But who's he would prove so fool-hardy?
Not the best man of Marignan, pardie!"
The sentence no sooner was uttered,
Than over the rails a glove fluttered,
Fell close to the lion, and rested:
The dame 'twas, who flung it and jested
With life so, De Lorge had been wooing
For months past; he sat there pursuing
His suit, weighing out with nonchalance
Fine speeches like gold from a balance.
Sound the trumpet, no true knight's a tarrier!
De Lorge made one leap at the barrier,
Waiked straight to the glove-while the lion
Ne'er moved, kept his far-reaching eye on
The palm-tree-edged desert-spring's sapphire,
And the musky oiled skin of the Kaffir—
Picked it up, and as calmly retreated,
Leaped back where the lady was seated,
And full in the face of its owner
"Your heart's queen, you dethrone her? So should I"-cried the king-"'twas mere vanity, Not love, set that task to humanity!"
Lords and ladies alike turned with loathing
From such a proved wolf in sheep's clothing.
Not so, I; for I caught an expression
In her brow's undisturbed self-possession
Amid the Court's scoffing and merriment—
As if from no pleasing experiment
She rose, yet of pain not much heedful
So long as the process was needful—
As if she had tried in a crucible,
To what "speeches like gold" were reducible,
And, finding the finest prove copper,
Felt smoke in her face was but proper;
To know what she had not to trust to,
Was worth all the ashes, and dust too.
She went out 'mid hooting and laughter ;
Clement Marot stayed; I followed after,
And asked, as a grace, what it all meant--
If she wished not the rash deed's recalment?
"For I"-so I spoke—“am a poet :
Human nature-behoves that I know it!"
She told me, "Too long had I heard
Of the deed proved alone by the word:
For my love-what De Lorge would not dare!
With my scorn-what De Lorge could compare !
And the endless descriptions of death
He would brave when my lip formed a breath,
I must reckon as braved, or, of course,
Doubt his word—and moreover, perforce,
For such gifts as no lady could spurn,
Must offer my love in return.
When I looked on your lion, it brought
All the dangers at once to my thought,
Encountered by all sorts of men,
Before he was lodged in his den—
From the poor slave whose club or bare hands
Dug the trap, set the snare on the sands,
With no king and no court to applaud,
By no shame, should he shrink, overawed,
Yet to capture the creature made shift.
That his rude boys might laugh at the gift—
To the page who last leaped o'er the fence
Of the pit, on no greater pretence
Than to get back the bonnet he dropped,
Lest his pay for a week should be stopped:
So, wiser I judged it to make
One trial what 'death for my sake'
Really meant, while the power was yet mine,
Than to wait until time should define
Such a phrase not so simply as I,
Who took it to mean just 'to die.'
The blow a glove gives is but weak-
Does the mark yet discolour my cheek?
But when the heart suffers a blow,
Will the pain pass so soon, do you know?"
I looked, as away she was sweeping,
And saw a youth eagerly keeping
As close as he dared to the doorway:
No doubt that a noble should more weigh
His life than befits a plebeian;
And yet, had our brute been Nemean
(I judge by a certain calm fervor
The youth stepped with, forward to serve her)
-He'd have scarce thought you did him the worst
If you whispered, "Friend, what you'd get, first earn!"
And when, shortly after, she carried
Her shame from the court, and they married,
To that marriage some happiness, maugre
The voice of the court, I dared augur.
For De Lorge, he made women with men vie,
Those in wonder and praise, these in envy ;
And in short stood so plain a head taller
That he wooed and won .. How do you call her
The beauty, that rose in the sequel
To the king's love, who loved her a week well :
And 'twas noticed he never would honour
De Lorge (who looked daggers upon her)
With the easy commission of stretching
His legs in the service, and fetching
His wife, from her chamber, those straying
Sad gloves she was always mislaying,
While the king took the closet to chat in―
But of course this adventure came pat in ;
And never the king told the story
How bringing a glove brought such glory,
But the wife smiled-" His nerves are grown firmer-Mine he brings now and utters no murmur!"
Venienti occurrite morbo !
With which moral I drop my theorbo.
PARACELSUS ASPIRES AND IS WARNED.
FESTUS MICHAL AND PARACELSUS AT WURTZBURG, 1512.
Fest. Presume not to serve God apart from such
Appointed channel as he wills shall gather
Imperfect tributes, for that sole obedience
Valued, perchance. He seeks not that His altars
Blaze, careless how, so that they do but blaze.
Suppose, this, then; that God selected you
TO KNOW (heed well your answers, for my faith
Shall meet implicitly what they affirm),
I cannot think you dare annex to such
Selection aught beyond a steadfast will,
An intense hope, nor let your gifts create
Scorn or neglect of ordinary means
Conducive to success, make destiny
Dispense with man's endeavour. Now, dare you sear
Your inmost heart, and candidly avow
Whether you have not rather wild desire
For this distinction, than security
Of its existence? whether you discern
The path to the fulfilment of your purpose
Clear as that purpose—and again, that purpose
Clear as your yearning to be singled out
For its pursuer? Dare you answer this?
Par. (After a pause.) No, I have nought to fear!
Who will may know
The secret'st workings of my soul. What though
It be so ?—if indeed the strong desire
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