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Il Maledetto was moved by the beautiful earnestness of the speaker. Her ingenuous interest in the result, with the solemnity of her appeal shook his purpose. "Thou know'st not what thou say'st, lady; thou ask'st my life," he answered, after pondering in a way to give a new impulse to the dying hopes of the Doge.
O glorious Morning-Starre! O Lampe of Light! Most lively image of thy Father's face, Eternal King of Glorie, Lord of Might, Meeke Lambe of God, before all worlds behight, How can we Thee requite for all this good? Or what can prize that Thy most precious blood? Yet nought Thou ask'st in lieu of all this love, But love of us, for guerdon of Thy paine: Ay me! what can us lesse than that behove?
Youth everlasting dwells here, with fulness that never is exhausted, And with the flower at once pluckest thou the ripe golden fruit. Trust me, 'tis not a mere tale, the fountain of youth really runneth, Runneth forever. Thou ask'st, where? In the poet's sweet art!
Morva does not know what I have come here for; but if thou ask'st me the question, 'Would Morva be glad to see me? I answer 'Yes." "D'ye think that that " "Never mind what I think, come home and find out for thyself." "Sara, woman," said Gethin, bringing his fist down with a thump on the table, "take care what you are doing.
"Thou call'st Art godlike it is so, in truth, And was," replied the master to the youth, "Ere yet its secrets were applied to use Ere yet it served beleaguered Syracuse. Ask'st thou from Art but what the Art is worth? The fruit? For fruit go cultivate the Earth. He who the goddess would aspire unto Must not the goddess as the woman woo!" Trans. by BULWER.
Dry be that tear, my gentlest love, Be hush'd that struggling sigh, Nor seasons, day, nor fate shall prove More fix'd, more true than I. Hush'd be that sigh, be dry that tear, Cease boding doubt, cease anxious fear. Dry be that tear. Ask'st thou how long my love will stay, When all that's new is past; How long, ah Delia, can I say How long my life will last?
"Thou call'st art godlike it is so, in truth, And was," replied the master to the youth, "Ere yet its secrets were applied to use Ere yet it served beleaguered Syracuse: Ask'st thou from art, but what the art is worth? The fruit? for fruit go cultivate the earth. He who the goddess would aspire unto, Must not the goddess as the woman woo!"
Scarce thine eye can ope and close Ere life's dying sunset glows; Sinking sudden from its pride Into death the Lethe tide. Ask'st thou whence thy beauties rise? Boastest thou those radiant eyes? Or that cheek in roses dyed? Heavy interest in the tomb For the brief loan of the bloom, For the beauty of the day, Death the usurer, thou must pay, In the long to-morrow! Maiden!
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