XXVIL So the two brothers and their murder'd man Rode past fair Florence, to where Arno's stream Gurgles through straighten'd banks, and still doth fan Itself with dancing bulrush, and the bream Keeps head against the freshets. Sick and wan The brothers' faces in the ford did seem, Lorenzo's flush with love. They pass'd the water Into a forest quiet for the slaughter. XXVIII. There was Lorenzo slain and buried in,, There in that forest did his great love cease; Ah! when a soul doth thus its freedom win, It aches in loneliness-is ill at peace As the break-covert bloodhounds of such sin : They dipp'd their swords in the water, and did Their horses homeward, with convulsed spur, [tease Each richer by his being a murderer. XXIX. They told their sister how, with sudden speed, XXX. She weeps alone for pleasures not to be; She brooded o'er the luxury alone : "Where? Q where?" XXXI. But Selfishness, Love's cousin, held not long XXXII. In the mid days of autumn, on their eves Of some gold tinge, and plays a roundelay To make all bare before he dares to stray From his north cavern. So sweet Isabel By gradual decay from beauty fell, XXXIII. Because Lorenzo came not. Oftentimes Could keep him off so long? They spake a tale Time after time, to quiet her. Their crimes Came on them, like a smoke from Hinnom's vale; And every night in dreams they groan'd aloud, To see their sister in her snowy shroud. XXXIV. And she had died in drowsy ignorance, XXXV. It was a vision. In the drowsy gloom, Had marr'd his glossy hair which once could shoot Lustre into the sun, and put cold doom Upon his lips, and taken the soft lute From his lorn voice, and past his loamed ears XXXVI. Strange sound it was, when the pale shadow spake ; Languor there was in it, and tremulous shake, XXXVII. Its eyes, though wild, were still all dewy bright XXXVIII. Saying moreover, "Isabel, my sweet! Red whortleberries droop above my head, And a large flint-stone weighs upon my feet; Around me beeches and high chestnuts shed Their leaves and prickly nuts; a sheepfold bleat Comes from beyond the river to my bed: Go, shed one tear upon my heather-bloom, And it shall comfort me within the tomb. XXXIX. "I am a shadow now, alas! alas! Upon the skirts of human nature dwelling Alone: I chant alone the holy mass, While little sounds of life are round me knelling, And glossy bees at noon do fieldward pass, And many a chapel bell the hour is telling, [me, Paining me through: those sounds grow strange to And thou art distant in Humanity. XL. "I know what was, I feel full well what is, And I should rage, if spirits could go mad; Though I forget the taste of earthly bliss, That paleness warms my grave, as though I had A seraph chosen from the bright abyss To be my spouse: thy paleness makes me glad : Thy beauty grows upon me, and I feel A greater love through all my essence steal." XLI. The Spirit mourn'd "Adieu!"-dissolved and left And see the spangly gloom froth up and boil: It made sad Isabella's eyelids ache, And in the dawn she started up awake; |