so beauteous: Let me now see her; since I am her liege lord, Her spirits must wage war with death at my strong word.” In such half-serious playfulness, he wends, With Lisa’s father and two chosen friends, Up to the chamber where she pillowed sits, Watching the door that opening admits A presence as much better than her dreams, p. 37As happiness than any longing seems. The king advanced, and, with a reverent kiss Upon her hand, said, “Lady, what is this? You, whose sweet youth should others’ solace be, Pierce all our hearts, languishing piteously. We pray you, for the love of us, be cheered, Nor be too reckless of that life, endeared To us who know your passing worthiness, And count your blooming life as part of our life’s bliss.” p. 36 p. 37 Those words, that touch upon her hand from him Whom her soul worshipped, as far seraphim Worship the distant glory, brought some shame Quivering upon her cheek, yet thrilled her frame With such deep joy she seemed in paradise, In wondering gladness, and in dumb surprise, That bliss could be so blissful. Then she spoke: p. 38“Signor, I was too weak to bear the yoke, The golden yoke, of thoughts too great for me; That was the ground of my infirmity. But now I pray your grace to have belief That I shall soon be well, nor any more cause grief.” p. 38 The king alone perceived the covert sense Of all her words, which made one evidence, With her pure voice and candid loveliness, That he had lost much honor, honoring less That message of her passionate distress. He staid beside her for a little while, With gentle looks and speech, until a smile As placid as a ray of early morn On opening flower-cups o’er her lips was borne When he had left her, and the tidings spread Through all the town, how he had visited p. 39The Tuscan trader’s daughter, who was sick, Men said it was a royal deed, and catholic. p. 39 And Lisa? She no longer wished for death; But as a poet, who sweet verses saith Within his soul, and joys in music there, Nor seeks another heaven, nor can bear Disturbing pleasures, so was she content, Breathing the life of grateful sentiment. She thought no maid betrothed could be more blest; For treasure must be valued by the test Of highest excellence and rarity, And her dear joy was best as best could be: There seemed no other crown to her delight, Now the high loved one saw her love aright. Thus her soul thriving on that exquisite mood, Spread like the May-time all its
Prev.
Back
Top