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And constant as her vespers would he watch,
Because her face was turn'd to the same skies; And with sick longing all the night outwear, To hear her morning-step upon the stair.
A whole long month of May in this sad plight
Made their cheeks paler by the break of June : 66 To-morrow will I bow to my delight,
To-morrow will I ask my lady's boon.” “O may I never see another night,
Lorenzo, if thy lips breathe not love's tune.” So spake they to their pillows; but, alas, Honeyless days and days did he let pass;
Until sweet Isabella's untouch'd cheek
Fell sick within the rose's just domain, Fell thin as a young mother's, who doth seek
By every lull to cool her infant's pain : 6 How ill she is !” said he, “ I may not speak,
And yet I will, and tell my love all plain : If looks speak love-laws, I will drink her tears, And at the least 'twill startle off her cares."
So said he one fair morning, and all day
His heart beat awfully against his side ; And to his heart he inwardly did pray
For power to speak; but still the ruddy tide Stifled his voice, and pulsed resolve away
Fever'd his high conceit of such a bride, Yet brought him to the meekness of a child : Alas! when passion is both meek and wild !
So once more he had waked and anguished
A dreary night of love and misery, If Isabel's quick eye had not been wed
To every symbol on his forehead high; She saw it waxing very pale and dead,
And straight all flush'd ; so, lisped tenderly, “ Lorenzo!” — here she ceased her timid quest, But in her tone and look he read the rest.
" ( Isabella ! I can half perceive
That I may speak my grief into thine ear; If thou didst ever anything believe,
Believe how I love thee, believe how near My soul is to its doom: I would not grieve
Thy hand by unwelcome pressing, would not fear Thine eyes by gazing; but I cannot live Another night, and not my passion shrive.
“ Love! thou art leading me from wintry cold,
Lady! thou leadest me to summer clime, And I must taste the blossoms that unfold
In its ripe warmth this gracious morning time.” So said, his erewhile timid lips grew bold,
And poesied with hers in dewy rhyme : Great bliss was with them, and great happiness Grew, like a lusty flower in June's caress.
Parting they seem’d to tread upon the air,
Twin roses by the zephyr blown apart Only to meet again more close, and share
The inward fragrance of each other's heart. She, to her chamber gone, a ditty fair
Sang, of delicious love and honey'd dart; He with light steps went up a western hill, And bade the sun farewell, and joy'd his fill.
All close they met again, before the dusk
Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil, All close they met, all eves, before the dusk
Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil,
Unknown of any, free from whispering tale.
Were they unhappy then ? - It cannot be
Too many tears for lovers have been shed, Too many sighs give we to them in fee,
Too much of pity after they are dead, Too many doleful stories do we see,
Whose matter in bright gold were best be read; Except in such a page where Theseus' spouse Over the pathless waves towards him bows.
But, for the general award of love,
The little sweet doth kill much bitterness;
And Isabella's was a great distress,
Was not embalm’d, this truth is not the less Even bees, the little almsmen of spring-bowers, Know there is richest juice in poison-flowers.
With her two brothers this fair lady dwelt,
Enriched from ancestral merchandise,
In torched mines and noisy factories,
In blood from stinging whip; with hollow eyes
For them the Ceylon diver held his breath,
And went all naked to the hungry shark ; For them his ears gush'd blood ; for them in death
The seal on the cold ice with piteous bark
A thousand men in troubles wide and dark :
Why were they proud ? Because their marble founts
Gush'd with more pride than do a wretch's tears ? Why were they proud ? Because fair orange-mounts
Were of more soft ascent than lazar stairs ? Why were they proud ? Because red-lined accounts
Were richer than the songs of Grecian years ? Why were they proud ? again we ask aloud, Why in the name of Glory were they proud ?
Yet were these Florentines as self-retired
In hungry pride and gainful cowardice, As two close Hebrews in that land inspired,
Paled in and vineyarded from beggar-spies; The hawks of ship-mast forests — the untired
And pannier'd mules for ducats and old lies Quick cat’s-paws on the
generous stray-away, Great wits in Spanish, Tuscan, and Malay.
How was it these same ledger-men could spy
Fair Isabella in her downy nest ?
A straying from his toil ? Hot Egypt's pest
How could these money-bags see east and west ? Yet so they did - and every dealer fair Must see behind, as doth the hunted hare.
O eloquent and famed Boccaccio !
Of thee we now should ask forgiving boon, And of thy spicy myrtles as they blow,
And of thy roses amorous of the moon, And of thy lilies, that do paler grow
Now they can no more hear thy ghittern's tune, For venturing syllables that ill beseem The quiet glooms of such a piteous theme.
Grant thou a pardon here, and then the tale
Shall move on soberly, as it is meet; There is no other crime, no mad assail
To make old prose in modern rhyme more sweet : But it is done -- succeed the verse or fail
To honour thee, and thy gone spirit greet; To stead thee as a verse in English tongue, An echo of thee in the north-wind sung.