So the wild rose more fresh appears
When the soft dews are flowing!
Again, the Baron fondly gaz’d;
Poor Zorietto trembled;
And Golfre watch’d her throbbing breast
Which seem’d, with weighty woes oppress’d,
And softest Love, dissembled.
The Goatherd, fourscore years had seen,
And he was sick and needy;
The Baron wore a Sword of Gold,