III. He knew whose gentle hand was at the latch, 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 I never see another night, 66 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 "And yet I will, and tell my love all plain : "If looks speak love-laws, I will drink her tears, "And at the least 'twill startle off her cares." VI. So said he one fair morning, and all day For power to speak; but still the ruddy tide 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 wak'd and anguished If Isabel's quick eye had not been wed And straight all flush'd; so, lisped tenderly, "Lorenzo!"-here she ceas'd her timid quest, But in her tone and look he read the rest.* * In Woodhouse's transcript this stanza concludes with a different couplet, and it is followed by another stanza, afterwards suppressed :— "Lorenzo, I would clip my ringlet hair To make thee laugh again and debonnair." About the neck I dote on, and that spot VIII. "O Isabella, I can half perceive "That I may speak my grief into thine ear; "If thou didst ever any thing 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, Sang, of delicious love and honey'd dart; XI. All close they met again, before the dusk Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil, Unknown of any, free from whispering tale. XII. Were they unhappy then ?-It cannot be- 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. 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, In blood from stinging whip ;—with hollow eyes Many all day in dazzling river stood, To take the rich-ored driftings of the flood. XV. For them the Ceylon diver held his breath, A thousand men in troubles wide and dark: Half-ignorant, they turn'd an easy wheel, XVI. Why were they proud? Because their marble founts |