XXII.
“If thou wert lifeless dust,
My toils were o’er:
I’d be the yawning grave,
Thee in my arms to have
For evermore!”
XXIII.
“Now know I thou art true,
Leave me not yet!
Come, singer fair, and take,
And wear it for my sake,
This annulet!”
XXIV.
“Look up, my blessed one,
The heaven scan!
Since the stars came to see
Thee, O my Magali,
They are turned wan!”
A silence fell, the sweet song being ended:
Only with the last moving notes had blended
The voices of the rest. Their heads were drooping,
As they before the melody were stooping,
Like slender reeds that lean and sway for ever
Before the flowing eddies of a river.
Till Noro said, “Now is the air serene;
And here the mowers come, their scythes to clean
Beside the vivary brook. Mirèio, dear,
Bring us a few St. John’s Day apples here.
And we will add a little new-made cheese,
And take our lunch beneath the lotus-trees.”