26Of good Minuccio. “Lisa, trust in me,” He said, and kissed her fingers loyally: “It is sweet law to me to do your will, And, ere the sun his round shall thrice fulfil, I hope to bring you news of such rare skill As amulets have, that aches in trusting bosoms still.”

p. 26

He needed not to pause and first devise How he should tell the king; for in nowise Were such love-message worthily bested Save in fine verse by music renderèd. He sought a poet-friend, a Siennese, And “Mico, mine,” he said, “full oft to please Thy whim of sadness I have sung thee strains To make thee weep in verse: now pay my pains, And write me a canzòn divinely sad, p. 27Sinlessly passionate, and meekly mad With young despair, speaking a maiden’s heart Of fifteen summers, who would fain depart From ripening life’s new-urgent mystery,— Love-choice of one too high her love to be,— But cannot yield her breath till she has poured Her strength away in this hot-bleeding word, Telling the secret of her soul to her soul’s lord.”

p. 27

Said Mico, “Nay, that thought is poesy, I need but listen as it sings to me. Come thou again to-morrow.” The third day, When linked notes had perfected the lay, Minuccio had his summons to the court, To make, as he was wont, the moments short Of ceremonious dinner to the king. This was the time when he had meant to bring Melodious message of young Lisa’s love; p. 28He waited till the air had ceased to move To ringing silver, till Falernian wine Made quickened sense with quietude combine; And then with passionate descant made each ear incline.

p. 28

 

Love, thou didst see me, light as morning’s breath, Roaming a garden in a joyous error, Laughing at chases vain, a happy child, Till of thy countenance the alluring terror In majesty from out the blossoms smiled, From out their life seeming a beauteous Death O Love, who so didst choose me for thine own Taking this little isle to thy great sway, See now, it is the honor of thy throne That what thou gavest perish not away, Nor leave some sweet remembrance to atone p. 29By life that will be for the brief life gone: Hear, ere the shroud o’er these frail limbs be thrown— Since every king is vassal unto thee, My heart’s lord needs must listen loyally— O tell him I am waiting for my Death!

p. 29

Tell him, for that he hath such royal power ’Twere hard for him to think how small a 

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