And constant as her vespers would he watch, IV. A whole long month of May in this sad plight Made their cheeks paler by the break of June: "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; V. Until sweet Isabella's untouch'd cheek And yet I will, and tell my love all plain : VI. So said he one fair morning, and all day Fever'd his high conceit of such a bride, VII. So once more he had waked and anguished And straight all flush'd; so, lisped tenderly, VIII. "O 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. IX. "Love! thou art leading me from wintry cold, X. Parting they seem'd to tread upon the air, 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. XI. All close they met again, before the dusk Unknown of any, free from whispering tale. Than idle ears should pleasure in their woe. XII. 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. XIII. But, for the general award of love, The little sweet doth kill much bitterness; Though Dido silent is in under-grove, And Isabella's was a great distress, Though young Lorenzo in warm Indian clove 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. XIV. With her two brothers this fair lady dwelt, To take the rich-ored driftings of the flood. XV. For them the Ceylon diver held his breath, XVI. Why were they proud? Because their marble founts XVII. Yet were these Florentines as self-retired 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. 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, 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. XX. Grant thou a pardon here, and then the tale 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. |