So stood the unhappy mother open-mouthed， And turned each face her way： wan was her cheek With hollow watch， her blooming mantle torn， Red grief and mother's hunger in her eye， And down dead-heavy sank her curls， and half The sacred mother's bosom， panting， burst The laces toward her babe； but she nor cared Nor knew it， clamouring on， till Ida heard， Looked up， and rising slowly from me， stood Erect and silent， striking with her glance The mother， me， the child； but he that lay Beside us， Cyril， battered as he was， Trailed himself up on one knee： then he drew Her robe to meet his lips， and down she looked At the armed man sideways， pitying as it seemed， Or self-involved； but when she learnt his face， Remembering his ill-omened song， arose Once more through all her height， and o'er him grew Tall as a figure lengthened on the sand When the tide ebbs in sunshine， and he said：
'O fair and strong and terrible！ Lioness That with your long locks play the Lion's mane！
But Love and Nature， these are two more terrible And stronger.See， your foot is on our necks， We vanquished， you the Victor of your will.
What would you more？ Give her the child！ remain Orbed in your isolation： he is dead， Or all as dead： henceforth we let you be：
Win you the hearts of women； and beware Lest， where you seek the common love of these， The common hate with the revolving wheel Should drag you down， and some great Nemesis Break from a darkened future， crowned with fire， And tread you out for ever： but howso'er Fixed in yourself， never in your own arms To hold your own， deny not hers to her， Give her the child！ O if， I say， you keep One pulse that beats true woman， if you loved The breast that fed or arm that dandled you， Or own one port of sense not flint to prayer， Give her the child！ or if you scorn to lay it， Yourself， in hands so lately claspt with yours， Or speak to her， your dearest， her one fault， The tenderness， not yours， that could not kill， Give ~me~ it： ~I~ will give it her.
He said：
At first her eye with slow dilation rolled Dry flame， she listening； after sank and sank And， into mournful twilight mellowing， dwelt Full on the child； she took it： 'Pretty bud！
Lily of the vale！ half opened bell of the woods！
Sole comfort of my dark hour， when a world Of traitorous friend and broken system made No purple in the distance， mystery， Pledge of a love not to be mine， farewell；These men are hard upon us as of old， We two must part： and yet how fain was ITo dream thy cause embraced in mine， to think I might be something to thee， when I felt Thy helpless warmth about my barren breast In the dead prime： but may thy mother prove As true to thee as false， false， false to me！
And， if thou needs must needs bear the yoke， I wish it Gentle as freedom'--here she kissed it： then--'All good go with thee！ take it Sir，' and so Laid the soft babe in his hard-mail鑔 hands， Who turned half-round to Psyche as she sprang To meet it， with an eye that swum in thanks；Then felt it sound and whole from head to foot， And hugged and never hugged it close enough， And in her hunger mouthed and mumbled it， And hid her bosom with it； after that Put on more calm and added suppliantly：
'We two were friends： I go to mine own land For ever： find some other： as for me I scarce am fit for your great plans： yet speak to me， Say one soft word and let me part forgiven.'
But Ida spoke not， rapt upon the child.
Then Arac.'Ida--'sdeath！ you blame the man；You wrong yourselves--the woman is so hard Upon the woman.Come， a grace to me！
I am your warrior： I and mine have fought Your battle： kiss her； take her hand， she weeps：
'Sdeath！ I would sooner fight thrice o'er than see it.'
But Ida spoke not， gazing on the ground， And reddening in the furrows of his chin， And moved beyond his custom， Gama said：
'I've heard that there is iron in the blood， And I believe it.Not one word？ not one？
Whence drew you this steel temper？ not from me， Not from your mother， now a saint with saints.
She said you had a heart--I heard her say it--"Our Ida has a heart"--just ere she died--"But see that some on with authority Be near her still" and I--I sought for one--All people said she had authority--
The Lady Blanche： much profit！ Not one word；No！ though your father sues： see how you stand Stiff as Lot's wife， and all the good knights maimed， I trust that there is no one hurt to death， For our wild whim： and was it then for this， Was it for this we gave our palace up， Where we withdrew from summer heats and state， And had our wine and chess beneath the planes， And many a pleasant hour with her that's gone， Ere you were born to vex us？ Is it kind？
Speak to her I say： is this not she of whom， When first she came， all flushed you said to me Now had you got a friend of your own age， Now could you share your thought； now should men see Two women faster welded in one love Than pairs of wedlock； she you walked with， she You talked with， whole nights long， up in the tower， Of sine and arc， sphero飀 and azimuth， And right ascension， Heaven knows what； and now A word， but one， one little kindly word， Not one to spare her： out upon you， flint！
You love nor her， nor me， nor any； nay， You shame your mother's judgment too.Not one？
You will not？ well--no heart have you， or such As fancies like the vermin in a nut Have fretted all to dust and bitterness.'
So said the small king moved beyond his wont.
But Ida stood nor spoke， drained of her force By many a varying influence and so long.
Down through her limbs a drooping languor wept：
