Japhet spoke: 
He said, “My father’s slave”; and she replied,
Low drooping her fair head, “My master’s son.” 
And after that a silence fell on them,
With trembling at her heart, and rage at his. 
And Japhet, mastered of his passion, sat
And could not speak.  O! cruel seemed his fate,—­
So cruel her that told it, so unkind. 
His breast was full of wounded love and wrath
Wrestling together; and his eyes flashed out
Indignant lights, as all amazed he took
The insult home that she had offered him,
Who should have held his honor dear. 
                                     And, lo,
The misery choked him and he cried in pain,
“Go, get thee forth”; but she, all white and still,
Parted her lips to speak, and yet spake not,
Nor moved.  And Japhet rose up passionate,
With lifted arm as one about to strike;
But she cried out and met him, and she held
With desperate might his hand, and prayed to him,
“Strike not, or else shall men from henceforth say,
‘Japhet is like to us.’” And he shook off
The damsel, and he said, “I thank thee, slave;
For never have I stricken yet or child
Or woman.  Not for thy sake am I glad,
Nay, but for mine.  Get hence.  Obey my words.” 
Then Japhet lifted up his voice, and wept.

And no more he restrained himself, but cried,
With heavings of the heart, “O hateful day! 
O day that shuts the door upon delight. 
A slave! to wed a slave!  O loathed wife,
Hated of Japhet’s soul.”  And after, long,
With face between his hands, he sat, his thoughts
Sullen and sore; then scorned himself, and saying,
“I will not take her, I will die unwed,
It is but that”; lift up his eyes and saw
The slave, and she was sitting at his feet;
And he, so greatly wondering that she dared
The disobedience, looked her in the face
Less angry than afraid, for pale she was
As lily yet unsmiled on by the sun;
And he, his passion being spent, sighed out,
“Low am I fallen indeed.  Hast thou no fear,
That thou dost flout me?” but she gave to him
The sighing echo of his sigh, and mourned,
“No.” 
      And he wondered, and he looked again,
For in her heart there was a new-born pang,
That cried; but she, as mothers with their young,
Suffered, yet loved it; and there shone a strange
Grave sweetness in her blue unsullied eyes. 
And Japhet, leaning from the settle, thought,
“What is it?  I will call her by her name,
To comfort her, for also she is naught
To blame; and since I will not her to wife,
She falls back from the freedom she had hoped.” 
Then he said “Amarant”; and the damsel drew
Her eyes down slowly from the shaded sky
Of even, and she said, “My master’s son,
Japhet”; and Japhet said, “I am not wroth
With thee, but wretched for my mother’s deed,
Because she shamed me.” 
                         And