work to which I set my hand. Ah, patience yet! his longing is well won, And I shall die at last and all be done.—     Such words unspoken the best man on earth Still bears about betwixt the lover's mirth; And now he hath what he went forth to find, This Pharamond is neither dull nor blind, And looking upon Oliver, he saith:—     My friend recked nothing of his life or death, Knew not my anguish then, nor now my pleasure, And by my crowned joy sets his lessened treasure. Is risk of twenty days of wind and sea, Of new-born feeble headless enmity, I should have scorned once, too great gift to give To this most faithful man that he may live?

—Yea, was that all? my faithful, you and I, Still craving, scorn the world too utterly, The world we want not—yet, our one desire Fulfilled at last, what next shall feed the fire?     —I say not this to make my altar cold; Rather that ye, my happy ones, should hold Enough of memory and enough of fear Within your hearts to keep its flame full clear; Rather that ye, still dearer to my heart, Whom words call hapless, yet should praise your part, Wherein the morning and the evening sun Are bright about a story never done; That those for chastening, these for joy should cling About the marvels that my minstrels sing.

Well, Pharamond fulfilled of love must turn Unto the folk that still he deemed would yearn To see his face, and hear his voice once more; And he was mindful of the days passed o'er, And fain had linked them to these days of love; And he perchance was fain the world to move While love looked on; and he perchance was fain Some pleasure of the strife of old to gain. Easy withal it seemed to him to land, And by his empty throne awhile to stand Amid the wonder, and then sit him down While folk went forth to seek the hidden crown.

Or else his name upon the same wind borne As smote the world with winding of his horn, His hood pulled back, his banner flung abroad, A gleam of sunshine on his half-drawn sword.     —Well, he and you and I have little skill To know the secret of Fate's worldly will; Yet can I guess, and you belike may guess, Yea, and e'en he mid all his lordliness, That much may be forgot in three years' space Outside my kingdom.—Gone his godlike face, His calm voice, and his kindness, half akin Amid a blind folk to rebuke of sin, Men 'gin to think that he was great and good, But hindered them from doing as they would, And ere they have much time to think on it Between their teeth another has the bit, And forth they run with 

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