class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="p. 42" id="pgepubid00039"/>The king and queen, by gracious looks and speech,
Encourage her, and thus their courtiers teach
How, this fair morning, they may courtliest be,
By making Lisa pass it happily.
And soon the ladies and the barons all
Draw her by turns, as at a festival
Made for her sake, to easy, gay discourse,
And compliment with looks and smiles enforce;
A joyous hum is heard the gardens round;
Soon there is Spanish dancing, and the sound
Of minstrel’s song, and autumn fruits are pluckt;
Till mindfully the king and queen conduct
Lisa apart to where a trellised shade
Made pleasant resting.  Then King Pedro said,—
“Excellent maiden, that rich gift of love
Your heart hath made us hath a worth above
All royal treasures, nor is fitly met

Save when the grateful memory of deep debt
Lies still behind the outward honors done:
And as a sign that no oblivion
Shall overflood that faithful memory,
We while we live your cavalier will be;
Nor will we ever arm ourselves for fight,
Whether for struggle dire, or brief delight
Of warlike feigning, but we first will take
The colors you ordain, and for your sake
Charge the more bravely where your emblem is:
Nor will we claim from you an added bliss
To our sweet thoughts of you save one sole kiss.
But there still rests the outward honor meet
To mark your worthiness; and we entreat
That you will turn your ear to proffered vows
Of one who loves you, and would be your spouse
We must not wrong yourself and Sicily
By letting all your blooming years pass by

Unmated: you will give the world its due
From beauteous maiden, and become a matron true.”

Then Lisa, wrapt in virgin wonderment
At her ambitious love’s complete content,
Which left no further good for her to seek
Than love’s obedience, said, with accent meek,—
“Monsignor, I know well that were it known
To all the world how high my love had flown,
There would be few who would not deem me mad,
Or say my mind the falsest image had
Of my condition and your loftiness.
But Heaven has seen that for no moment’s space
Have I forgotten you to be the king,
Or me myself to be a lowly thing—
A little lark, enamoured of the sky,

That soared to sing, to break its breast, and die.
But, as you better know than I, the heart
In choosing chooseth not its own desert,
But that great merit which attracteth it:
’Tis law, I struggled, but I must submit,
And having seen a worth all worth above,
I loved you, love you, and shall always love.
But that doth mean, my will is ever yours,
Not only when your will my good insures,
But if it wrought me what the world calls harm:
Fire, wounds, would wear from your dear will a charm.
That you will be my knight is full content,
And for that kiss,—I pray, first, for the queen’s consent.”

Her answer, given with such firm gentleness,
Pleased the queen well, and made her hold no less
Of Lisa’s merit than the king had held.
And so, all cloudy threats of grief dispelled,
There was betrothal made that very morn
’Twixt Perdicone, youthful, brave, well-born,
And Lisa whom he loved; she loving well
The lot that from obedience befell.
The