; But the full place rejects the invading tide The space For in this manner is the square set out : The sides, path-deep, are crowded round about, And faced with guards, who keep the road entire ; And opposite to these a brilliant quire Of knights and ladies hold the central spot, Seated in groups upon a grassy plot; The seats with boughs are shaded from above Of early trees transplanted from a grove, And in the midst, fresh whistling through the scene, A lightsome fountain starts from out the green, Clear and compact, till, at its height o'er-run, It shakes its loosening silver in the sun. There, talking with the ladies, you may see, As in some nest of faery poetry, Some of the finest warriors of the court,- And Azo, and Obizo, and the grace Of frank Esmeriald with his open face, And Felix the Fine Arm, and him who well Besides a host of spirits, nursed in glory, Fit for sweet woman's love and for the poet's story. There too, in thickest of the bright-eyed throng, Stands the young father of Italian song, Guy Cavalcanti, of a knightly race; The poet looks out in his earnest face; He with the pheasant's plume-there-bending now; Another start of trumpets, with reply; And o'er the gate a sudden canopy Of snowy white disparts its draperied shade, And sits;-the courtiers fall on either side; But every look is fixed upon the bride, Who pensive comes at first, and hardly hears Till, as she views the countless gaze below, And round she looks and breathes, as best befits the day. What need I tell of lovely lips and eyes, A perfect waist, and bosom's balmy rise? There's not in all that crowd a gallant being, It would not fire to twice of what he is, While thus with tip-toe looks the people gaze, Another shout the neighb'ring quarters raise : The train are in the town, and gathering near, With noise of cavalry, and trumpets clear; A princely music, unbedinned with drums; The mighty brass seems opening as it comes; And now it fills, and now it shakes the air, And now it bursts into the sounding square; At which the crowd with such a shout rejoice, Each thinks he's deafen'd with his neighbour's voice. Then, with a long-drawn breath, the clangours die; The palace trumpets give a last reply, And clattering hoofs succeed, with stately stir Of snortings proud and clinking furniture. It seems as if the harnessed war were near; But in their garb of the train appear, peace Their swords alone reserved, but idly hung, And the chains freed by which their shields were slung. First come the trumpeters, clad all in white To the steed's motion yielding as they go, The heralds next appear, in vests attired *The arms of the Malatesta family. |