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And on a milk-white courser, like the air,
A glorious figure springs into the square,
Up, with a burst of thunder, goes the shout,

And rolls the trembling walls and peopled roofs about.

Never was nobler finish of fine sight;
"Twas like the coming of a shape of light;
And every lovely gazer, with a start,
Felt the quick pleasure smite across her heart:
The princess, who at first could scarcely see,
Though looking still that way from dignity,
Gathers new courage as the praise goes round,
And bends her eyes to learn what they have found.
And see,
his horse obeys the check unseen;
And with an air 'twixt ardent and serene,

Letting a fall of curls about his brow,
He takes his cap off with a gallant bow;

Then for another and a deafening shout,

And scarfs are waved, and flowers come fluttering out,

And, shaken by the noise, the reeling air

Sweeps with a giddy whirl among the fair,
And whisks their garments, and their shining hair.

With busy interchange of wonder glows
The crowd, and loves his bravery as he goes,-
But on his shape the gentler sight attends,

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Watches his air, his gesture, and his face,

And thinks it never saw such manly grace,

So fine are his bare throat, and curls of black, –
So lightsomely dropt in, his lordly back —

His thigh so fitted for the tilt or dance,

So heaped with strength, and turned with elegance;
But above all, so meaning is his look,
Full, and as readable as open book;
And such true gallantry the sex descries
In the frank lifting of his cordial eyes.

His haughty steed, who seems by turns to be
Vexed and made proud by that cool mastery,
Shakes at his bit, and rolls his eyes with care,
Reaching with stately step at the fine air;
And now and then, sideling his restless pace,
Drops with his hinder legs, and shifts his place,
And feels through all his frame a fiery thrill:
The princely rider on his back sits still,

And looks where'er he likes, and sways him at his will.

Surprise, relief, a joy scarce understood,

Something perhaps of very gratitude,

And fifty feelings, undefin'd and new,

Dance through the bride, and flush her faded hue.
"Could I but once," she thinks, "securely place
A trust for the contents on such a case,
And know the spirit that should fill that dwelling,
This chance of mine would hardly be compelling."
Just then, the stranger, coming slowly round
By the clear fountain and the brilliant ground,

And bending, as he goes, with frequent thanks,
Beckons a follower to him from the ranks,
And loosening, as he speaks, from its light hold,
A dropping jewel with its chain of gold,
Sends it, in token he had loved him long,
To the young father of Italian song:
The youth smiles up, and with a lowly grace
Bending his lifted eyes and blushing face,
Looks after his new friend, who, scarcely gone
In the wide turning, nods and passes on.

This is sufficient for the destined bride;
She took an interest first, but now a pride:
And as the prince comes riding to the place,
Baring his head, and raising his fine face,
She meets his full obeisance with an eye
Of self-permission and sweet gravity;

He looks with touched respect, and gazes, and goes by.

2

CANTO II.

THE BRIDE'S JOURNEY TO RIMINI.

PASS we the followers, and their closing state;
The court was entered by a hinder gate;
The duke and princess had retired before,
Joined by the knights and ladies at the door;
But something seemed amiss, and there ensued
Deep talk among the spreading multitude,
Who stood in groups, or paced the measured street,
Filling with earnest hum the noontide heat;
Nor ceased the wonder, as the day increased,
And brought no symptoms of a bridal feast,
No mass, no tilt, no largess for the crowd,
Nothing to answer that procession proud;
But a blank look, as if no court had been;
Silence without and secrecy within;
And nothing heard by listening at the walls,
But now and then a bustling through the halls,
Or the dim organ roused at gathering intervals.

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