Up to the chamber where she pillowed sits
Watching the door that opening admits
A presence as much better than her dreams,
As happiness than any longing seems.
The king advanced, and, with a reverent kiss
Upon her hand, said, "Lady, what is this?
You, whose sweet youth should others' solace be,
Pierce all our hearts, languishing piteously.
We pray you, for the love of us, be cheered,
Nor be too reckless of that life, endeared
To us who know your passing worthiness,
And count your blooming life as part of our
life's bliss."

Those words, that touch upon her hand from him
Whom her soul worshipped, as far seraphim
Worship the distant glory, brought some shame
Quivering upon her cheek, yet thrilled her frame
With such deep joy she seemed in paradise,
In wondering gladness, and in dumb surprise.
That bliss could be so blissful: then she spoke
"Signor, I was too weak to bear the yoke,
The golden yoke of thoughts too great for me;
That was the ground of my infirmity.
But now, I pray your grace to have belief
That I shall soon be well, nor any more cause
grief."

The king alone perceived the covert sense
Of all her words, which made one evidence
With her pure voice and candid loveliness,
That he had lost much honour, honoring less
That message of her passionate distress.
He stayed beside her for a little while
With gentle looks and speech, until a smile
As placid as a ray of early morn

On opening flower-cups o'er her lips was borne.
When he had left her, and the tidings spread
Through all the town how he had visited
The Tuscan trader's daughter, who was sick,
Men said, it was a royal deed and catholic.

And Lisa? she no longer wished for death;
But as a poet, who sweet verses saith
Within his soul, and joys in music there,
Nor seeks another heaven, nor can bear
Disturbing pleasures, so was she content,
Breathing the life of grateful sentiment.

She thought no maid betrothed could be more
blest;

For treasure must be valued by the test
Of highest excellence and rarity,
And her dear joy was best as best could be;
There seemed no other crown to her delight
Now the high loved one saw her love aright.
Thus her soul thriving on that exquisite mood,
Spread like the May-time all its beauteous good
O'er the soft bloom of neck, and arms, and
cheek,

And strengthened the sweet body, once so weak,
Until she rose and walked, and, like a bird
With sweetly rippling throat, she made her
spring joys heard.

The king, when he the happy change had seen,
Trusted the ear of Constance, his fair queen,
With Lisa's innocent secret, and conferred
How they should jointly, by their deed and word,

A lake of splendour 'mid the aloes grey-
When, meekly facing all their proud array,
The white-robed Lisa with her parents stood,
As some white dove before the gorgeous brood
Of dapple-breasted birds born by the Colchian
flood.

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 honours 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 colours 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 honour 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,

66

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.

And that no joy might lack, the king, who knew
The youth was poor, gave him rich Ceffalu
And Cataletta, large and fruitful lands
Adding much promise when he joined their
hands.

At last he said to Lisa, with an air

Gallant yet noble: "Now we claim our share

small;

But heaven has seen that for no moment's space From your sweet love, a share which is not
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 ensures,
But if it wrought me what the world calls
harm

For in the sacrament one crumb is all."
Then taking her small face his hands between,
He kissed her on the brow with kiss serene,
Fit seal to that pure vision her young soul had

seen.

And many witnessed that King Pedro kept
His royal promise: Perdicone stept
To many honours honourably won,
Living with Lisa in true union.
Throughout his life the king still took delight
To call himself fair Lisa's faithful knight;
And never wore in field or tournament
A scarf or emblem save by Lisa sent.
Such deeds made subjects loyal in that land:
They joyed that one so worthy to command,
So chivalrous and gentle, had become
The king of Sicily, and filled the room
Of Frenchmen, who abused the Church's trust,
Till, in a righteous vengeance on their lust,
Messina rose, with God, and with the dagger's
thrust.

L'ENVOI.

Reader, this story pleased me long ago
In the bright pages of Boccaccio,
And where the author of a good we know,
Let us not fail to pay the grateful thanks we

owe.

GEORGE ELIOT.

burnt by the common hangman, and then discovering that they had passed a vote of thanks to the preacher. This happened in 1772. We notice that Mr. Palgrave mentions the case of John Asgill, "translated Asgill," as he was called, but does not seem to be aware, or at all events does not state, that he was actually a member of Parliament, and was expelled on account of his book on the non-necessity of death.

The House of Commons. By Reginald F. was too serious. There is something very amusD. Palgrave. (Macmillan.) — Mr. Palgrave pub-ing, too, in the House ordering a sermon to be lishes in this volume three lectures which he delivered on the House of Commons, its history, power, privileges, method of conducting business, &c. It makes a very pleasant, readable book, full of information carefully collected, and put together not without art, much of which will be novel to many readers. We should like to know, for instance, how many persons are aware of the fact that the mace which is laid before the Speaker does not belong to that officer or to the Parliament, but is lent by the Queen? There are not a few amusing stories to be found here. Here is one that illustrates the good taste of the House as an assembly of gentlemen. A speaker descanting on the blessings which war destroys said, "What should I now see if I now went home? My children playing by my fireside." Every one looked at the clock; it was two hours past midnight, but no one laughed; the subject

Spectator.

A WELL-KNOWN street preacher in Edinburgh visited several bakers' shops on Good Friday, and from the cab of which he is the driver lenounced the sin of Protestant bakers preparing idols for Papists to worship in the shape of he cross buns! London Scotsman,

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