. The poetic and dramatic works of Alfred lord Tennyson. PART FOURTH 187 Dash themselves dead. She stretchd her arms and calldAcross the tumult, and the tumult fell. What fear ye, brawlers ? am not I your Head ?On me, me, me, the storm first breaks; /dareAll these male thunderbolts; what is it ye fear ?Peace! there are those to avenge us and they come ; 480 If not, — myself were like enough, O girls,To unfurl the maiden banner of our rights,And clad in iron burst the ranks of war, Or, falling, protomartyr of our cause, Die ; yet I blame you not so much forfear; Six thousand years of fear have
. The poetic and dramatic works of Alfred lord Tennyson. PART FOURTH 187 Dash themselves dead. She stretchd her arms and calldAcross the tumult, and the tumult fell. What fear ye, brawlers ? am not I your Head ?On me, me, me, the storm first breaks; /dareAll these male thunderbolts; what is it ye fear ?Peace! there are those to avenge us and they come ; 480 If not, — myself were like enough, O girls,To unfurl the maiden banner of our rights,And clad in iron burst the ranks of war, Or, falling, protomartyr of our cause, Die ; yet I blame you not so much forfear; Six thousand years of fear have madeyou that From which I would redeem you. Butfor those That stir this hubbub — you and you— I know Your faces there in the crowd — to-morrow morn We hold a great convention; thenshall they 49o That love their voices more than duty,learn With whom they deal, dismissd inshame to live No wiser than their mothers, house-hold stuff,. 1 They to and froFluctuated, as flowers in storm, some red, some pale i88 THE PRINCESS Live chattels, mincers of each others fame,Full of weak poison, turnspits for the clown,The drunkards football, laughing-stocks of Time,Whose brains are in their hands and in their heels,But fit to flaunt, to dress, to dance, to thrum,To tramp, to scream, to burnish, and to scour,For ever slaves at home and fools abroad. 500 She, ending, waved her hands; thereat the crowdMuttering, dissolved; then with a smile, that lookdA stroke of cruel sunshine on the cliff,When all the glens are drownd in azure gloomOf thunder-shower, she floated to us and said: You have done well and like a gentleman,And like a prince; you have our thanks for you look well too in your womans have you done and like a saved our life ; we owe you bitter thanks. 510 Better have died and spilt our bones in the flood —Then men had said — but now —what hinders meTo take such bloody vengeance on
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