I thank you—no.
The Lady (aside).
She said me nay; then why am I not free
To leave her here, and let my swift steeds go
On like the wind?
(Speaks.) Ho! driver—
(Aside.) But, alas!
I cannot.
(Speaks.) Child, my horses soon will pass
In spite of me; they are so fleet they need
The curb to check them in their flying speed.
Ours the same journey: why should we not ride
Together?
The Maiden.
Never!
The Lady.
Then I must abide
By your decision.—Driver, pass.
(Thinking.) I take
Her at her word. In truth, for her own sake
’Twere charity to leave her, hasten on,
Find my own love, and with him swift be gone
Ere she can reach him; for his ardor strong
(Curbed, loyal heart, so long!),
Heightened by fever, will o’ersweep all bounds,
And fall around me in a fiery shower
Of passion’s words.— And yet—this inner power—
This strange, unloving justice that surrounds
My careless conscience, will not let me go!
(Speaks.) Ho!
Driver, turn back.
—Maiden, I ask again—
I cannot take advantage. Come with me;
That horse will fail you soon—ask; both these men
Will tell you so.—Come, child—we will agree
The ride shall count as naught; nay, when we reach
The farm-house, all shall be as though no speech
Had ever passed between us—we will meet
Beside his couch as strangers.
(Speaks.) There’s defeat
For thee, O whispering tempter!
The Maiden (to the men).
Is it true?
Will the horse fail?
One of the Men.