thing, How slight a sign, would make a wealthy dower For one like me, the bride of that pale king Whose bed is mine at some swift-nearing hour. Go to my lord, and to his memory bring That happy birthday of my sorrowing, When his large glance made meaner gazers glad, Entering the bannered lists: ’twas then I had The wound that laid me in the arms of Death. p. 30Tell him, O Love, I am a lowly maid, No more than any little knot of thyme That he with careless foot may often tread; Yet lowest fragrance oft will mount sublime And cleave to things most high and hallowèd, As doth the fragrance of my life’s springtime, My lowly love, that, soaring, seeks to climb Within his thought, and make a gentle bliss, More blissful than if mine, in being his: So shall I live in him, and rest in Death.

p. 30

The strain was new. It seemed a pleading cry, And yet a rounded, perfect melody, Making grief beauteous as the tear-filled eyes Of little child at little miseries. Trembling at first, then swelling as it rose, Like rising light that broad and broader grows, It filled the hall, and so possessed the air, p. 31That not one living, breathing soul was there, Though dullest, slowest, but was quivering In Music’s grasp, and forced to hear her sing. But most such sweet compulsion took the mood Of Pedro (tired of doing what he would). Whether the words which that strange meaning bore Were but the poet’s feigning, or aught more, Was bounden question, since their aim must be At some imagined or true royalty. He called Minuccio, and bade him tell What poet of the day had writ so well; For, though they came behind all former rhymes, The verses were not bad for these poor times. “Monsignor, they are only three days old,” Minuccio said; “but it must not be told How this song grew, save to your royal ear.” Eager, the king withdrew where none was near, p. 32And gave close audience to Minuccio, Who meetly told that love-tale meet to know. The king had features pliant to confess The presence of a manly tenderness,— Son, father, brother, lover, blent in one, In fine harmonic exaltatiön; The spirit of religious chivalry. He listened, and Minuccio could see The tender, generous admiration spread O’er all his face, and glorify his head With royalty that would have kept its rank, Though his brocaded robes to tatters shrank. He answered without pause, “So sweet a maid, In Nature’s own insignia arrayed, Though she were come of unmixed trading blood That sold and bartered ever since the flood, Would have the self-contained and single worth Of radiant jewels born in darksome earth. p. 33Raona were a shame to Sicily, Letting such love and tears unhonored be: Hasten, Minuccio, tell her that 

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