The monk's voice pauses like some mournful flute, Whose pondered closes for sheer sorrow fail, And then with hand that seems as it would suit A soft girl best, it is so light and frail, He turns half round, and for a moment mute Points to the goblet, and so ends his tale: "Mine oath is kept, thy lady's last command; 'Tis but a short hour since it left her hand."
XXXIV.
So ends the stranger: surely no man's tongue Was e'er so soft, or half so sweet, as his.
Oft as he listened, Nino's heart had sprung With sudden start as from a spectre's kiss; For deep in many a word he deemed had rung The liquid fall of some loved emphasis; And so it pierced his sorrow to the core, The ghost of tones that he should hear no more.
XXXV.
But now the tale is ended, and still keeps The stranger hidden in his dusky weed; And Nino stands, wide-eyed, as one that sleeps, And dimly wonders how his heart doth bleed.
Anon he bends, yet neither moans nor weeps, But hangs atremble, like a broken reed; "Ah! bitter fate, that lured and sold us so, Poor lady mine; alas for all our woe!"
XXXVI.
But even as he moans in such dark mood, His wandering eyes upon the goblet fall.
Oh, dreaming heart! Oh, strange ingratitude!
So to forget his lady's lingering call, Her parting gift, so rich, so crimson-hued, The lover's draught, that shall be cure for all.
He lifts the goblet lightly from its place, And smiles, and rears it with his courtly grace.
XXXVII.
"Oh, lady sweet, I shall not long delay: This gift of thine shall bring me to thine eyes.
Sure God will send on no unpardoned way The faithful soul, that at such bidding dies.
When thou art gone, I cannot longer stay To brave this world with all its wrath and lies, Where hands of stone and tongues of dragon's breath Have bruised mine angel to her piteous death."
XXXVIII.
And now the gleaming goblet hath scarce dyed His lips' thin pallor with its deathly red, When Nino starts in wonder, fearful-eyed, For, lo! the stranger with outstretched head Springs at his face one soft and sudden stride, And from his hand the deadly cup hath sped, Dashed to the ground, and all it's seeded store Runs out like blood upon the marble floor.
XXXIX.
"Oh Nino, my sweet Nino! speak to me, Nor stand so strange, nor look so deathly pale.
'Twas all to prove thy heart's deaf constancy I brought that cup and told that piteous tale.
Ah! chains and cells and cruel treachery Are weak indeed when women's hearts assail.
Art angry, Nino?" 'Tis no monk that cries, But sweet Leonora with her love-lit eyes.
XL.
She dashes from her brow the pented hood; The dusky robe falls rustling to her feet; And there she stands, as aye in dreams she stood.
Ah, Nino, see! Sure man did never meet So warm a flower from such a sombre bud, So trembling fair, so wan, so pallid sweet.
Aye, Nino, down like saint upon thy knee, And soothe her hands with kisses warm and free.
XLI.
And now with broken laughter on her lips, And now with moans remembering of her care, She weeps, and smiles, and like a child she slips Her lily fingers through his curly hair, The while her head with all it's sweet she dips, Close to his ear, to soothe and murmur there; "Oh, Nino, I was hid so long from thee, That much I doubted what thy love might be.
XLII.
"And though 'twas cruel hard of me to try Thy faithful heart with such a fearful test, Yet now thou canst be happy, sweet, as I Am wondrous happy in thy truth confessed.
To haggard death indeed thou needst not fly To find the softness of thy lady's breast; For such a gift was never death's to give, But thou shalt have me for thy love, and live.
XLIII.
"Dost see these cheeks, my Nino? they're so thin, Not round and soft, as when thou touched them last: So long with bitter rage they pent me in, Like some poor thief in lonely dungeon cast; Only this night through every bolt and gin By cunning stealth I wrought my way at last.
Straight to thine heart I fled, unfaltering, Like homeward pigeon with uncaged wing.
XLIV.
"Nay, Nino, kneel not; let me hear thee speak.
We must not tarry long; the dawn is nigh."
So rises he, for very gladness weak; But half in fear that yet the dream may fly, He touches mutely mouth and brow and cheek; Till in his ear she 'gins to plead and sigh: "Dear love, forgive me for that cruel tale, That stung thine heart and made thy lips so pale."
XLV.
And so he folds her softly with quick sighs, And both with murmurs warm and musical Talk and retalk, with dim or smiling eyes, Of old delights and sweeter days to fall: And yet not long, for, ere the starlit skies Grow pale above the city's eastern wall, They rise, with lips and happy hands withdrawn, And pass out softly into the dawn.
XLVI.
For Nino knows the captain of a ship, The friend of many journeys, who may be This very morn will let his cables slip For the warm coast of sunny Sicily.
There in Palermo, at the harbour's lip, A brother lives, of tried fidelity: So to the quays by hidden ways they wend In the pale morn, nor do they miss their friend.
XLVII.
And ere the shadow of another night Hath darkened Pisa, many a foe shall stray Through Nino's home, with eyes malignly bright In wolfish quest, but shall not find his prey: The while those lovers in their white-winged flight Shall see far out upon the twilight grey, Behind, the glimmer of the sea, before, The dusky outlines of a kindlier shore.
THE CHILD'S MUSIC LESSON.
Why weep ye in your innocent toil at all?
Sweet little hands, why halt and tremble so?
Full many a wrong note falls, but let it fall!
Each note to me is like a golden glow; Each broken cadence like a morning call; Nay, clear and smooth I would not have you go, Soft little hands, upon the curtained threshold set Of this long life of labour, and unrestful fret.