Thus Bertram continues to linger, although he knows how hopeless his case must be; he lingers still, like the stag "that tries to go on grazing with the great deep gunwound in his neck." And Lady Geraldine, although she has many suitors, smiles upon them "with such a gracious coldness that they could not press their futures" upon her decision. Until one day Bertram, accidentally placed in an inner chamber, becomes the unintentional auditor of someone pleading for the lady's hand:—
Of a soul complete in lordship—might and right read on his brow:
Very finely courteous—far too noble to doubt his admiration
Of the common people—he atones for grandeur by a bow.
The poor poet, compelled to listen against his will, hears the lady reject her noble suitor, it is true, but, in answer to an inaudible remark from the earl, hears her respond—
Ay, and wealthy. I shall never blush to think how he was born.
When Bertram heard this, and knew that whatever foolish hopings against hope he may have entertained were for ever dashed to the ground, he forbore no longer, but rushed into her presence, as her lordly suitor retreated, and "spake out wildly—fiercely":—
Trod them down with words of shaming—all the purples and the gold,
And the "landed stakes" and lordships—all that spirits pure and ardent
Are cast out of love and reverence, because chancing not to hold.
