Part 13 (2/2)

IX.

Coyest of nymphs, my Lady! whom I seek As sailors seek salvation out at sea, And poets fame, and soldiers victory, Behold! I note the blush upon thy cheek, The flag of truce that tells me thou art meek And soon wilt yield thy fortress up to me.

X.

It is thy soul; it is thy soul in arms Which thus I conquer. All thy furtive sighs, And all the glances of thy wistful eyes, Proclaim the swift surrender of thy charms.

I kiss thy hand; and tremors and alarms Discard, in parting, all their late disguise.

XI.

They were not foes. They knew me, one and all; They knew I lov'd thee, and they lured me on To try my fortune, and to wait thereon For just reward. The scaling of the wall Was not the meed; there came the festival, And now there comes the crown that I must don.

XII.

O my Beloved! I am king of thee, And thou my queen; and I will wear the crown A little moment, for thy love's renown.

Yea, for a moment, it shall circle me, And then be thine, so thou, upon thy knee, Do seek the same, with all thy tresses down.

XIII.

For woman still is mistress of the man, Though man be master. 'Tis the woman's right To choose her king, and crown him in her sight, And make him feel the pressure of the span Of her soft arms, as only woman can; For, with her weakness, she excels his might.

XIV.

It is her joy indeed to be so frail That he must s.h.i.+eld her; he of all the world Whom most she loves; and then, if he be hurl'd To depths of sorrow, she will more avail Than half a senate. Troubles may a.s.sail, But she will guide him by her lips impearl'd.

XV.

A woman clung to Caesar; he was great, And great the power he gain'd by sea and land.

But when he wrong'd her, when he spurn'd the hand Which once he knelt to, when he scoff'd at Fate, Glory dispers'd, and left him desolate; For G.o.d remember'd all that first was plann'd.

XVI.

The cannon's roar, the wisdom of the sage, The strength of armies, and the thrall of kings-- All these are weak compared to weaker things.

Napoleon fell because, in puny rage, He wrong'd his house; and earth became a cage For this poor eagle with his batter'd wings.

XVII.

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