Yet, with no cruelty or wantonness,
Such as we hear gleamed from the cunning eyes
Of those fierce hordes who, centuries ago,
Came in their boats and strove to conquer us.
Knowledge was what it craved, with truth it burned;
A majesty we cannot name, expressed
Its power within his features. Then I felt
That, could I bring him to thy gracious feet
He would reveal to us that mystery
The dream of which so oft hath troubled us,
Breaking upon us, like the light of Heaven,
Too high for us to fix its source--that spoke
Of an eternal, comprehensive Life,
The thought of which doth haunt us. In return
We could bestow the knowledge which he craved,
And link his name with ours through all the earth,
Fearless of harm from one who only craves
The crown of Genius for his soul-lit brow.
Almost I rowed my shallop to his feet;
Almost I offered to convey him hither,
Yet feared so much, O, Queen, thy just displeasure,
That I forbore.

"Long time he, gazing, stood;
And when he turned, 'twas with so deep a sigh
The sound awakened in me strange regret,
Endless reproach, and grief before unknown.
Art angry with thy maiden, peerless Queen?"

Over the lustrous forehead of OENE