And snared the squirrel of the glen? are you

That Psyche, wont to bind my throbbing brow,

To smoothe my pillow, mix the foaming draught

Of fever, tell me pleasant tales, and read My sickness down to happy dreams? are you

That brother-sister Psyche, both in one? You were that Psyche, but what are you now?'

'You are that Psyche,' Cyril said, 'for whom

I would be that for ever which I seem, Woman, if I might sit beside your feet, And glean your scatter'd sapience.'

Then once more, 'Are you that Lady Psyche,' I began, 'That on her bridal morn before she past From all her old companions, when the king

Kiss'd her pale cheek, declared that ancient ties

Would still be dear beyond the southern hills;

That were there any of our people there In want or peril, there was one to hear And help them? look! for such are these and I.'

'Are you that Psyche,' Florian ask'd,

'to whom,

In gentler days, your arrow-wounded fawn Came flying while you sat beside the well? The creature laid his muzzle on your lap, And sobb'd, and you sobb'd with it, and the blood

Was sprinkled on your kirtle, and you wept.

And far allusion, till the gracious dews Began to glisten and to fall: and while They stood, so rapt, we gazing, came a voice,

'I brought a message here from Lady Blanche.'

Back started she, and turning round we

saw

The Lady Blanche's daughter where she stood,

Melissa, with her hand upon the lock, A rosy blonde, and in a college gown, That clad her like an April daffodilly (Her mother's colour) with her lips apart, And all her thoughts as fair within her eyes,

As bottom agates seen to wave and float In crystal currents of clear morning seas.

So stood that same fair creature at the door.

Said Cyril, Madam, he the wisest man Feasted the woman wisest then, in halls Of Lebanonian cedar: nor should you (Tho' Madam you should answer, we would ask)

Less welcome find among us, if you came Among us, debtors for our lives to you, Myself for something more.' He said not what,

But ‘Thanks,' she answer'd 'Go: we have been too long

Together: keep your hoods about the face;

They do so that affect abstraction here. Speak little; mix not with the rest; and hold

Your promise: all, I trust, may yet be

well.'

We turn'd to go, but Cyril took the child,

me

I heard, I could not help it, did not wish:

But, dearest Lady, pray you fear me not, Nor think I bear that heart within my breast,

To give three gallant gentlemen to death.' 'I trust you,' said the other, 'for we two Were always friends, none closer, elm and vine:

waist,

And blew the swoll'n cheek of a trumpeter, While Psyche watch'd them, smiling, and

the child

Push'd her flat hand against his face and laugh'd ;

And thus our conference closed.
And then we stroll'd
For half the day thro' stately theatres
Bench'd crescent-wise. In each we sat,
we heard

loves

Fly twanging headless arrows at the

the bell

For dinner, let us go!'

hearts,

but O

With me, Sir, enter'd in the bigger boy, The Head of all the golden-shafted firm,

end

With beauties every shade of brown and fair

too;

He cleft me thro' the stomacher; and

now

What think you of it, Florian? do I chase The substance or the shadow? will it hold?

I have no sorcerer's malison on me,
No ghostly hauntings like his Highness. I
Flatter myself that always everywhere
I know the substance when I see it. Well,

The long hall glitter'd like a bed of flowers.

How might a man not wander from his wits

Pierced thro' with eyes, but that I kept mine own

Intent on her, who rapt in glorious dreams, The second-sight of some Astræan age, Sat compass'd with professors: they, the while,

Discuss'd a doubt and tost it to and fro : A clamour thicken'd, mixt with inmost

terms

Of art and science: Lady Blanche alone Of faded form and haughtiest lineaments, With all her autumn tresses falsely brown, Shot sidelong daggers at us, a tiger-cat In act to spring.

At last a solemn grace Concluded, and we sought the gardens: there

One walk'd reciting by herself, and one In this hand held a volume as to read, And smoothed a petted peacock down with that:

Some to a low song oar'd a shallop by, Or under arches of the marble bridge Hung, shadow'd from the heat: some

hid and sought

In the orange thickets: others tost a ball Above the fountain-jets, and back again With laughter: others lay about the lawns,

Of the older sort, and murmur'd that their May

her 'how,'

While the great organ almost burst his pipes,

Groaning for power, and rolling thro' the

court

A long melodious thunder to the sound Of solemn psalms, and silver litanies, The work of Ida, to call down from Heaven

A blessing on her labours for the world.

'My fault' she wept 'my fault! and yet not mine;

Yet mine in part. O hear me, pardon

me.

My mother, 'tis her wont from night to night

To rail at Lady Psyche and her side. She says the Princess should have been the Head,

Herself and Lady Psyche the two arms;