But since thy wish be great to hear us tell
How we lost all but love, tell it I will,
As well as tears will let me. It befel,
One day, we read how Lancelot gazed his fill
At her he loved, and what his lady said.
We were alone, thinking of nothing ill.
Oft were our eyes suspended as we read,
And in our cheeks the colour went and came;
Yet one sole passage struck resistance dead.
'Twas where the lover, moth-like in his flame,
Drawn by her sweet smile, kiss'd it. O then, he
Whose lot and mine are now for aye the same,
All in a tremble, on the mouth kiss'd me.
The book did all. Our hearts within us burn'd
Through that alone. That day no more read we."
While thus one spoke, the other spirit mourn'd
With wail so woful, that at his remorse
I felt as though I should have died. I turned
Stone-stiff; and to the ground fell like a corse.]
No. II.