And they, toward the waste as morning brake,
  Turned, where, in-isled in his green watered land,
The Lybian Zeus lay couched of old, and spake,
  Hemmed in with leagues of furrow-faced sand—­
Then saw the moon (like Joseph’s golden cup
Come back) behind some ruined roof swim up.

But blooming childhood will not always last,
  And storms will rise e’en on the tideless sea;
His guardian love took fright, she grew so fast,
  And he began to think how sad ’twould be
If he should die, and pirate hordes should get
By sword or shipwreck his fair Margaret.

It was a sudden thought; but he gave way,
  For it assailed him with unwonted force;
And, with no more than one short week’s delay,
  For English shores he shaped the vessel’s course;
And ten years absent saw her landed now,
With thirteen summers on her maiden brow.

And so he journeyed with her, far inland,
  Down quiet lanes, by hedges gemmed with dew,
Where wonders met her eye on every hand,
  And all was beautiful and strange and new—­
All, from the forest trees in stately ranks,
To yellow cowslips trembling on the banks.

All new—­the long-drawn slope of evening shades,
  The sweet solemnities of waxing light,
The white-haired boys, the blushing rustic maids,
  The ruddy gleam through cottage casements bright,
The green of pastures, bloom of garden nooks,
And endless bubbling of the water-brooks.

So far he took them on through this green land,
  The maiden and her nurse, till journeying
They saw at last a peaceful city stand
  On a steep mount, and heard its clear bells ring. 
High were the towers and rich with ancient state,
In its old wall enclosed and massive gate.

There dwelt a worthy matron whom he knew,
  To whom in time of war he gave good aid,
Shielding her household from the plundering crew
  When neither law could bind nor worth persuade,
And to her house he brought his care and pride,
Aweary with the way and sleepy-eyed.

And he, the man whom she was fain to serve,
  Delayed not shortly his request to make,
Which was, if aught of her he did deserve,
  To take the maid, and rear her for his sake,
To guard her youth, and let her breeding be
In womanly reserve and modesty.

And that same night into the house he brought
  The costly fruits of all his voyages—­
Rich Indian gems of wandering craftsmen wrought,
  Long ropes of pearls from Persian palaces,
With ingots pure and coins of Venice mould,
And silver bars and bags of Spanish gold;

And costly merchandise of far-off lands,
  And golden stuffs and shawls of Eastern dye,
He gave them over to the matron’s hands,
  With jewelled gauds, and toys of ivory,
To be her dower on whom his love was set,—­
His dearest child, fair Madam Margaret.