On Hearing The Princess Royal{1} Sing

 ("Dans ta haute demeure.") 
 
 {Bk. III. ix., 1881.} 


 In thine abode so high 
 Where yet one scarce can breathe, 
 Dear child, most tenderly 
 A soft song thou dost wreathe. 
 
 Thou singest, little girl— 
 Thy sire, the King is he: 
 Around thee glories whirl, 
 But all things sigh in thee. 
 
 Thy thought may seek not wings 
 Of speech; dear love's forbidden; 
 Thy smiles, those heavenly things, 
 Being faintly born, are chidden. 
 
 Thou feel'st, poor little Bride, 
 A hand unknown and chill 
 Clasp thine from out the wide 
 Deep shade so deathly still. 
 
 Thy sad heart, wingless, weak, 
 Is sunk in this black shade 
 So deep, thy small hands seek, 
 Vainly, the pulse God made. 
 
 Thou art yet but highness, thou 
 That shaft be majesty: 
 Though still on thy fair brow 
 Some faint dawn-flush may be, 
 
 Child, unto armies dear, 
 Even now we mark heaven's light 
 Dimmed with the fume and fear 
 And glory of battle-might. 
 
 Thy godfather is he, 
 Earth's Pope,—he hails thee, child! 
 Passing, armed men you see 
 Like unarmed women, mild. 
 
 As saint all worship thee; 
 Thyself even hast the strong 
 Thrill of divinity 
 Mingled with thy small song. 
 
 Each grand old warrior 
 Guards thee, submissive, proud; 
 Mute thunders at thy door 
 Sleep, that shall wake most loud. 
 
 Around thee foams the wild 
 Bright sea, the lot of kings. 
 Happier wert thou, my child, 
 I' the woods a bird that sings! 
 
 NELSON R. TYERMAN. 
 
 {Footnote 1: Marie, daughter of King Louis Philippe, afterwards Princess 
 of Würtemburg.} 


 

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