XXXV

But now the tale is ended, and still keeps
  The stranger hidden in dusky weed;
And Nino stands, wide-eyed, as one that sleeps,
  And dimly wonders how his heart doth bleed. 
Anon he bends, yet neither moans nor weeps,
  But hangs atremble, like a broken reed;
“Ah! bitter fate, that lured and sold us so,
Poor lady mine; alas for all our woe!”

XXXVI

But even as he moans in such dark mood,
  His wandering eyes upon the goblet fall. 
Oh, dreaming heart!  Oh, strange ingratitude! 
  So to forget his lady’s lingering call,
Her parting gift, so rich, so crimson-hued,
  The lover’s draught, that shall be cure for all. 
He lifts the goblet lightly from its place,
And smiles, and rears it with his courtly grace.

XXXVII

“Oh, lady sweet, I shall not long delay: 
  This gift of thine shall bring me to thine eyes. 
Sure God will send on no unpardoned way
  The faithful soul, that at such bidding dies. 
When thou art gone, I cannot longer stay
  To brave this world with all its wrath and lies,
Where hands of stone and tongues of dragon’s breath
Have bruised mine angel to her piteous death.”

XXXVIII

And now the gleaming goblet hath scarce dyed
  His lips’ thin pallor with its deathly red,
When Nino starts in wonder, fearful-eyed,
  For, lo! the stranger with outstretched head
Springs at his face one soft and sudden stride,
  And from his hand the deadly cup hath sped,
Dashed to the ground, and all its seeded store
Runs out like blood upon the marble floor.

XXXIX

“Oh, Nino, my sweet Nino! speak to me,
  Nor stand so strange, nor look so deathly pale. 
’Twas all to prove thy heart’s dear constancy
  I brought that cup and told that piteous tale. 
Ah! chains and cells and cruel treachery
  Are weak indeed when women’s hearts assail. 
Art angry, Nino?” ’Tis no monk that cries,
But sweet Leonora with her love-lit eyes.

XL

She dashes from her brow the pented hood;
  The dusky robe falls rustling to her feet;
And there she stands, as aye in dreams she stood. 
  Ah, Nino, see!  Sure man did never meet
So warm a flower from such a sombre bud,
  So trembling fair, so wan, so pallid sweet. 
Aye, Nino, down like saint upon thy knee,
And soothe her hands with kisses warm and free.

XLI

And now with broken laughter on her lips,
  And now with moans remembering of her care,
She weeps, and smiles, and like a child she slips
  Her lily fingers through his curly hair,
The while her head with all it’s sweet she dips,
  Close to his ear, to soothe and murmur there;
“Oh, Nino, I was hid so long from thee,
That much I doubted what thy love might be.