The palm-tree-edged desert-spring's sapphire, Flung the glove. "Your heart's queen, you dethrone her? "So should I!"-cried the King-"'twas mere vanity, "Not love, set that task to humanity!" Not so, I; for I caught an expression To what "speeches like gold" were reducible, Felt the smoke in her face was but proper; Human nature,-behoves that I know it!" She told me, "Too long had I heard "For my love-what De Lorge would not dare! 1 "He would brave when my lip formed a breath, "I must reckon as braved, or, of course, "Doubt his word-and moreover, perforce, "For such gifts as no lady could spurn, "Must offer my love in return. "When I looked on your lion, it brought All the dangers at once to my thought, "Encountered by all sorts of men, "Before he was lodged in his den, "From the poor slave whose club or bare hands Dug the trap, set the snare on the sands, "With no King and no Court to applaud, By no shame, should he shrink, overawed, "Yet to capture the creature made shift, "That his rude boys might laugh at the gift, "-To the page who last leaped o'er the fence "Of the pit, on no greater pretence "Than to get back the bonnet he dropped, "Lest his pay for a week should be stopped. "So, wiser I judged it to make "One trial what 'death for my sake' 'Really meant, while the power was yet mine, "Than to wait until time should define "Such a phrase not so simply as I, "Who took it to mean just 'to die. "Does the mark yet discolour my cheek? "Will the pain pass so soon, do you know?" I looked, as away she was sweeping, No doubt that a noble should more weigh His life than befits a plebeian; And yet, had our brute been Nemean (I judge by a certain calm fervour The youth stepped with, forward to serve her) -He'd have scarce thought you did him the worst turn If you whispered "Friend, what you'd get, first earn!" And when, shortly after, she carried Her shame from the Court, and they married, To that marriage some happiness, maugre The voice of the Court, I dared augur. For De Lorge, he made women with men vie, To the King's love, who loved her a week well. How bringing a glove brought such glory, Mine he brings now and utters no murmur." Venienti occurrite morbo! With which moral I drop my theorbo. |