Constance and Martuccio
And they must part! To Barbary
With freighted ships Martuccio,
To win what treasure there may be,
To fight and spoil the paynim foe.
To half-forget his lady's eyes
In traffic of rare merchandise,
While she remains and waits—'Tis harder so.
"Take comfort," says Martuccio.
"Think what delight shall ours be soon
When I return, as now I go . . .
And is not Love so large a boon
That lovers losing happiness
Let slip a thing so vastly less.
As men in sunlight think not on the moon ? "
He ceased. With grief he dared not tell.
He called her "Love," he called her "Bride,"
Gave one long kiss, one brief farewell . . .
She fell against the fountain-side
And lay awhile there, moaning low,
"Martuccio! Ah, Martuccio!"
With passionate eyes that weep not, strained and wide.
And all the days and half the nights
She sat upon the fountain-stair,
Till brooding on her lost delights
Made loneliness grow lonelier there.
If other maidens came her way
They ceased their song and hushed their play.
And with bowed heads went on and prayed for her.
Until a year had passed and fled.
The world again in flower with spring
Made even Constance raise her head.
Made even Constance smile and sing;
And in that May there came a man
Weary and travel-worn and wan.
As one returned from perilous wandering.
219
