 | From Sunset Ridge |  |
94
THE GOOD GUALDERALDA
By Arno, on the Tuscan side,
The matchless Gualderalda grew,
Where many a farm and meadow wide
Her father's domination knew.
The matchless Gualderalda grew,
Where many a farm and meadow wide
Her father's domination knew.
He moved in dark and sullen strength;
She grew, a lovely flower apart,
With virtues cloistered in her soul,
Like leaflets at the lily's heart.
She grew, a lovely flower apart,
With virtues cloistered in her soul,
Like leaflets at the lily's heart.
And now great news the castle stirs:
The King, in hunting, takes this way,
And of your hospitable walls
Will ask his welcome for a day.
The King, in hunting, takes this way,
And of your hospitable walls
Will ask his welcome for a day.
“Sir Count, the world accords your house
A daughter marvellously fair:
If I accept your loyal vows,
To see her face shall be my prayer.”
A daughter marvellously fair:
If I accept your loyal vows,
To see her face shall be my prayer.”
Then from her turret near the sky
Came she in blushing maidenhood;
Then first unveiled before the eye
Of eager admiration stood.
Came she in blushing maidenhood;
95
Of eager admiration stood.
“Sire, you shall touch my daughter's lips
If so your royal pleasure deign;”
Then paled, in wan and strange eclipse,
Her beauty, with a sudden pain.
If so your royal pleasure deign;”
Then paled, in wan and strange eclipse,
Her beauty, with a sudden pain.
“No man shall touch my lips,” she saith,
“Save he who claims my wedded hand:
Rather will I resign my breath,
And yield my pulses where I stand.”
“Save he who claims my wedded hand:
Rather will I resign my breath,
And yield my pulses where I stand.”
“How? dost thou mock me, froward girl?”
“Nay, count,” the wiser king replies,
“Thou wert a worse than peasant churl
Such unflecked virtue to despise.
“Nay, count,” the wiser king replies,
“Thou wert a worse than peasant churl
Such unflecked virtue to despise.
“Go, Gualderalda, fair indeed!
I'll wed thee proudly in the land:
The noblest knight that crosses steed
Shall claim thy dowry at my hand.”
I'll wed thee proudly in the land:
The noblest knight that crosses steed
Shall claim thy dowry at my hand.”
Men note not where her bones repose
In some old crypt, forgotten long;
But Dante keeps her virgin rose
Bright in the chaplet of his song.
In some old crypt, forgotten long;
But Dante keeps her virgin rose
Bright in the chaplet of his song.
| From Sunset Ridge | |