Gouvernail,
As heretofore, found waiting him again
The same cold uncommunicating guards,
Past whom there was no word. Another day,
And still another and another day
Found them as mute in their obedience
As things made there of wood. Tristram, within,
Meanwhile achieved a sorry composition
Of loyalty and circumstance. “Tomorrow,”
He said, “I must be out and on my way.”
And Morgan only said, “Which way is that?”
And so on for a fortnight, when at last,
With anger in her eyes and injuries
Of his indifference envenoming
The venom in her passion and her pride,
She let him go—though not without a laugh
That followed him like steel piercing unseen
His flight away from her with Gouvernail.
As heretofore, found waiting him again
The same cold uncommunicating guards,
Past whom there was no word. Another day,
And still another and another day
Found them as mute in their obedience
As things made there of wood. Tristram, within,
Meanwhile achieved a sorry composition
Of loyalty and circumstance. “Tomorrow,”
He said, “I must be out and on my way.”
And Morgan only said, “Which way is that?”
And so on for a fortnight, when at last,
With anger in her eyes and injuries
Of his indifference envenoming
The venom in her passion and her pride,
She let him go—though not without a laugh
That followed him like steel piercing unseen
His flight away from her with Gouvernail.
“You leave me now,” she said, “but Fate has eyes.
You are the only blind one who is here,
As you are still to see. I said before,
Britain is less than the whole firmament,
You are the only blind one who is here,
As you are still to see. I said before,
Britain is less than the whole firmament,
[ 79 ]
