GALGANO.

GIOVANNI FIORENTINO.

You will not see, in many lands,

A region that is so divine
As that which, from the Apennine,
Studded with hamlet, tower, and town,
Sweeps in long undulations down
To the Maremma and the sea.
And in its midst Siena stands,
With all its busy hearts and hands,
The home of love and gallantry.

Within that city, rich and fair,
Once dwelt the lady of my story,
The wife of good Count Salvatore,
In their palazzo on the square.

But he was older than became

The husband of so young a dame;

And she was known through all the land

For the rare beauty of her hand,

And bore the name of Bella Mano.

This hand it was that almost crazed

A youth, whom all men loved and praised, The noble, handsome, rich Galgano.

They both were young, they both were fair.
And love, whose presence, like the air,
Unseen by all, is everywhere,

Was mingled with the breath of May,
So mingled, it was hard to say
Which was the air, and which was love,
And he inhaled it day by day!

At tourneys and at joustings gay,
Upon his helmet, as a crest,

He wore her delicate, small glove,
That filled his brain with subtile flame,
And fired him with the love of fame.
But when the noisy banquet came,
And he concealed it in his vest,

It seemed as if her hand were pressed
Upon his palpitating heart,

And, sitting silent and apart,

He drank unto himself her name!

They both were fair, they both were young,
And every whisper, every word,

That from her lovely lips he heard,
Seemed to his ear less said than sung.
But she was distant, she was cold,
And he, not being over-bold,
Walked evermore in humble guise,
And hardly dared to lift his eyes
To her, who thus his life controlled;
For she, Siena's pride and glory,
Over each act kept watch and ward,
And, loyal to her wedded lord,
Smiled only on old Salvatore.
A league beyond the city's gate
Lay the fair lands of his estate,
Embracing in their ample arms
Dark woods and pleasant Tuscan farms.
And yearly to those green retreats
The husband and the wife went down,
Leaving, with all the summer heats
Of blazing square and stifled streets,
Galgano in the empty town.

Once, when the day was nearly done,
And from the west the level sun
Struck the white towns of Tuscany,
And, slowly sinking down the sea,
Filled the whole atmosphere with gold,-
In his vast mansion, gray and old,
Once at this hour Count Salvatore
Stood with the lady of his love,
And gazed upon the golden glory
Of land below and sky above.

And by the window as they stood,
A youth came riding through the wood,
Bearing a falcon on his hand,

That hid beneath a crimson hood
Its eye of anger and command,
And as it pecked with crooked bill
In answer to its lord's caresses,
The Milan bells upon its jesses
Tinkled a moment, and were still.
It was Galgano; and the Count
Went forth and greeted him, and pressed
That from his steed he would dismount,

And be that night, at least, their guest.
To this Galgano answered nay;
He was in haste, he could not stay.
But Salvatore, with much grace,
Still urged, and would not be denied,
And still, like one preoccupied,
And wholly bent upon the chase,
Galgano, with a burning face,
And downcast, troubled, restless eye,
Put his entreaties softly by,
As in a grove one puts aside
The branches that impede his way.
So he rode on, and would not stay.

Musing awhile the old man stood,
Then left the shadow of the wood,
And crossed the sunshine on the lawn,
And climbed the gleaming marble stair,
And disappeared within the door,
Pacing along the oaken floor,
With thoughtful, meditative air,
To seek that lovely lady fair,

Who from the window had withdrawn.
Then he discoursed with liberal tongue
Of his dear friend, so brave and young,
And could not cease, but more and more
Counted his rare perfections o'er,
And seemed to seek a thousand ways
To magnify Galgano's praise.
To this the lady scarce replied;
Indeed, she did not care to speak;
But once, half audibly she sighed,
And once she turned away to hide
The blush she felt upon her cheek.

And even as he spake, they heard
The screams of an affrighted bird,
And from the window they beheld
A falcon, with his jesses belled,
Out of a neighboring thicket soar.
Three circles in the air-no more—
He made, with such a sweeping wing,
It seemed a pleasure, not a toil;
Then, like a serpent from his coil,
Or like a stone hurled from a sling,
Down on his prey he came, and tore
Its bosom, so that drops of gore
Fell heavy on the glossy leaves,

As rain-drops from the dripping eaves;
And, with ensanguined beak and feather,
Through the great dome of foliage dark,
Upon the greensward of the park,
Victor and victim fell together!
And all that Salvatore said,

When he perceived the bird was dead,
And saw the gallant falcon spurn
His lifeless quarry, and return,
Soaring above the garden wall,
Unto his master's distant call,-

All that he said was simply this:

"It is Galgano's hawk, I wis,

And much each other they resemble!"

But Salvatore did not see

His gentle lady suddenly

Grow pale, and close her eyes, and tremble.

Ah, strange caprice of human will!
We struggle blindly, but at length

A strength that's greater than our strength,
Or in our weakness seeming so,
Impels us onward to fulfil

Our destiny of weal or woe!

That falcon wounded more than one!

And from the setting of that sun,
The luckless lady Bella Mano

With wayward passion loved Galgano;
Galgano, who, with hawk on wrist,
Rode onward through the rising mist
Along the great highway, that downward
Ran winding through the valley townward,
And led him, by its thread of white,
Through labyrinthine caves of night,
Until across the landscape brown
He saw the faint lights of the town,
Aud tower and belfry came in sight,
And through the gateway, dark and tall,
He entered the deserted street,

And heard the waters, soft and sweet,
Of Branda's fountain in their fall.
And now, in that old country-seat,
Slow passed the days of drowsy heat,
And each one, as it came and went,
Still added something to the store
Of that fair lady's discontent.
For though Galgano came no more,
Yet was he ever present there,
As he had bribed each gust of air
That flew across the flowery mead

To breathe his name, and urge his prayer,
And with the lady intercede.

At length it was a luckless day —
It chanced, that on some state affair
Old Salvatore went away,
And left her, restless and alone,
In that great, sombre house of stone.
But when the lonely day was spent,
And lonelier night was drawing near,
Her restlessness and discontent
Assumed the guise of love and fear;
And to Galganb's house she sent
A messenger of trust, to say
She had been waiting all that day,
And that her heart at last relented,
And that Galgano was her fate!
But ere he reached the garden gate,
The lady's fickle soul repented,
And she recalled him, but too late.
And then she said in vain 't would be
Longer to thwart her destiny!
So said Galgano, when he heard
The lady's soft and gracious word,
And, scarce believing it, with speed
He mounted on his fleetest steed,
And forth into the country spurred,
And reached the dark arcade of limes
Just as the neighboring convent-bells
Called the pale sisters from their cells,
With melancholy, midnight chimes.
The house was dark, and still, and lonely,
And at one chamber-window only
A light illumed the curtained panes ;

And, drawing back each bolt and bar,
An unseen hand undid the chains,
And set the portal valves ajar.
He entered the long corridor,
Darkness behind him and before;
No sound he made, no word he spoke,
But, guided by the hand unseen,
Ascended the broad stairs of oak,
And passed alone, out of the night,
Into that chamber full of light,
Of light and loveliness serene!
And as he entered, from her place,
In garments whiter than the snow,
And motion neither quick nor slow,
But full of dignity and grace,
The lady rose to his embrace,
And on his shoulder hid her face,
So that her eyes he could not see,

And murmured in a voice that seemed
Not what he heard, but what he dreamed,
"Welcome, a thousand, thousand times!"
And from the neighboring nunnery
Lond rang the mournful midnight chimes.

Then sat they fondly side by side,
And much they questioned and replied,
And much Galgano wished to know
What had o'ercome the lady's pride,
And changed her and subdued her so.
And she related the whole story;
The story of that summer day,

When he rode down the woodland way,
And, though entreated, would not stay,
And of the falcon and its flight,
And how her husband, Salvatore,
Spoke of him with so much delight,
With so much love and tenderness,
And placed his name so far above
All others, that she could no less
Than listen, and, in listening, love!

And then upon his hand she laid
Her own, that seemed a thing divine,
And in a gentle whisper said,

"Galgano, I am wholly thine!"

But suddenly a sense of guilt

Pierced his sad bosom through and through,
Even as a sword, thrust to the hilt

By some athletic hand, might do.
And, moved by a sublime decision,
He said, in tones of deep contrition,
"May God forbid that I defame
Old Salvatore's honored name,
And pay his noble trust in me
By any act of infamy!

Then with the instinct of despair

He rushed into the open air!

And homeward riding, through the night,

He felt a wild. but sweet delight

Pervade his breast, with thoughts of peace,

And gratitude for his release,

And joy in triumph of the right!

And from that hour his soul assumed

A nobler attitude and gesture,

And walked with royal look and vesture,

And not as one outcast and doomed!