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Of flowers, garlands, love-knots, silly posies,
Groves, meadows, melodies, and arbour-roses;
My kingdom's at its death, and just it is
That I should die with it: so in all this

We miscall grief, bale, sorrow, heart-break, woe,
Where is there to plain of ? By Titan's foe
I am but rightly served.' So saying, he
Tripp'd lightly on, in sort of deathful glee ;
Laughing at the clear stream and setting sun,
As though they jests had been: nor had he done
His laugh at nature's holy countenance,
Until that grove appear'd, as if perchance,
And then his tongue with sober seemlihed
Gave utterance as he enter'd: 'Ha!' I said,
'King of the butterflies; but by this gloom,
And by old Rhadamanthus' tongue of doom,
This dusk religion, pomp of solitude,

And the Promethean clay by thief endued,
By old Saturnus' forelock, by his head
Shook with eternal palsy, I did wed
Myself to things of light from infancy;
And thus to be cast out, thus lorn to die,
Is sure enough to make a mortal man
Grow impious.' So he inwardly began

On things for which no wording can be found;
Deeper and deeper sinking, until drown'd

Beyond the reach of music: for the choir

Of Cynthia he heard not, though rough brier
Nor muffling thicket interposed to dull
The vesper hymn, far swollen, soft and full,
Through the dark pillars of those sylvan aisles.
He saw not the two maidens, nor their smiles,
Wan as primroses gather'd at midnight
By chilly-finger'd spring. 'Unhappy wight!
Endymion!' said Peona, we are here!
What wouldst thou ere we all are laid on bier ?
Then he embraced her, and his lady's hand

Press'd, saying: 'Sister, I would have command,

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If it were heaven's will, on our sad fate.'
At which that dark-eyed stranger stood elate
And said, in a new voice, but sweet as love,
To Endymion's amaze: 'By Cupid's dove,
And so thou shalt ! and by the lily truth
Of my own breast thou shalt, beloved youth!'
And as she spake, into her face there came
Light, as reflected from a silver flame :
Her long black hair swell'd ampler, in display
Full golden; in her eyes a brighter day
Dawn'd blue, and full of love. Aye, he beheld
Phoebe, his passion! joyous she upheld
Her lucid bow, continuing thus: "Drear, drear
Has our delaying been; but foolish fear
Withheld me first; and then decrees of fate;
And then 't was fit that from this mortal state
Thou shouldst, my love, by some unlook'd-for

change

Be spiritualized. Peona, we shall range
These forests, and to thee they safe shall be
As was thy cradle; hither shalt thou flee

To meet us many a time.' Next Cynthia bright
Peona kiss'd, and bless'd with fair good night:
Her brother kiss'd her too, and knelt adown
Before his goddess, in a blissful swoon.
She gave her fair hands to him, and behold,
Before three swiftest kisses he had told,
They vanish'd far away!- Peona went

Home through the gloomy wood in wonderment.

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THE POEMS OF 1818-1819

ISABELLA, OR THE POT OF BASIL

A STORY FROM BOCCACCIO

I

FAIR Isabel, poor simple Isabel !

Lorenzo, a young palmer in love's eye! They could not in the self-same mansion dwell Without some stir of heart, some malady; They could not sit at meals but feel how well It soothed each to be the other by ;

They could not, sure, beneath the same roof sleep But to each other dream, and nightly weep.

II

With every morn their love grew tenderer,
With every eve deeper and tenderer still;
He might not in house, field, or garden stir,
But her full shape would all his seeing fill;
And his continual voice was pleasanter

To her, than noise of trees or hidden rill;
Her lute-string gave an echo of his name,
She spoilt her half-done broidery with the same.

III

He knew whose gentle hand was at the latch,
Before the door had given her to his eyes;
And from her chamber-window he would catch
Her beauty farther than the falcon spies;
And constant as her vespers would he watch,
Because her face was turn'd to the same skies;

And with sick longing all the night outwear,
To hear her morning-step upon the stair.

IV

A whole long month of May in this sad plight Made their cheeks paler by the break of June: "To-morrow will I bow to my delight,

To-morrow will I ask my lady's boon.'

'O may

never see another night,

Lorenzo, if thy lips breathe not love's tune.'. So spake they to their pillows; but, alas, Honeyless days and days did he let pass;

V

Until sweet Isabella's untouch'd cheek
Fell sick within the rose's just domain,
Fell thin as a young mother's, who doth seek
By every lull to cool her infant's pain:
'How ill she is!' said he, 'I may not speak,

And yet I will, and tell my love all plain :
If looks speak love-laws, I will drink her tears,
And at the least 't will startle off her cares.

VI

So said he one fair morning, and all day
His heart beat awfully against his side;
And to his heart he inwardly did pray

For power to speak; but still the ruddy tide
Stifled his voice, and pulsed resolve away-
Fever'd his high conceit of such a bride,
Yet brought him to the meekness of a child:
Alas! when passion is both meek and wild!

VII

So once more he had waked and anguished
A dreary night of love and misery,

If Isabel's quick eye had not been wed
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.

X

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.

ΧΙ

All close they met again, before the dusk

Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil,

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