He raised her in his tender arms; he bore her to his throne:
"No more, oh! Nourmahal, my wife, no more I sit alone;
And the future for the dreary past shall royally atone!"
He called to him the princes and the nobles of the land,
Then took the signet-ring from his, and placed it on her hand,
And bade them honor as his own, fair Nourmahal's command.
And on the minted silver that his largess scattered wide,
And on the gold of commerce, till the mighty Selim died,
Her name and his in shining boss stood equal, side by side.
XXII.
The opening of the wondrous tome
Was like the opening of a door
Into a vast and pictured dome,
Crowded, from vaulted roof to floor,
With secrets of her life and home.
To be like Philip was to be
Another Philip--only less!
To win his wit in full degree
Would bear to him but nothingness,
From one no wiser grown than he!
If blue and red in Hindostan
Were blue and red at home, she knew
That she--a woman, he--a man,
Could never wear the royal hue
Till blue and red together ran
In complement of each to each;
She might not tint his life at all
By learning wisdom he could teach;
So what she gave, though poor and small,
Should be of that beyond his reach.
Where Philip fed, she would not feed;
Where Philip walked, she would not go;
The books he read she would not read,
But live her separate life, and, so,
Have sole supplies to meet his need.
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