Legends of Florence: Collected from the People, First Series

by Charles Godfrey Leland

The Beautiful Witch.

A pretty witch was bathing
In the sea one summer day;
There came a ship with pirates,
Who carried her away.

The ship due course was keeping
On the waves as they rose and broke;
The lovely lady, weeping,
Thus to the captain spoke:

“O Signor Capitano!
O captain of the sea!
I’ll give you a hundred ducats
If you will set me free.”

“I will not take a hundred,
You’re worth much more, you know;
I will sell you to the Sultan
For a hundred gold sequins;
You set yourself far too low.”

“You will not take a hundred—
Oh well! then let them be,
But I have a faithful lover,
Who, as you may discover,
Will never abandon me.”

Upon the windlass sitting,
The lady began to sing:
“Oh, come to me, my lover!”
From afar a breeze just rising
In the rigging began to ring.

Louder and ever louder
The wind began to blow:
Said the captain, “I think your lover
Is the squall which is coming over,
Or the devil who has us in tow.”

Stronger and ever stronger
The tempest roared and rang,
“There are rocks ahead and the wind dead aft,
Thank you, my love,” the lady laughed;
And loud to the wind she sang.

“Oh, go with your cursèd lover,
To the devil to sing for me!”
Thus cried the angry rover,
And threw the lady over
Into the raging sea.

But changing to a seagull,
Over the waves she flew:
“Oh captain, captain mine,” sung she,
“You will not swing on the gallows-tree,
For you shall drown in the foaming sea—
Oh captain, for ever adieu!”

I must in honesty admit that this my début as an Italian poet was not noticed in any of the reviews—possibly because I did not send it to them—and there were no indications that anybody considered that a new Dante had arisen in the land. It is true, as Marietta told me with much delight, that the printer, or his foreman, had declared it was a very good song indeed; but then he was an interested party. And Marietta also kindly praised it to the skies (after she had corrected it); but then Marietta was herself a far better poet than I can ever hope to be, and could afford to be generous.

The reader will pardon me if I avail myself of the opportunity to give another Italian ballad which I wrote on a theme which I also picked up in Florence.

Il Giardino d’Amore, o La Figlia del Re, e il Contino Stregone.

Era un giovine Contino,
Di tutto il paese il fior,
Aveva un bel giardino,
Il bel giardin d’amor.

“Chi batte alla mia porta?”
Domanda il bel Contin’.
“Son la figlia del re,
Vo vedere il tuo giardin’?”

“Entra pur nel mio giardino,
O bella figlia del re,
Purchè tu non tocchi niente,
A ciò che dentro v’e!”

Entrata nel giardino,
La bella figlia del re,
Non vidde colà niente,
Che fiori e foglie.

Le foglie eran d’argento,
Di oro ogni fior,
I frutti eran’ gemmi,
Nel bel giardin d’amor.

Sedi sulla panchetta,
Sotto il frascame la;
Che vissi nel sentiero?
Un bell’ anello c’era.

Non seppe che il Contino,
Fu stregone appostator;
Non seppe che l’anello,
Era lo stesso signor.

Ella ando nel suo letto,
Con l’anello nella man’,
Non ’n sospetto che la trasse
Sul dito un giovàn.

Svegliato da un bacino,
Tra la mezzanotte e tre;
Si trovò il bel Contino
Accanto alla figlia del re.

Credo che fu ben contenta
Con la cosa come era;
Come molte donne sarebbero
Con tal stregoneria.

Portar dei gioielli,
A de’ sposi il fior;
Il di un di-amante,
La notte un bel signor.

D’avere un bel diamante
Piace ognuno, si;
Ma meglio e un amante
Quando non ha più il di.

Chi scrisse questa canzone
Un gran Contino è,
Anch ’egli il stregone
Ch’ amava la figlia del re.

The Garden of Love, or The King’s Daughter and the Wizard Count.

There was a Count of high degree,
All others far above;
He had a garden fair to see,
’Twas called the Garden of Love.

“Now who is knocking at my gate?
Who is it that makes so free?”
“Oh, I am the daughter of the king,
And your garden I would see!”

“Oh, come into my garden,
Fair daughter of the king!
Look well at all that’s growing,
But touch not anything!”

She entered in the garden,
The princess young and fair,
She looked it all well over,
Yet nothing but trees were there.

But every leaf was of silver,
The flowers of gold; in the grove
The fruits were gems and jewels
In the beautiful Garden of Love.

She sat beneath the foliage,
The daughter of the king;
What shone in the path before her?
A beautiful diamond ring!

She knew not that the County
Was a wizard wondrous wise;
She did not know that the diamond
Was the wizard in disguise.

And when at night, fast sleeping,
The diamond ring she wore,
She never dreamed that her finger
Was bearing a young signor.

Awakened by his kisses
As she heard the midnight ring,
There was the handsome wizard
By the daughter of the king.

I ween she was well contented,
As many dames would be,
If they could be enchanted
With just such sorcery.

To have not only a jewel,
But a husband, which is more,
All day a dazzling diamond,
And by night a bright signor!

Who was it wrote this ballad
About this loving pair?
He was the Count and wizard
Who won the princess fair.

STORIES OF SAN MINIATO

“The picturesque height of San Miniato, now the great cemetery of the city which dominates the Arno from the south, has an especial religious and saintly interest. The grand Basilica, with its glittering ancient mosaic, shines amid the cypresses against the sky, and whether it gleams in the sunlight against the blue, or is cut in black on the primrose sky of twilight, it is equally imposing.”—“Echoes of Old Florence,” by Leader Scott.