XXXIX.
If friend or foe, she nothing comprehends,
(So hope and fear her doubting bosom tear)
And that adventure’s issue mute attends,
Nor even with a sigh disturbs the air.
The cavalier upon the bank descends;
And sits so motionless, so lost in care,
(His visage propt upon his arm) to sight
Changed into senseless stone appeared the knight.
XL.
Pensive, above an hour, with drooping head,
He rested mute, ere he began his moan;
And then his piteous tale of sorrow said,
Lamenting in so soft and sweet a tone,
He in a tiger’s breast had pity bred,
Or with his mournful wailings rent a stone.
And so he sighed and wept; like rivers flowed
His tears, his bosom like an Ætna glowed.
XLI.
“Thought which now makes me burn, now freeze with hate,
“Which gnaws my heart and rankles at its root!
“What’s left to me,” he said, “arrived too late,
“While one more favoured bears away the fruit?
“Bare words and looks scarce cheered my hopeless state,
“And the prime spoils reward another’s suit.
“Then since for me nor fruit nor blossom hangs,
“Why should I longer pine in hopeless pangs?
