Stories in Verse By Leigh Hunt. Now First Collected. With Illustrations |
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| I. | CANTO I. THE COMING TO FETCH THE BRIDE FROM RAVENNA. |
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| III. |
| IV. |
 | Stories in Verse |  |
CANTO I. THE COMING TO FETCH THE BRIDE FROM RAVENNA.
The sun is up, and 'tis a morn of May
Round old Ravenna's clear-shown towers and bay,
A morn, the loveliest which the year has seen,
Last of the spring, yet fresh with all its green;
For a warm eve, and gentle rains at night,
Have left a sparkling welcome for the light,
And there's a crystal clearness all about;
The leaves are sharp, the distant hills look out;
A balmy briskness comes upon the breeze;
The smoke goes dancing from the cottage trees;
And when you listen, you may hear a coil
Of bubbling springs about the grassier soil;
And all the scene in short,—sky, earth, and sea,
Breathes like a bright-eyed face, that laughs out openly.
Round old Ravenna's clear-shown towers and bay,
A morn, the loveliest which the year has seen,
Last of the spring, yet fresh with all its green;
For a warm eve, and gentle rains at night,
Have left a sparkling welcome for the light,
And there's a crystal clearness all about;
The leaves are sharp, the distant hills look out;
A balmy briskness comes upon the breeze;
The smoke goes dancing from the cottage trees;
And when you listen, you may hear a coil
Of bubbling springs about the grassier soil;
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Breathes like a bright-eyed face, that laughs out openly.
'Tis nature, full of spirits, waked and springing:—
The birds to the delightful time are singing,
Darting with freaks and snatches up and down,
As though they shar'd the transport in the town;
While happy faces, striking through the green
Of leafy roads, at every turn are seen;
And the far ships, lifting their sails of white
Like joyful hands, come up with scatter'd light;
Come gleaming up, true to the wish'd-for day,
And chase the whistling brine, and swirl into the bay.
The birds to the delightful time are singing,
Darting with freaks and snatches up and down,
As though they shar'd the transport in the town;
While happy faces, striking through the green
Of leafy roads, at every turn are seen;
And the far ships, lifting their sails of white
Like joyful hands, come up with scatter'd light;
Come gleaming up, true to the wish'd-for day,
And chase the whistling brine, and swirl into the bay.
And well may all who can, conspire to come
By field, by forest, and the bright sea-foam,
Where peace returning, and processions rare,
Princes, and donatives, and faces fair,
And to crown all, a marriage in May-weather
Are summonses to bring blithe souls together:
For on this great glad day, Ravenna's pride,
The daughter of their prince, becomes a bride,
A bride, to ransom an exhausted land:
And he, whose victories have obtain'd her hand,
Has taken with the dawn, so flies report,
His promis'd journey to the expecting court,
With hasting pomp, and squires of high degree,
The bold Giovanni, lord of Rimini.
By field, by forest, and the bright sea-foam,
Where peace returning, and processions rare,
Princes, and donatives, and faces fair,
And to crown all, a marriage in May-weather
Are summonses to bring blithe souls together:
For on this great glad day, Ravenna's pride,
The daughter of their prince, becomes a bride,
A bride, to ransom an exhausted land:
And he, whose victories have obtain'd her hand,
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His promis'd journey to the expecting court,
With hasting pomp, and squires of high degree,
The bold Giovanni, lord of Rimini.
Already in the streets the stir grows loud
Of joy increasing and a bustling crowd.
With feet and voice the gathering hum contends,
Yearns the deep talk, the ready laugh ascends;
Callings, and clapping doors, and curs unite,
And shouts from mere exuberance of delight,
And armed bands, making important way,
Gallant and grave, the lords of holiday,
And nodding neighbours, greeting as they run,
And pilgrims, chanting in the morning sun.
With heav'd-out tapestry the windows glow,
By lovely faces brought, that come and go;
Till, the work smooth'd, and all the street attir'd,
They take their seats, with upward gaze admir'd;
Some looking down, some forwards or aside,
Some re-adjusting tresses newly tied,
Some turning a trim waist, or o'er the flow
Of crimson cloths hanging a hand of snow;
But all with smiles prepar'd, and garlands green,
And all in fluttering talk, impatient for the scene.
Of joy increasing and a bustling crowd.
With feet and voice the gathering hum contends,
Yearns the deep talk, the ready laugh ascends;
Callings, and clapping doors, and curs unite,
And shouts from mere exuberance of delight,
And armed bands, making important way,
Gallant and grave, the lords of holiday,
And nodding neighbours, greeting as they run,
And pilgrims, chanting in the morning sun.
With heav'd-out tapestry the windows glow,
By lovely faces brought, that come and go;
Till, the work smooth'd, and all the street attir'd,
They take their seats, with upward gaze admir'd;
Some looking down, some forwards or aside,
Some re-adjusting tresses newly tied,
Some turning a trim waist, or o'er the flow
Of crimson cloths hanging a hand of snow;
But all with smiles prepar'd, and garlands green,
And all in fluttering talk, impatient for the scene.
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And hark! the approaching trumpets, with a start
On the smooth wind come dancing to the heart.
A moment's hush succeeds; and from the walls,
Firm and at once, a silver answer calls.
Then press the crowd; and all who best can strive
In shuffling struggle, tow'rd the palace drive,
Where baluster'd and broad, of marble fair,
Its portico commands the public square;
For there Duke Guido is to hold his state
With his fair daughter, seated o'er the gate:—
But the full place rejects the invading tide;
And after a rude heave from side to side,
With angry faces turn'd, and feet regain'd,
The peaceful press with order is maintain'd,
Leaving the foot-ways only for the crowd,
The lordly space within for the procession proud.
On the smooth wind come dancing to the heart.
A moment's hush succeeds; and from the walls,
Firm and at once, a silver answer calls.
Then press the crowd; and all who best can strive
In shuffling struggle, tow'rd the palace drive,
Where baluster'd and broad, of marble fair,
Its portico commands the public square;
For there Duke Guido is to hold his state
With his fair daughter, seated o'er the gate:—
But the full place rejects the invading tide;
And after a rude heave from side to side,
With angry faces turn'd, and feet regain'd,
The peaceful press with order is maintain'd,
Leaving the foot-ways only for the crowd,
The lordly space within for the procession proud.
For in this manner is the square set out:—
The sides are nearly fill'd all round about,
And faced with guards, who keep the road entire;
While, opposite the ducal seat, a quire
Of knights and ladies hold one houseless spot,
Seated in groups upon a grassy plot;
The seats with boughs are shaded from above
Of bays and roses, trees of wit and love;
And in the midst, fresh whistling through the scene,
A lightsome fountain starts from out the green,
Clear and compact, till, at its height o'er-run,
It shakes its loosening silver in the sun.
The sides are nearly fill'd all round about,
And faced with guards, who keep the road entire;
While, opposite the ducal seat, a quire
Of knights and ladies hold one houseless spot,
Seated in groups upon a grassy plot;
The seats with boughs are shaded from above
Of bays and roses, trees of wit and love;
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A lightsome fountain starts from out the green,
Clear and compact, till, at its height o'er-run,
It shakes its loosening silver in the sun.
There, talking with the ladies, you may see,
As in some nest of faery poetry,
Some of the finest warriors of the court,—
Baptist, and Hugo of the stately port,
And Guelfo, and Ridolfo, and the flower
Of jousters, Galeas of the Sylvan Tower,
And Felix the Fine Arm, and him who well
Repaid the Black Band robbers, Lionel,
With more that have pluck'd beards of Turk and Greek,
And made the close Venetian lower his sails, and speak.
As in some nest of faery poetry,
Some of the finest warriors of the court,—
Baptist, and Hugo of the stately port,
And Guelfo, and Ridolfo, and the flower
Of jousters, Galeas of the Sylvan Tower,
And Felix the Fine Arm, and him who well
Repaid the Black Band robbers, Lionel,
With more that have pluck'd beards of Turk and Greek,
And made the close Venetian lower his sails, and speak.
There too, in thickest of the bright-eyed throng,
Stands a young father of Italian song,
Guy Cavalcanti, of a knightly race;
The poet looks out in his earnest face;
He with the pheasant's plume—there—bending now;
Something he speaks around him with a bow,
And all the listening looks, with nods and flushes,
Break round him into smiles and grateful blushes.
Stands a young father of Italian song,
Guy Cavalcanti, of a knightly race;
The poet looks out in his earnest face;
He with the pheasant's plume—there—bending now;
Something he speaks around him with a bow,
And all the listening looks, with nods and flushes,
Break round him into smiles and grateful blushes.
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Another start of trumpets, with reply,
And o'er the gate a crimson canopy
Opens to right and left its flowing shade,
And Guido issues with the princely maid,
And sits;—the courtiers fall on either side;
But every look is fix'd upon the bride,
Who pensive comes at first, and hardly hears
The enormous shout that springs as she appears;
Till, as she views the countless gaze below,
And faces that with grateful homage glow,
A home to leave, and husband yet to see,
Fade in the warmth of that great charity;
And hard it is, she thinks, to have no will;
But not to bless these thousands, harder still.
With that, a keen and quivering glance of tears
Scarce moves her patient mouth, and disappears;
A smile is underneath, and breaks away,
And round she looks and breathes, as best befits the day.
And o'er the gate a crimson canopy
Opens to right and left its flowing shade,
And Guido issues with the princely maid,
And sits;—the courtiers fall on either side;
But every look is fix'd upon the bride,
Who pensive comes at first, and hardly hears
The enormous shout that springs as she appears;
Till, as she views the countless gaze below,
And faces that with grateful homage glow,
A home to leave, and husband yet to see,
Fade in the warmth of that great charity;
And hard it is, she thinks, to have no will;
But not to bless these thousands, harder still.
With that, a keen and quivering glance of tears
Scarce moves her patient mouth, and disappears;
A smile is underneath, and breaks away,
And round she looks and breathes, as best befits the day.
What need I tell of lovely lips and eyes,
Sweet natural waist, and bosom's balmy rise,
The white dress orange-mantled, or the curls
Bedding an airy coronet of pearls?
Let each man fancy, looking down, the brow
He loves the best, and think he sees it now.
The women dote on the sweet dress; the men
Dote on the face, and gaze, and gaze again.
Sweet natural waist, and bosom's balmy rise,
The white dress orange-mantled, or the curls
Bedding an airy coronet of pearls?
Let each man fancy, looking down, the brow
He loves the best, and think he sees it now.
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Dote on the face, and gaze, and gaze again.
But now comes something to dispute the gaze,
For a new shout the neighb'ring quarters raise:
The train are in the town, and gathering near
With noise of cavalry, and trumpets clear,
A princely music, unbedinn'd with drums;
The mighty brass seems opening as it comes;
And now it fills, and now it shakes the air,
And now it bursts into the sounding square;
At which the crowd with such a shout rejoice,
Each thinks he's deafen'd with his neighbour's voice.
Then, with a long-drawn breath, the clangours die;
The palace trumpets give a last reply,
And clustering hoofs succeed, with stately stir
Of snortings proud and clinking furniture,
The most majestic sound of human will:—
Nought else is heard sometime, the people are so still.
For a new shout the neighb'ring quarters raise:
The train are in the town, and gathering near
With noise of cavalry, and trumpets clear,
A princely music, unbedinn'd with drums;
The mighty brass seems opening as it comes;
And now it fills, and now it shakes the air,
And now it bursts into the sounding square;
At which the crowd with such a shout rejoice,
Each thinks he's deafen'd with his neighbour's voice.
Then, with a long-drawn breath, the clangours die;
The palace trumpets give a last reply,
And clustering hoofs succeed, with stately stir
Of snortings proud and clinking furniture,
The most majestic sound of human will:—
Nought else is heard sometime, the people are so still.
First come the trumpeters, clad all in white
Except the breast, which wears a scutcheon bright.
By four and four they ride, on horses grey;
And as they sit along their easy way,
To the steed's motion yielding as they go,
Each plants his trumpet on his saddle-bow.
Except the breast, which wears a scutcheon bright.
By four and four they ride, on horses grey;
And as they sit along their easy way,
To the steed's motion yielding as they go,
Each plants his trumpet on his saddle-bow.
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The heralds next appear, in vests attir'd
Of stiffening gold with radiant colours fir'd;
And then the pursuivants, who wait on these,
All dress'd in painted richness to the knees:
Each rides a dappled horse, and bears a shield,
Charg'd with three heads upon a golden field.
Of stiffening gold with radiant colours fir'd;
And then the pursuivants, who wait on these,
All dress'd in painted richness to the knees:
Each rides a dappled horse, and bears a shield,
Charg'd with three heads upon a golden field.
Twelve ranks of squires come after, twelve in one,
With forked pennons lifted in the sun,
Which tell, as they look backward in the wind,
The bearings of the knights that ride behind.
Their steeds are ruddy bay; and every squire
His master's colour shows in his attire.
With forked pennons lifted in the sun,
Which tell, as they look backward in the wind,
The bearings of the knights that ride behind.
Their steeds are ruddy bay; and every squire
His master's colour shows in his attire.
These past, and at a lordly distance, come
The knights themselves, and fill the quickening hum,
The flower of Rimini. Apart they ride,
Six in a row, and with a various pride;
But all as fresh as fancy could desire,
All shapes of gallantry on steeds of fire.
The knights themselves, and fill the quickening hum,
The flower of Rimini. Apart they ride,
Six in a row, and with a various pride;
But all as fresh as fancy could desire,
All shapes of gallantry on steeds of fire.
Differing in colours is the knights' array,
The horses, black and chesnut, roan and bay;—
The horsemen, crimson vested, purple, and white,—
All but the scarlet cloak for every knight,
Which, thrown apart, and hanging loose behind,
Rests on the steed, and ruffles in the wind.
Their caps of velvet have a lightsome fit,
Each with a dancing feather sweeping it,
And on its border hangs a jewel, gleaming;—
But, what is of the most accomplish'd seeming,
All wear memorials of their ladies' love,—
A ribbon, or a scarf, or silken glove,
Some tied about the arm, some at the breast,
Some, with a drag, dangling from the cap's crest.
The horses, black and chesnut, roan and bay;—
The horsemen, crimson vested, purple, and white,—
All but the scarlet cloak for every knight,
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Rests on the steed, and ruffles in the wind.
Their caps of velvet have a lightsome fit,
Each with a dancing feather sweeping it,
And on its border hangs a jewel, gleaming;—
But, what is of the most accomplish'd seeming,
All wear memorials of their ladies' love,—
A ribbon, or a scarf, or silken glove,
Some tied about the arm, some at the breast,
Some, with a drag, dangling from the cap's crest.
A suitable attire the horses show;
The polish'd bits keep wrangling as they go:
The ruddy bridles burn against the sun;
And the rich horse-cloths, ample every one,
Which, from the saddle-bow, dress half the steed,
Are some of them all thick with golden thread:
Others have spots, on grounds of different hue,
As burning stars upon a cloth of blue;
Or purple smearings, with a velvet light,
Rich from the glary yellow thickening bright;
Or a spring green, powdered with April posies;
Or flush vermilion, set with silver roses:
But all go sweeping back, and seem to dress
The forward march with loitering stateliness.
The polish'd bits keep wrangling as they go:
The ruddy bridles burn against the sun;
And the rich horse-cloths, ample every one,
Which, from the saddle-bow, dress half the steed,
Are some of them all thick with golden thread:
Others have spots, on grounds of different hue,
As burning stars upon a cloth of blue;
Or purple smearings, with a velvet light,
Rich from the glary yellow thickening bright;
Or a spring green, powdered with April posies;
Or flush vermilion, set with silver roses:
But all go sweeping back, and seem to dress
The forward march with loitering stateliness.
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With various earnestness the crowd admire
Horsemen and horse, the motion and the attire.
Some watch, as they go by, the riders' faces
Looking composure, and their knightly graces;
The life, the carelessness, the sudden heed;
The body curving to the rearing steed;
The patting hand, that best persuades the check,
And makes the quarrel up with a proud neck;
The thigh broad-press'd, the spanning palm upon it,
And the jerk'd feather flowing in the bonnet.
Horsemen and horse, the motion and the attire.
Some watch, as they go by, the riders' faces
Looking composure, and their knightly graces;
The life, the carelessness, the sudden heed;
The body curving to the rearing steed;
The patting hand, that best persuades the check,
And makes the quarrel up with a proud neck;
The thigh broad-press'd, the spanning palm upon it,
And the jerk'd feather flowing in the bonnet.
Others the horses and their pride explore,
Their jauntiness behind and strength before;
The flowing back, firm chest, and fetlocks clean;
The branching veins ridging the glossy lean;
The mane hung sleekly; the projecting eye
That seems half thinking as it glances by;
The finish'd head, in its compactness free,
Small, and o'erarching to the lifted knee;
The start and snatch, as if they felt the comb,
With mouths that fling about the creamy foam;
The snorting turbulence, the nod, the champing,
The shift, the tossing, and the fiery tramping.
Their jauntiness behind and strength before;
The flowing back, firm chest, and fetlocks clean;
The branching veins ridging the glossy lean;
The mane hung sleekly; the projecting eye
That seems half thinking as it glances by;
The finish'd head, in its compactness free,
Small, and o'erarching to the lifted knee;
The start and snatch, as if they felt the comb,
With mouths that fling about the creamy foam;
The snorting turbulence, the nod, the champing,
The shift, the tossing, and the fiery tramping.
And now the Princess, pale and with fix'd eye,
Perceives the last of those precursors nigh,
Each rank uncovering, as they pass in state,
Both to the courtly fountain and the gate;
And then a second interval succeeds
Of stately length, and then a troop of steeds
Milkwhite and unattir'd, Arabian bred,
Each by a blooming boy lightsomely led:
They too themselves seem young, and meet the sight
With freshness, after all those colours bright:
In every limb is seen their faultless race,
A fire well temper'd, and a free-left grace.
These for a princely present are divin'd,
And show the giver is not far behind.
Perceives the last of those precursors nigh,
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Both to the courtly fountain and the gate;
And then a second interval succeeds
Of stately length, and then a troop of steeds
Milkwhite and unattir'd, Arabian bred,
Each by a blooming boy lightsomely led:
They too themselves seem young, and meet the sight
With freshness, after all those colours bright:
In every limb is seen their faultless race,
A fire well temper'd, and a free-left grace.
These for a princely present are divin'd,
And show the giver is not far behind.
The talk increases now, and now advance,
Space after space, with many a sprightly prance,
The pages of the court, in rows of three;
Of white and crimson is their livery.
Space after space,—and still the train appear,—
A fervid whisper fills the general ear—
Ah—yes—no—'tis not he—but 'tis the squires
Who go before him when his pomp requires;
And now his huntsman shows the lessening train,
Now the squire-carver, and the chamberlain,—
And now his banner comes, and now his shield
Borne by the squire that waits him to the field,—
And then an interval,—a lordly space;—
A pin-drop silence strikes o'er all the place;
The princess, from a distance, scarcely knows
Which way to look; her colour comes and goes,
And, with an impulse and affection free,
She lays her hand upon her father's knee,
Who looks upon her with a labour'd smile,
Gathering it up into his own the while,
When some one's voice, as if it knew not how
To check itself, exclaims, “The prince! now—now!”
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 echoing walls and peopled roofs about.
Space after space, with many a sprightly prance,
The pages of the court, in rows of three;
Of white and crimson is their livery.
Space after space,—and still the train appear,—
A fervid whisper fills the general ear—
Ah—yes—no—'tis not he—but 'tis the squires
Who go before him when his pomp requires;
And now his huntsman shows the lessening train,
Now the squire-carver, and the chamberlain,—
And now his banner comes, and now his shield
Borne by the squire that waits him to the field,—
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A pin-drop silence strikes o'er all the place;
The princess, from a distance, scarcely knows
Which way to look; her colour comes and goes,
And, with an impulse and affection free,
She lays her hand upon her father's knee,
Who looks upon her with a labour'd smile,
Gathering it up into his own the while,
When some one's voice, as if it knew not how
To check itself, exclaims, “The prince! now—now!”
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 echoing walls and peopled roofs about.
Never was nobler finish of fine sight;
'Twas like the coming of a shape of light;
And many a 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.
'Twas like the coming of a shape of light;
And many a 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,
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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,
Moves as he passes,—as he bends him, bends,—
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 heap'd with strength, and turn'd with elegance;
But above all, so meaning is his look,
As easy to be read 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
Vex'd 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.
The crowd, and loves his bravery as he goes,—
But on his shape the gentler sight attends,
Moves as he passes,—as he bends him, bends,—
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 heap'd with strength, and turn'd with elegance;
But above all, so meaning is his look,
As easy to be read 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
Vex'd 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;
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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 were hardly call'd compelling.”
Just then, the stranger, looking tow'rd the bowers,
Where half the court sat intermix'd with flowers,
Beckons a page, and loos'ning from its hold
A princely jewel with its chain of gold,
Sends it, in token he had lov'd him long,
To the young father of Italian song:
The youth, all thanks and bliss, with lowly grace
Bending his lifted eyes and blushing face,
Looks homage to his great new friend, who bows
With cordial haste, for now he nears the sovereign's house.
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 were hardly call'd compelling.”
Just then, the stranger, looking tow'rd the bowers,
Where half the court sat intermix'd with flowers,
Beckons a page, and loos'ning from its hold
A princely jewel with its chain of gold,
Sends it, in token he had lov'd him long,
To the young father of Italian song:
The youth, all thanks and bliss, with lowly grace
Bending his lifted eyes and blushing face,
Looks homage to his great new friend, who bows
With cordial haste, for now he nears the sovereign's house.
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This charms all sorrow from the destin'd 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 touch'd respect, and gazes, and goes by.
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 touch'd respect, and gazes, and goes by.
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