How Lisa Loved the King

Nor will we ever arm ourselves for fight,
Whether for struggle dire, or brief delight
Of warlike feigning, but we first will take
The colors you ordain, and for your sake
Charge the more bravely where your emblem is:
Nor will we claim from you an added bliss
To our sweet thoughts of you save one sole kiss.
But there still rests the outward honor meet
To mark your worthiness; and we entreat
That you will turn your ear to proffered vows
Of one who loves you, and would be your spouse
We must not wrong yourself and Sicily
By letting all your blooming years pass by
Unmated: you will give the world its due
From beauteous maiden, and become a matron true.”

Then Lisa, wrapt in virgin wonderment
At her ambitious love’s complete content,
Which left no further good for her to seek
Than love’s obedience, said, with accent meek,—
“Monsignor, I know well that were it known
To all the world how high my love had flown,
There would be few who would not deem me mad,
Or say my mind the falsest image had
Of my condition and your loftiness.
But Heaven has seen that for no moment’s space
Have I forgotten you to be the king,
Or me myself to be a lowly thing—
A little lark, enamoured of the sky,
That soared to sing, to break its breast, and die.
But, as you better know than I, the heart
In choosing chooseth not its own desert,
But that great merit which attracteth it:
’Tis law, I struggled, but I must submit,
And having seen a worth all worth above,
I loved you, love you, and shall always love.
But that doth mean, my will is ever yours,
Not only when your will my good insures,
But if it wrought me what the world calls harm:
Fire, wounds, would wear from your dear will a charm.
That you will be my knight is full content,
And for that kiss,—I pray, first, for the queen’s consent.”
Her answer, given with such firm gentleness,
Pleased the queen well, and made her hold no less
Of Lisa’s merit than the king had held.
And so, all cloudy threats of grief dispelled,
There was betrothal made that very morn
’Twixt Perdicone, youthful, brave, well-born,
And Lisa whom he loved; she loving well
The lot that from obedience befell.
The queen a rare betrothal ring on each
Bestowed, and other gems, with gracious speech.
And, that no joy might lack, the king, who knew
The youth was poor, gave him rich Ceffalù
And Cataletta,—large and fruitful lands,—
Adding much promise when he joined their hands.
At last he said to Lisa, with an air
Gallant yet noble, “Now we claim our share
From your sweet love, a share which is not small;
For in the sacrament one crumb is all.”
Then, taking her small face his hands between,
He kissed her on the brow with kiss serene,—
Fit seal to that pure vision her young soul had seen.

And many witnessed that King Pedro kept
His royal promise.  Perdicone stept
To many honors honorably won,
Living with Lisa in true union.
Throughout his life, the king still took delight
To call himself fair Lisa’s faithful knight;
And never wore in field or tournament
A scarf or emblem, save by Lisa sent.
Such deeds made subjects loyal in that land;
They joyed that one so worthy to command,
So chivalrous and gentle, had become
The king of Sicily, and filled the room
Of Frenchmen, who abused the Church’s trust,
Till, in a righteous vengeance on their lust,
Messina rose, with God, and with the dagger’s thrust.

L’ENVOI.

Reader, this story pleased me long ago
In the bright pages of Boccaccio;
And where the author of a good we know,
Let us not fail to pay the grateful thanks we owe.