Why shouldst thou cease thy plaintive song
When I draw near?
Has mankind done thee any wrong,
That thou shouldst fear?
To see thee scampering to thy den,
So wild and shy,
’T would seem thou know’st the ways of men
As well as I.
’T is true the palmy days are o’er
When all thy kind—
Poor...
I stood within the cypress gloom
Where old Ferrara’s dead are laid,
And mused on many a sculptured tomb,
Moss-grown and mouldering in the shade.
And there was one the eye might pass,
And careless foot might tread upon
A crumbling tablet in the grass,
With weeds and wild vines overrun.
In the dim light I stooped to...
At table yonder sits the man we seek,
Beside the ingle, where the crimson flare
Reveals him through the eddying tavern reek,
Reclining easeful in his leathern chair;
In russet doublet, bearded and benign,
He looks a worthy burgher at his wine.
Even so; but when thy veins ran fire tonight,
Thy hand crept knotted to thy sword-hilt...
