XII. Were they unhappy then?-It cannot be- Too much of pity after they are dead, Whose matter in bright gold were best be read; Except in such a page where Theseus' spouse Over the pathless waves towards him bows. XIII. But, for the general award of love, The little sweet doth kill much bitterness; Though young Lorenzo in warm Indian clove XIV. With her two brothers this fair lady dwelt, In blood from stinging whip; with hollow eyes Many all day in dazzling river stood, To take the rich-ored driftings of the flood. XV. For them the Ceylon diver held his breath, A thousand men in troubles wide and dark : Half-ignorant, they turn'd an easy wheel, That set sharp racks at work, to pinch and peel. XVI. 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? XVII. Yet were these Florentines as self-retired 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. XVIII. How was it these same ledger-men could spy How could they find out in Lorenzo's eye A straying from his toil? Hot Egypt's pest Into their vision covetous and sly! 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. XIX. O eloquent and famed Boccaccio! Of thee we now should ask forgiving boon, Now they can no more hear thy ghittern's tune, For venturing syllables that ill beseem The quiet glooms of such a piteous theme. XX. 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 failTo 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. XXI. These brethren having found by many signs Should in their sister's love be blithe and glad, XXII. And many a jealous conference had they, To make the youngster for his crime atone; Cut mercy with a sharp knife to the bone; XXIII. So on a pleasant morning, as he leant Bestride your steed while cold is in the skies. XXIV. To-day we purpose, ay, this hour we mount To spur three leagues towards the Apennine; Come down, we pray thee, ere the hot sun count His dewy rosary on the eglantine." Lorenzo, courteously as he was wont, Bow'd a fair greeting to these serpents' whine; And went in haste, to get in readiness, With belt, and spur, and bracing huntsman's dress. XXV. And as he to the court-yard pass'd along, He heard a laugh full musical aloft ; XXVI. "Love, Isabel! said he, "I was in pain Lest I should miss to bid thee a good morrow: Ah! what if I should lose thee, when so fain I am to stifle all the heavy sorrow Of a poor three hours' absence? but we'll gain Out of the amorous dark what day doth borrow. Good bye! I'll soon be back."- -"Good bye!" said she And as he went she chanted merrily. |