When all would be at peace within the land,
And each man have his own inheritance,
Be it cot or citied realm: and how they twain,
When crowned kings, would through the country
ride,

Teaching civility and raising man,

Till on the highway there should not be heard
A rude word, and till gold might lie untouched.

So talking, Edwin knew that they approached The palace: neither mount, nor stream, nor tree, Nor landmark, noted as they rode at morn, Foretold its nearness, but a heart that swam In new delight, like summer setting suns In color. As they rode, between the twain

And gave the palace clear in afternoon,
Its turrets rose in a delicious clime,

And sacred as her garment's hem had grown,
Its utmost pale and limit. As they came,

The noise of hoofs brought Redwald to the door,
A shallow ray of welcome in his face
That faded soon. Like one preoccupied

whose hawk

Sitting unscolded, while each enterprise

down?

And heeded not the answer when it came. All the dismounted princes then he led

Moody-browed

To a great board set forth with meats and drinks,
And, as he sat and carved before them all,
And as the talk rose high among the sons,
His face to Edwin-who with anxious eye
Sought there the future-seemed a doubtful day
Beyond the skill of prophet to predict
Whether 'twould darken into thunder shower
Or clear to azure and a golden set,
With promise of fair morrows.
He sat at feast and moody-browed he rose
And went out, leaving Edwin and his sons.
Then, after interval of sportive talk,
Regner brought all the table to the hall
Where in the morning he had stood with dogs;
But changed its grisly furniture, for now
Twilight had settled down upon the world,
And in the red and winking faggot light
Now flashed a spear-head, and now gleamed a brand.
The seven soon were busy here and there-
Some diced, one played with spear-head, one with
hound.

But Edwin, feathering arrows sat apart,
For all the piled-up anguish-visible
As some high hanging tempest, which the sun
Holds back at noon, but which, when that same sun
Goes out like a red ember in the west,
Settles down bodily, a double night,
And pours through all the hollows of the hills
With voices in the blackness and the blast-
Covered him up, and in his soul he cursed
The purblind King, incapable to pierce
The curtain of a sunset, and descry
The angry-featured morn that lowered behind.
And, as they sat, and redder grew the hall,
The Princess came and sang as was her wont,
And as it chanced that night a tale of love-
Of love new-born and trembling like an Eve
Within a paradise all wide and strange
At the most perilous sweetness of herself
But one short moment known. And while her voice
Went wandering through a maze of melody,
The hand lay where it fell, and ceased the breath,
And finer grew the listening face. And when

Like wild swans overhead. A gentle wife
With yellow-headed children round thy knees-
Aha, our lily leaps into a rose!

What! struggling like a very sheep in pen
Beneath the shears!" While gazed the throneless
Prince

With idle fingers on the feathered shaft,
While she, flushed rosy-red, broke loose and fled,
And while great Regner's loving laugh pursued,
Sudden, all heaven, immeasurably sweet,
Sank downward on his heart, and filled it full
As crimson fills a rose.

Then, while they slept,
The feverish heart within his body lay
Awake, and slave to giddy fear and hope,
'Twas blown from life to death, from heaven to hell,
A hundred times ere morn. But when the dawn
Flowed from the eastern cloud, and chamber wall,
And window white, and passion's fiery self
Wavered and lost their forms, and swam away,
Like watery circles into nothing, she
Came floating in upon a stream of sleep,
And smiling, breathed the sacredest delight
Through all his soul. Ah, dawn among thy stars,
Yet linger, scare not with thy broadening ray
The paradise our father Adam knew!
Sudden above the shoulder of the world
The broad sun bounced and flung his shafts abroad-
One quivered redly on the dewy lawns,
One broke in rose along a mountain range,
One fired the cloud, and lark beneath the cloud.
And in the wide effulgence Edwin woke,
With heart sweet thrilling, like a string from which
The hand has vanished, though the tone is yet
By silence undevoured. And, when the sun
Had in succincter splendor turned his face
Noonwards, the Prince arose, and sought the hall;
And, after frank "Good morrow" from the sons,
And graver greeting from the King, and touch
Of Bertha's hand-the while from eye and lip
Broke sunlight for a moment, and was gone-
He put aside a plan by Regner urged,
To kill the noon, on score of weariness.
And when the King had gone, and when the sons,
With six or seven great dogs at their heels,
He, with a mighty thirst to be alone,

To weed his heart of perilous delight-
For this new passion seemed unnatural
As winter breeding roses-stole unseen
From gate, and hid himself within the woods,
That billowed on and on toward the west;
And after roaming many a shadowy way,
He found a green recess, a sheltered nook,
Where many a family of violets dim
Sweetened the forest twilight with their breaths
Through mossy centuries unsmelt by man.
Covered with secrecy and silence there,
While Time sailed on, and never beat a wing,
All Nature fed his madness. Solitude

Spake with her voice, and Memory wore her face,
And in the thick-leaved murmur overhead
"Bertha" was shaped forever. Starting up,
For his delight he feared as 'twere a fiend
In angel's shape, with cruel-lovely eyes
That fascinate a man against his will,
Drawing him onward to some horrible brink,
He left the massy coverture of leaves,
That whispered like a tempter, and sought peace
And some deliverance from his heart on wold,
Brown waste, and sea-shore. But the world was full
Of Bertha as a trembling string with sound:
The shallow stream upon its pebble stones
Was babbling "Bertha, Bertha!" all the air,
Like his own brain, was singing with her voice;
And every cliff and mount her beauty knew,
And looked on him in passion. Worn at length
He reached the palace, black against a west
Yet crimson with the memory of the sun,
And, passing through the hall, he heard, amid
A crowd of youths that lay about the fire,
Relaxed from chase, one talk about a stag
That day seen in the woods, the noblest brute
That ever antlers wore, and Regner's vow
That, though the chase should stretch o'er half the
land,

The head would hang upon his trophied walls
Ere set another sun. Like bows unbent
The tired youths lay.

But Regner looking up,

Saw Edwin passing, and toward him came,
With a most gay reproachfulness of tone,
But not the less reproachful that it wore
A sprightly color. "All the day," quoth he,
"I have been looking for thee, and each sport
Renounced for want of heart in it. Come, now,
By all the friendship as we rode last night,
And by the better day we look for still,
Do not forsake me so. I'd rather walk

With thee through shower, than with another man
Through all the summer sunshine.
We are men,

Not women, and our hearts should never dwell
Upon our tongues-yet as the thing is said,

Let it remain. What can I do to kill
The tedium of the time? A mighty stag,
(A forester has brought the welcome news,)
Lairs in our woods to-night. Then in the morn,
As early as thy sluggardy will let,

Wilt thou with Bertha and the rest of us
Ride, for his antlers I have vowed to win?"
To him Prince Edwin, with a kindly face:
"I'll stir, so please thee, ere the youngling birds;
And may to-morrow prove the goodliest day
Of a whole wreath of hunting days. Thy love
Is to me, Regner, justly dear; and, though
I did account it less, I am too poor
To put it lightly by." He then adduced
For his retirement, weariness and weight
Of anxious thought, and to his chamber went.
When, after preparation for the morn
The circle broke to bed, and while the horn
Was blowing shrilly through the hunter's dreams—-
(For, passion is a substance vaporous
That cannot hold its shape a single hour),
Prince Edwin sat upon his couch, with hands
Lax hanging on his knees, while all his love
Seemed hopeless as the feasts a famished man
Beholds in dream; as brilliant and as frail
As wondrous imagery of fruit and flower
Wrought by the frost upon the window pane
At night, while wolds are steaming white and chill,
That in the morning runs a blur of tears.

So when the light was springing in the east, Unkenneled staghounds bayed, men's voices rose, Steeds pawed and clanked their bridles.

equipped

Then,

In hunting gear, Prince Edwin and the rest
Trooped forth with spirits gay as their attire;
And with the dawn, and like another dawn,
But fairer, Bertha came. Amid the dogs
They mounted, and the instant that the sun
Stood on the hill-tops, prodigal of light,
They rode with wondrous clatter on their way;
And ever as they in their joyous haste
Skirted dim forest, forded shallow stream-
In which the sun had thrown a spear that lay
Golden on amber pebbles-pushed o'er heath,
The sound that gaily traveled on before
Woke all things ere they came. For when afar
At instance of a strong-lunged forester,
The sudden bugle on the rosy cliff
Was splintered into echoes, from the marsh
The heron screaming rose; within his wood
The mountain bull stood listening to the sound,
Silent as lowering thunder, when the winds
Are choked, and leaves hang dead; and from his lair
Rose, with dew-dappled flanks, the stag, and snuffed
Their coming in the wind--a moment stood,
His speed in all his limbs-but when the pack

Dragged with them down the echoes of the vale
And opened out, he fled, with antlers laid
Along his back like ears. Halloo and horn
Broke then upon the breeze. Now on his flight
By flying wood, o'er wastes, thro' streams that

splashed

Around a crag

High o'er the saddle girths, the hunters hung,
And ever as a slowly burning fire
Consumed the space between. And, as it happed,
When the increasing sun grew hot and strong
In an impetuous whirl of stormy chase,
The Prince and Bertha were alike thrown out.
The rest ne'er drew a rein, for now the troop,
With long-haired Regner far in the advance,
Was pressing hard upon the weary brute,
Sore-panting, black with sweat.
That with its gloomy pines o'er-hung the vale,
Swept hunt and hunter out of sight and sound.
They were alone, and in the sudden calm,
When round them came the murmur of the woods
Upon a sweeping sigh of summer wind-
O moment dying ere a cymbal's clash!
O memory enough to sweeten death!—
The unexpected solitude surprised
His heart to utterance, and the Princess sat
Blinded and crimson as the opening rose
That feels yet sees not day. Then, while the wind

To his quick heart grew still, and every leaf
Was watchful ear and eye, he pressed his lips
Upon the fairest hand in all the world
Once. That instant, like an envious fate
That rushes through, dissevering clinging joys,
A distance-muffled bugle sang à mort;
His courser started to his iron heel;
And, ere the blush had died on Bertha's cheek,
And ere her eyes could bear the conscious day,
They reached the crag with its black scalp of pines:
Rounding, they saw the end. For on a rock
That rose fern-fringed and lichened in a dell,
Tall Regner stood. "Ye twain have lost a sight!
With bursting heart he turned upon us here,
Desperate in death. Upon him climbed the dogs
To drop off gored. He would have beat them, too,
Had not I on him drawn my hunting knife-
He came down like a pine!"

So after rest,

Homeward through prime of noon the hunters wound;

The Princess rode with dewy drooping eyes
And heightened color. Voice and clang of hoof,
And all the clatter as they sounded on,
Became a noisy nothing in her ear,

A world removed. The woman's heart that woke
Within the girlish bosom-ah! too soon!-
Filled her with fear and strangeness; for the path,
Familiar to her childhood, and to still
And maiden thoughts, upon a sudden dipped
To an unknown sweet land of delicate light
Divinely aired, but where each rose and leaf
Was trembling, as if haunted by a dread

Of coming thunder. Changed in one quick hour
From bud to rose, from child to woman, love
Silenced her spirit, as the swelling brine
From out the far Atlantic makes a hush
Within the channels of the careless stream,
That erst ran chattering with the pebble stones.
Somewhat in front rode on the happy Prince;
His heart was frozen on that battle-day

To one wild thought of vengeance, and stood still
Like a stopped clock, aye pointing to one hour
Through days of gloom and shine. But now the

hate

And ancient sorrow, piled up cloud on cloud,
Lost form, and in an ecstasy dissolved,
In wandering blood that knew itself beloved,
And with the tidings ran to pulse and nerve
And thrilled them. Once again the light was sweet,
The lark sang, and the hedge wore scent and bloom,
And in his spirits' morning light, a word,
A hunter's jest, the nothings of discourse,
Were things to play with in his happiness,
As they were golden toys. So, when they reached
The palace gate, and Bertha had gone in,
Taking the sunshine with her, Edwin flung
The reins impatient on his courser's neck,
Broke through the crowd of losels gathered round,
And sought the loneliness of wood and field
To listen to the nightingale that sang
Within his heart of love and love's delight;
And on it sang till, through enkindled air,
The heron flapped toward his forest home
With gullet full of fish. Returning then
Slow-paced, and miser of his own delight,
While lovely shapes of summer twilight stole
From tree-root and from hollow, and joined hands
In silence on the plain, he reached at last
The palace, stiller than its wont, and would
Have entered, but from out the solid gloom,
Flung from an overhanging eave, the Page

Who met him by the rock-split streamlet, broke
With finger on his lip: "O enter not!
The place is trapped and baited for thy life.
The hate of Ethelbert is round thee here.

I know thy story as it hath been noised,
And that the King is troubled by thy case,
And would, and yet would not. So when at noon,
In absence of the Princes and thyself,
There came one seeking Redwald, travel-stained,
I was alert as a hind's ear to catch
The danger in the wind. I hid myself
Within the private chamber, where the King
Gives his selectest audience. When they came,
Without a pause, the strange man opened out
His treacherous purpose with a shameless brow,
And guessing, as I deemed, the King was weak,
And must in any strife go to the wall;

Or that the coward dwelling in his heart
Would prove the ally in the house, and fling
Out to the foe the keys of every gate,
He scorned to lacquer the accursed thing
(Which in the first flush of its hideousness,
Like a fanged snake, might make a man shriek out)
With glozing speech. And wisely. Deeds like
these

As nightmared man-when solid-seeming ground Breaks downward in a cliff precipitous And on the sheer edge leaves him, dizzy-brained, Toppling o'er death,-strives to regain the morn And the sweet healthy world, Prince Edwin strove In coils of monstrous evil, and at last, Trampling the foul thing underfoot, he smiled. "I owe thee many thanks for thy regard, And for this cruel kindness more than all. Out of thy love for me, thou urgest flightThe falcon hath its nature and the dove, And by that nature is each motion shaped And every beat of wing. Thy master's hearth Hath warmed me, at his table have I fed, Drunk of his cup, and 'twere the vil'st return By hasty flight to call him traitorous To dead and living. Doubtless, this bad hour But swims a vapor o'er the heavenly lights That will be clear anon. But if, indeed, His spirit harbors murder-if the knife Has bloody fascination for the handI have no power to cover up my throat, 'Tis naked to its using."

Then the Page"Remain awhile within the friendly dark, And ere the thing draws to a wicked head,