A LIGHT WOMAN. 1. So far as our story approaches the end, 2. My friend was already too good to lose, And seemed in the way of improvement yet, When she crossed his path with her hunting-noose And over him drew her net. 3. When I saw him tangled in her toils, A shame, said I, if she adds just him And before 4. my friend be wholly hers, How easy to prove to him, I said, Though she snaps at the wren instead! 5. So I gave her eyes my own eyes to take, 6. The eagle am I, with my fame in the world, - You look away and your lip is curled? Patience, a moment's space! For see 7. my friend goes shaking and white; He eyes me as the basilisk: I have turned, it appears, his day to night, 8. And I did it, he thinks, as a very thief: "Though I love her that he comprehends One should master one's passions, (love, in chief) And be loyal to one's friends!" And she, 9. she lies in my hand as tame As a pear hung basking over a wall; Just a touch to try and off it came; 10. With no mind to eat it, that's the worst! Were it thrown in the road, would the case assist? 'Twas quenching a dozen blue-flies' thirst When I gave its stalk a twist. What I soon shall seem to his love, you guess. What I seem to myself, do you ask of me? No hero, I confess. 12. "Tis an awkward thing to play with souls, 13. One likes to show the truth for the truth; 14. Well, any how, here the story stays, So far at least as I understand; And, Robert Browning, you writer of plays, Here's a subject made to your hand! THE STATUE AND THE BUST. THERE's a palace in Florence, the world knows well, And a statue watches it from the square, And this story of both do the townsmen tell. Ages ago, a lady there, At the furthest window facing the east The brides-maids' prattle around her ceased; They felt by its beats her heart expand That selfsame instant, underneath, The Duke rode past in his idle way, Gay he rode, with a friend as gay, Till he threw his head back "Who is she?" -"A Bride the Riccardi brings home to-day." Hair in heaps laid heavily Over a pale brow spirit-pure Carved like the heart of the coal-black tree, Crisped like a war-steed's encolure And lo, a blade for a knight's emprise He looked at her, as a lover can; As love so ordered for both their sakes, (For Via Larga is three-parts light, But the Palace overshadows one, Because of a crime which may God requite! |