ison,
Gather'd gay shapes that, underneath a breeze
Of music, handed him upon their knees
The wine of heaven in a cup of gold,
And still in soft melodious under-song
Hailing me Prince of Poland!--'Segismund,'
They said, 'Our Prince! The Prince of Poland!' and
Again, 'Oh, welcome, welcome, to his own,
'Our own Prince Segismund--'
Oh, but a blast--
One blast of the rough mountain air! one look
At the grim features--
(He goes to the window.)
What they disvizor'd also! shatter'd chaos
Cast into stately shape and masonry,
Between whose channel'd and perspective sides
Compact with rooted towers, and flourishing
To heaven with gilded pinnacle and spire,
Flows the live current ever to and fro
With open aspect and free step!--Clotaldo!
Clotaldo!--calling as one scarce dares call
For him who suddenly might break the spell
One fears to walk without him--Why, that I,
With unencumber'd step as any there,
Go stumbling through my glory--feeling for
That iron leading-string--ay, for myself--
For that fast-anchor'd self of yesterday,
Of yesterday, and all my life before,
Ere drifted clean from self-identity
Upon the fluctuation of to-day's
Mad whirling circumstance!--And, fool, why not?
If reason, sense, and self-identity
Obliterated from a worn-out brain,
Art thou not maddest striving to be sane,
And catching at that Self of yesterday
That, like a leper's rags, best flung away!
Or if not mad, then dreaming--dreaming?--well--
Dreaming then--Or, if self to self be true,
Not mock'd by that, but as poor souls have been
By those who wrong'd them, to give wrong new relish?
Or have those stars indeed they told me of
As masters of my wretched life of old,
Into some happier constellation roll'd,
And brought my better fortune out on earth
Clear as themselves in heaven!--Prince Segismund
They call'd me--and at will I shook them off--
Will they return again at my command
Again to call me so?--Within there! You!
Segismund calls--Prince Segismund--

(He has seated himself on the throne.
Enter Chamberlain, with lords in waiting.)

CHAMB.
I rejoice
That unadvised of any but the voice
Of royal instinct in the blood, your Highness
Has ta'en the chair that you were