The maiden looked up at him, with the gentle light in her eyes which I had marked before now.
“If you dread frowns,” said she, laughing, “never look in your mirror, Sir Ludar; for, by my faith, you glare at me now as if I were an English poet, such as now approacheth.” We looked up and there was our gallant at our elbows.
“As the loadstone to his star, as the compass to the pole, as the river to the sea, so come I, fair tyrant of my heart. For thy sake, I even salute these thy satellites, O moon of my vision! who derive from thee their lustre.”
“Witness Sir Ludar’s countenance,” said the maiden. “But now that the sun has come on the horizon, Sir Poet, shall not we lesser lights all pale? Pray, did you catch any fish to-day?”
“Nay, mistress mine, how should the silly fish, dazzled by thy heavenly brightness, see the humble bait of a mortal?”
“I know not,” said the maiden, “but I saw one sailor, an hour ago, catch three.”
“Is it a wonder, since you watched the quivering line? Mark you, my humble friends,” said he, turning to Ludar and me. “I relieve you of your further attendance on me and this lady. I thank you, and so farewell, till we summon you further.”
“Nay, Sir Poet,” said the maiden, “if you must be gone, adieu. As for me, Sir Ludar is about to teach me the mystery of the angle, and Humphrey waits on Sir Ludar. Therefore, concern yourself not for me; I am well attended.”
“Oh,” said he, rather chapfallen, “your condescension is a lesson for angels. When the planet deigns to shine into the humble pool, shall the star not do the same? I will even abide at your side, and be gracious too.”
But his brave intention was thwarted. For a call came just then from the old nurse, which carried the maiden off to her side; while Ludar and I, receiving a summons from the captain, went forward, and so left the poet to his own devices.