To see your flag-bird flap his vans Where I, to heart's desire, Perched him!" The chief's eye Soared up again like fire.
The chief's eye flashed; but presently Softened itself, as sheathes
A film the mother-eagle's eye
When her bruised eaglet breathes;
"You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's pride Touched to the quick, he said:
"I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside, Smiling the boy fell dead.
It was roses, roses, all the way,
With myrtle mixed in my path like mad: The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway, The church-spires flamed, such flags they had, A year ago on this very day.
The air broke into a mist with bells,
The old walls rocked with the crowd and cries. Had I said, "Good folk, mere noise repels
But give me your sun from yonder skies! They had answered, " And afterward, what else?
Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun
To give it my loving friends to keep!
Nought man could do, have I left undone : And you see my harvest, what I reap This very day, now a year is run.
There's nobody on the house-tops now — Just a palsied few at the windows set; For the best of the sight is, all allow,
By the very scaffold's foot, I trow.
I go in the rain, and, more than needs, A rope cuts both my wrists behind; And I think, by the feel, my forehead bleeds, For they fling, whoever has a mind, Stones at me for my year's misdeeds.
Thus I entered, and thus I go!
In triumphs, people have dropped down dead. "Paid by the world, what dost thou owe
Me?"- God might question; now instead, 'Tis God shall repay: I am safer so.
That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive. I call
That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's hands Worked busily a day, and there she stands. Will 't please you sit and look at her? I said "Frà Pandolf" by design, for never read Strangers like you that pictured countenance, The depth and passion of its earnest glance, But to myself they turned (since none puts by The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, How such a glance came there; so, not the first Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 't was not Her husband's presence only, called that spot Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps Frà Pandolf chanced to say "Her mantle laps Over my lady's wrist too much," or "Paint Must never hope to reproduce the faint
Half-flush that dies along her throat:" such stuff Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough For calling up that spot of joy. She had
A heart-how shall I say? - too soon made glad, Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.
Sir, 't was all one! My favor at her breast, The dropping of the daylight in the West, The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule She rode with round the terrace all and each Would draw from her alike the approving speech, Or blush, at least. She thanked men, - good! but thanked Somehow - I know not how as if she ranked
My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame This sort of trifling? Even had you skill In speech (which I have not)—to make your will Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, Or there exceed the mark" and if she let Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,
- E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt, Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands; Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands As if alive. Will 't please you rise? We'll meet The company below, then. I repeat,
The Count your master's known munificence Is ample warrant that no just pretence Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though, Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,
Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me !
Christ God who savest man, save most Of men Count Gismond who saved me! Count Gauthier, when he chose his post, Chose time and place and company To suit it; when he struck at length My honor, 't was with all his strength.
And doubtlessly ere he could draw
All points to one, he must have schemed! That miserable morning saw
Few half so happy as I seemed, While being dressed in queen's array To give our tourney prize away.
I thought they loved me, did me grace To please themselves; 't was all their deed; God makes, or fair or foul, our face;
If showing mine so caused to bleed
My cousins' hearts, they should have dropped A word, and straight the play had stopped.
They, too, so beauteous! Each a queen By virtue of her brow and breast; Not needing to be crowned, I mean, As I do. E'en when I was dressed, Had either of them spoke, instead Of glancing sideways with still head!
But no: they let me laugh, and sing My birthday song quite through, adjust The last rose in my garland, fling A last look on the mirror, trust My arms to each an arm of theirs, And so descend the castle-stairs
And come out on the morning-troop
Of merry friends who kissed my cheek, And called me queen, and made me stoop (a streak
That pierced it, of the outside sun,
Powdered with gold its gloom's soft dun)
And they could let me take my state And foolish throne amid applause
Of all come there to celebrate
My queen's-day- Oh I think the cause
However that be, all eyes were bent Upon me, when my cousins cast
Theirs down; 't was time I should present
The victor's crown, but . . . there, 't will last
No long time. . . the old mist again Blinds me as then it did. How vain!
See! Gismond's at the gate, in talk With his two boys: I can proceed. Well, at that moment, who should stalk Forth boldly to my face, indeed But Gauthier, and he thundered, "Stay!" And all stayed. "Bring no crowns, I say!
Wind the penance-sheet About her! Let her shun the chaste, Or lay herself before their feet!
Shall she whose body I embraced A night long, queen it in the day? For honor's sake no crowns, I say!
What I answered? As I live, I never fancied such a thing As answer possible to give.
What says the body when they spring Some monstrous torture-engine's whole Strength on it? No more says the soul.
Till out strode Gismond; then I knew That I was saved. I never met His face before, but, at first view,
I felt quite sure that God had set Himself to Satan; who would spend A minute's mistrust on the end?
He strode to Gauthier, in his throat
Gave him the lie, then struck his mouth
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