class="poetry">I hear.

ALMACHILDES.

Thou knowest I love thy noble Hildegard:
And rather would I give my soul to burn
Than wrong in thought her flawless maidenhood.
And now she hath told me what I dare not think
Truth.  And I dare not think her lips may lie.

ROSAMUND.

I have heard.  And what is this to me?  She hath not
Said—hath not told thee, nor wouldst thou believe—
That I have breathed a lie upon her lips
Or taught them shamelessness by lesson?

ALMACHILDES.

No.
But she came forth from thee to me—from thee—
And spake with quivering mouth and quailing eyes
And face whose fire turned ashen, and again
Rekindling from that ashen agony
Flamed, what no heart could think to hear her speak,
Mine least of all, who love her.

ROSAMUND.

Ay?

ALMACHILDES.

Not she,
I know it as sure as night is known from day
And surelier than I know mine own soul’s truth,
Spake what she spake in broken bursts of breath
Out of her own heart and its love for me.

ROSAMUND.

Didst thou so answer her?

ALMACHILDES.

I might not well
Answer at all.

ROSAMUND.

Poor maid, she hath loved amiss.
Belike she thought to find in thee a man’s
Love.

ALMACHILDES.

That she hath found; nought meaner than a man’s;
No wolfish lust of ravenous insolence
To soil and spoil her of her noblest name.

ROSAMUND.

I do not ask thee what she said.  I know.

ALMACHILDES.

I knew thou didst.

ROSAMUND.

To make your bridal sure
She bade thee make thy bride of her to-night.

ALMACHILDES.

She bade me as a slave might bid the scourge
Fall.

ROSAMUND.

Such a scourge no slave might shrink from; nay,
No free-born woman, Almachildes.

ALMACHILDES.

Queen,
I crave thy queenly mercy though I say
My maid, my bride that will be, shrank, and showed
In all the rosebright anguish of her face
A shuddering shame that wrung my heart.  And thou
Hast surely set thereon that seal of shame.
I know it as thou dost.

ROSAMUND.

Ay, and more she said,
Surely: she said I would not yield her up
To the arms of one my husband loves and holds
Honoured at heart—I hate my husband so,
She told thee—were the need avoidable
Save by her sacrifice to shame.

ALMACHILDES.

Thou knowest
All, as I knew, and lacked not from thy lips
Confession.

ROSAMUND.

Warrior though thou be, and boy
Though my lord call thee, brainless art thou not—
No sword with man’s face carven on the heft
For mockery more than truth or help in fight.
I do not and I durst not play with thee.
Thy bride spake truth: I knew not she might need
So much of truth to tempt thee toward her.  Now
Thou knowest, and I know.  If this imminent night
Make not thy darkling bride of her, by day
Thy bride she may be never.  She hath sworn.

ALMACHILDES.

Why wouldst thou shame her?

ROSAMUND.

Shamed she cannot be
If thou be found not shameless.  Plead no more
Against thine own love’s surety.  Doubt thou not
I wish thee well, and love her.  Make not thou
Out of her shamefast maidenhood and fear
A sword to cleave your happiness in twain.
What if some oath constrain me, sworn in haste,
Infrangible for shame’s sake, sealed in heaven
Inevitable?  Ask now no more of me.
Nightfall is here upon us.  Nought on earth
May set the season of your bridal back
If thou be true as she must.  Wait awhile
Here till a sign be sent thee—till a bell
Strike softly from this chamber here at hand.
I have sworn to her she shall not see thy face,
So sore she prayed she might not: and for thee
I swore that ere the darkling air grew grey
Thou shouldst arise and leave her, and behold
Thy midnight bride but when thou art bidden again
To meet her here to-morrow.  Strange it were,
More strange than aught of all, that thou shouldst prove
Dishonourable: and except thou be, these things
Must all be wrought in this wise, lest her oath
And mine, at peril of her soul and life,
By passionate forgetfulness of thine
Disloyally be broken.  Swear to us now
Thou wilt not break our oath and thine, or think
To look to-night upon thy bride.

ALMACHILDES.

I swear.

ROSAMUND.

I take thine oath.  I bid not thee take heed
That I or thou or each of us at once,
Couldst thou play false, may die: I bid thee think
Thy bride will die, shamed.  Swear me not again
She shall not: all our trust is set on thee.
What eyes and ears are keen about us here
Thou knowest not.  Love, my love and thine for her,
Shall deafen and shall blind them.  Be but thou
A bridegroom blind and dumb—speak soft as love,
And ask not answer louder than a sigh—
And when to-morrow sets thy bride and thee
Here face to face again, thy soul shall stand
Amazed: thy joy shall turn to wonder.  This
Thy queen, whose power may seal her promise fast,
Swears for thine oath again to thee.  Good night.

[Exit.

ALMACHILDES.

I cannot think I live.  Our Sigurd loved not
Brynhild as I love her, and even this hour
Shall make us great as they.  No spell to break,
No fire to pass, divides us.  Blind and dumb,
Love knows, would I be ever while I live
For love’s sake rather than forego the joy
That makes one godlike power of spirit and sense,
One godhead born of manhood.  God requite
The queen who loves my love and cares for me
Thus!  How may man or God requite her?  Ah!

[Bell rings softly from without.

There sounds the note that opens heaven on me,
And how should man dare heaven?  But love may dare.

[Exit.

ACT III.

An eastward room in the Palace.

Enter Albovine.

ALBOVINE.

This sun—no sun like ours—burns out my soul.
I would, when June takes hold on us like fire,
The wind could waft and whirl us northward: here
The splendour and the sweetness of the world
Eat out all joy of life or manhood.  Earth
Is here too hard on heaven—the Italian air
Too bright to breathe, as fire, its next of kin,
Too keen to