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“Sing, if you will–but do not speak so loud;
Besides, such things as these,” said fair Mahaud,
“In your condition are not understood.”
“Well said,” made answer Zeno, “’tis a place
Of wonders–I see serpents, and can trace
Vampires, and monsters swarming, that arise
In mist, through chinks, to meet the gazer’s eyes.”

Then Mahaud shuddered, and she said: “The wine
The Abbe made me drink as task of mine,
Will soon enwrap me in the soundest sleep–
Swear not to leave me–that you here will keep.”
“I swear,” cried Joss, and Zeno, “I also;
But now at once to supper let us go.”

XIII.

THEY SUP.

With laugh and song they to the table went.
Said Mahaud gayly: “It is my intent
To make Joss chamberlain. Zeno shall be
A constable supreme of high degree.”
All three were joyous, and were fair to see.
Joss ate–and Zeno drank; on stools the pair,
With Mahaud musing in the regal chair.
The sound of separate leaf we do not note–
And so their babble seemed to idly float,
And leave no thought behind. Now and again
Joss his guitar made trill with plaintive strain
Or Tyrolean air; and lively tales they told
Mingled with mirth all free, and frank, and bold.
Said Mahaud: “Do you know how fortunate
You are?” “Yes, we are young at any rate–
Lovers half crazy–this is truth at least.”
“And more, for you know Latin like a priest,
And Joss sings well.”
“Ah, yes, our master true,
Yields us these gifts beyond the measure due.”
“Your master!–who is he?” Mahaud exclaimed.
“Satan, we say–but Sin you’d think him named,”
Said Zeno, veiling words in raillery.
“Do not laugh thus,” she said with dignity;
“Peace, Zeno. Joss, you speak, my chamberlain.”
“Madame, Viridis, Countess of Milan,
Was deemed superb; Diana on the mount
Dazzled the shepherd boy; ever we count
The Isabel of Saxony so fair,
And Cleopatra’s beauty all so rare–
Aspasia’s, too, that must with theirs compare–
That praise of them no fitting language hath.
Divine was Rhodope–and Venus’ wrath
Was such at Erylesis’ perfect throat,
She dragged her to the forge where Vulcan smote
Her beauty on his anvil. Well, as much
As star transcends a sequin, and just such
As temple is to rubbish-heap, I say,
You do eclipse their beauty every way.
Those airy sprites that from the azure smile,
Peris and elfs the while they men beguile,
Have brows less youthful pure than yours; besides
Dishevelled they whose shaded beauty hides
In clouds.”
“Flatt’rer,” said Mahaud, “you but sing
Too well.”
Then Joss more homage sought to bring;
“If I were angel under heav’n,” said he,
“Or girl or demon, I would seek to be
By you instructed in all art and grace,
And as in school but take a scholar’s place.
Highness, you are a fairy bright, whose hand
For sceptre vile gave up your proper wand.”
Fair Mahaud mused–then said, “Be silent now;
You seem to watch me; little ’tis I know,
Only that from Bohemia Joss doth come,
And that in Poland Zeno hath his home.
But you amuse me; I am rich, you poor–
What boon shall I confer and make secure?
What gift? ask of me, poets, what you will
And I will grant it–promise to fulfil.”
“A kiss,” said Joss.
“A kiss!” and anger fraught
Amazed at minstrel having such a thought–
While flush of indignation warmed her cheek.
“You do forget to whom it is you speak,”
She cried.
“Had I not known your high degree,
Should I have asked this royal boon,” said he,
“Obtained or given, a kiss must ever be.
No gift like king’s–no kiss like that of queen!”
Queen! And on Mahaud’s face a smile was seen.