Not long ago,

         On my return from Naples, I became

         The witness of a very touching story,

         Which ties of friendship almost make my own

         Were I not fearful its recital might

         Fatigue your majesty —

                     Have I a choice?

         The princess is not to be lightly balked.

         Proceed. I too, sir, love a story dearly.

         Two noble houses in Mirandola,

         Weary of jealousies and deadly feuds,

         Transmitted down from Guelphs and Ghibellines,

         Through centuries of hate, from sire to son,

         Resolved to ratify a lasting peace

         By the sweet ministry of nuptial ties.

         Fernando, nephew of the great Pietro,

         And fair Matilda, old Colonna's child,

         Were chosen to cement this holy bond.

         Nature had never for each other formed

         Two fairer hearts. And never had the world

         Approved a wiser or a happier choice.

         Still had the youth adored his lovely bride

         In the dull limner's portraiture alone.

         How thrilled his heart, then, in the hope to find

         The truth of all that e'en his fondest dreams

         Had scarcely dared to credit in her picture!

         In Padua, where his studies held him bound;

         Fernando panted for the joyful hour,

         When he might murmur at Matilda's feet

         The first pure homage of his fervent love.

         Meanwhile the sudden death of Pietro's wife

         Had left him free to wed. With the hot glow

         Of youthful blood the hoary lover drinks

         The fame that reached him of Matilda's charms.

         He comes – he sees – he loves! The new desire

         Stifles the voice of nature in his heart.

         The uncle woos his nephew's destined bride,

         And at the altar consecrates his theft.

         And what did then Fernando?

                        On the wings

         Of Jove, unconscious of the fearful change,

         Delirious with the promised joy, he speeds

         Back to Mirandola. His flying steed

         By starlight gains the gate. Tumultuous sounds

         Of music, dance, and jocund revelry

         Ring from the walls of the illumined palace.

         With faltering steps he mounts the stair; and now

         Behold him in the crowded nuptial hall,

         Unrecognized! Amid the reeling guests

         Pietro sat. An angel at his side —

         An angel, whom he knows, and who to him

         Even in his dreams, seemed ne'er so beautiful.

         A single glance revealed what once was his —

         Revealed what now was lost to him forever.

         O poor Fernando!

                  Surely, sir, your tale

         Is ended? Nay, it must be.

                        No, not quite.

         Did you not say Fernando was your friend?

         I have no dearer in the world.

                         But pray

         Proceed, sir, with your story.

                         Nay, the rest

         Is very sad – and to recall it sets

         My sorrow fresh abroach. Spare me the sequel.

         Surely the time is come to see my daughter,

         I prithee, princess, bring her to me now!

         You have not spoken of Matilda! She

         Haply was ignorant of Fernando's grief?

         Matilda's heart has no one fathomed yet —

         Great souls endure in silence.

         You look around you. Who is it you seek?

         Just then the thought came over me, how one,

         Whose name I dare not mention, would rejoice,

         Stood he where I do now.

                      And who's to blame,

         That he does not?

                   My liege! And dare I venture

         To interpret thee, as fain I would? He'd find

         Forgiveness, then, if now he should appear.

         Now, marquis, now? What do you mean by this?

         Might he, then, hope?

                     You terrify me, marquis.

         Surely he will not —

                    He is here already.