Oft dower shrunk souls. But, on a day,
While yet again throughout the square,
The buyers in their noisy way,
Chaffered around the basket ware,
It chanced (I but the tale reveal,
Nor true nor false therein declare)—
It chanced that when the priest would kneel
Before the taper's flickering flame,
Sudden a little tremulous peal
From out the Virgin's altar came.
And they that heard must fain recall
The Umbrian, and the words of shame
Spoke in his pride, and therewithal
Came news how, at that very date
And hour of time was fixed his fall,
Who, of the Duke, was banned the State,
And all his goods, and lands as well,
To Holy Church were confiscate.
Such is the tale the Frati tell.
A TALE OF POLYPHEME.
"There's nothing new"—Not that I go so far
As he who also said "There's nothing true,"
Since, on the contrary, I hold there are
Surviving still a verity or two;
But, as to novelty, in my conviction,
There's nothing new,—especially in fiction.
Hence, at the outset, I make no apology,
If this my story is as old as Time,
Being, indeed, that idyll of mythology,—
The Cyclops' love,—which, somewhat varied, I'm
To tell once more, the adverse Muse permitting,
In easy rhyme, and phrases neatly fitting.
"Once on a time"—there's nothing new, I said—
It may be fifty years ago or more,
Beside a lonely posting-road that led
Seaward from Town, there used to stand of yore,
With low-built bar and old bow-window shady,
An ancient Inn, the "Dragon and the Lady."