« НазадПродовжити »
A dreary night of love and misery,
To every symbol on his forehead high; She saw it waxing very pale and dead,
And straight all flush'd; so, lisped tenderly, “Lorenzo !”—here she ceased her timid quest, But in her tone and look he read the rest.
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,
Lady! thou leadest me to summer clime, And I must taste the blossoms that unfold
In its ripe warmth this gracious morning time.” So said, his erewhile timid lips grew bold,
And poesied with hers in dewy rhyme: Great bliss was with them, and great happiness Grew, like a lusty flower in June's caress.
Parting they seem'd to tread upon the air,
Twin roses by the zephyr blown apart Only to meet again more close, and share
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.
All close they met again, before the dusk
Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil, All close they met, all eves, before the dusk
Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil,
Unknown of any, free from whispering tale.
Too many tears for lovers have been shed,
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.
But, for the general award of love,
The little sweet doth kill much bitterness ;
And Isabella's was a great distress,
Was not embalm’d, this truth is not the less-
Enriched from ancestral merchandise,
In torched mines and noisy factories,
In blood from stinging whip; with hollow eyes
And went all naked to the hungry shark;
The seal on the cold ice with piteous bark
A thousand men in troubles wide and dark:
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
Were of more soft ascent than lazar stairs ?
Were richer than the songs of Grecian years ?
. XVII. Yet were these Florentines as self-retired
In hungry pride and gainful cowardice, As two close Hebrews in that land inspired,
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.
How was it these same ledger-men could spy
Fair Isabella in her downy nest ?
A straying from his toil' Hot Egypt's pest
How could these money-bags see east and west?
Of thee we now should ask forgiving boon,
And of thy roses amorous of the moon,
Now they can no more hear thy ghittern's tune,
Grant thou a pardon here, and then the tale
Shall move on soberly, as it is meet; 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.
What love Lorenzo for their sister had,
His bitter thoughts to other, well nigh mad That he, the servant of their trade designs,
Should in their sister's love be blithe and glad, When 'twas their plan to coax her by degrees To some high noble and his olive-trees.
And many times they bit their lips alone,
To make the youngster for his crime atone;
Cut Mercy with a sharp knife to the bone ;
Into the sun-rise, o'er the balustrade
Their footing through the dews; and to him said, “You seem there in the quiet of content,
Lorenzo, and we are most loth to invade Calm speculation ; but if you are wise, Bestride your steed while cold is in the skies.
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.”