd up, and rising slowly from me, stood Erect and silent, striking with her glanceThe mother, me, the child; but Cyril, who lay Bruised, where he fell, not far off, much in pain, Trail'd himself up on one knee: then he drew Her robe to meet his lips, and down she look'd At the arm'd man sideways, pitying, as it seem'd, Or self-involved; but when she learnt his face, Remembering his ill-omen'd song, aroseOnce more thro' all her height, and o'er him grew Tall as a figure lengthen'd on the sandWhen the tide ebbs in sunshine, and he said:
 'O fair and strong and terrible! Lioness That with your long locks play the Lion's mane! But Love and Nature, these are two more terribleAnd stronger. See, your foot is on our necks,
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