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 lessEven bees, the little almsmen of spring-bowers, Know there is richest juice in poison-flowers. XIV. With her two brothers this fair lady dwelt, XV. For them the Ceylon diver held his breath, That set sharp racks at work, to pinch and peel. Why were they proud? Because their marble founts Gush'd with more pride than do a wretch's tears? Why were they proud? Because fair orange-mounts XVII. Yet were these Florentines as self-retired And pannier'd mules for ducats and old liesQuick 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 failTo 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. XXI. These brethren having found by many signs XXII. And many a jealous conference had they, To make the youngster for his crime atone; And at the last, these men of cruel clay Cut Mercy with a sharp knife to the bone; XXIII. So on a pleasant morning, as he leant XXIV. "To-day we purpose, ay, this hour we mount To spur three leagues towards the Apennine; Come down, we pray thee, ere the hot sun count His dewy rosary on the eglantine." Lorenzo, courteously as he was wont, Bow'd a fair greeting to these serpents' whine, And went in haste, to get in readiness, With belt, and spur, and bracing huntsman's dress. XXV. And as he to the court-yard pass'd along, Each third step did he pause, and listen'd oft If he could hear his lady's matin-song, Or the light whisper of her footstep soft; When, looking up, he saw her features bright 66 XXVI. Love, Isabel! said he, "I was in pain Ah! what if I should lose thee, when so fain Out of the amorous dark what day doth borrow. Good bye! I'll soon be back."-"Good bye!" said she: And as he went she chanted merrily. XXVII. 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, XXIX. They told their sister how, with sudden speed, 5 |