A STORY, FROM BOCCACCIO. I. AIR 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, To her, than noise of trees or hidden rill; 4 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, 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 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 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, 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. 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 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. |