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THE PRINCESS;
But that there rose a shout; the gates were closedAt sundown, and the crowd were swarming now,To take their leave, about the garden rails.And I and some went out, and mingled with them.And there we saw Sir Walter where he stood,Before a tower of crimson holly-oaks,Among six boys, head under head, and look'dNo little lily-handed Baronet he,A great broad-shoulder'd genial Englishman,A lord of fat prize-oxen and of sheep,A raiser of huge melons and of pine,A patron of some thirty charities,A pamphleteer on guano and on grain,A quarter-sessions chairman, abler none;Fair-hair'd and redder than a windy morn;Now shaking hands with him, now him, of thoseThat stood the nearest—now address'd to speech—Who spoke few words and pithy, such as closedWelcome, farewell, and welcome for the yearTo follow: a shout arose again, and made
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