ght restore,
Since but suspension of its human powers,
And not its loss or injury, I control.
But what assurance have I that this boon
May not prove dangerous? Mortals have what we,
With all our vast machinery and weird powers
Moving the earth, the sea and air, have not--
And that is--SOUL. A soul and body, too,
Might circumvent us--work us desperate harm;--
At least 'tis wise to fear the things unknown,
And to be chary how we give them scope.
As long as thy body's powers restrain,
Thy spirit to my will in bondage is;
Thou hast no wherewithal to make ado--
No weapon at thy service--art a slave,--
And shall I give to thee a master's place?
Yet, thou hast wakened in me a new thought.
What is this love of which you mortals tell?--
Which puts such tender sweetness in your tones
Such brightness in your looks, and makes you turn
Upon each other such delighted eyes?
Your words have stirred strange pleasure in my heart:
I, too, would know what love is. I command
That thou shalt teach me, BERTHO. Let the girl
Return, uninjured, to her southern bowers;
Whilst thou remain to teach me this new lore.
Perchance, in finding Love, I'll gain a soul,
And learn of immortality; and all
The vague, sad intuitions that now mock me,
Make real, and I become what I have dreamed.
Make these things come to pass, and thou shalt have,
Thy body and thy freedom, and a place,
The highest of my chieftains. Follow me!"

These ominous words of the enamored Queen,
Spoken as though she knew not what it was
That one should think of disobedience,
Poor OLIVE heard, with looks of agony
Fixed on the speaker's face--that Northern face,
Wild in its power and in its beauty weird.
The starry halo of that tintless crown,
The midnight blackness of her plentiful hair,
Set off the splendor of the countenance
On which the maiden bent her pale regard.
A jealous terror urged her on to say--

"Love is not taught, Queen OENE; 'tis a gift
Mysterious as life, and more divine;
The congregated glories of this cave,
With all its jewelled lamps and sparkling roof
Could never purchase one of its small joys.
Love, in exchange, takes nothing but itself,
Power cannot claim it--fear cannot command--
It is a tribute Queens cannot exact.
The humblest peasant, singing