No More Learning

The sound of separate leaf we do not note--
And so their babble seemed to idly float,
And leave no thought behind. Now and again
Joss his guitar made trill with plaintive strain
Or Tyrolean air; and lively tales they told
Mingled with mirth all free, and frank, and bold.
Said Mahaud: "Do you know how fortunate
You are? " "Yes, we are young at any rate--
Lovers half crazy--this is truth at least. "
"And more, for you know Latin like a priest,
And Joss sings well. "
"Ah, yes, our master true,
Yields us these gifts beyond the measure due. "
"Your master! --who is he? " Mahaud exclaimed.
"Satan, we say--but Sin you'd think him named,"
Said Zeno, veiling words in raillery.
"Do not laugh thus," she said with dignity;
"Peace, Zeno. Joss, you speak, my chamberlain. "
"Madame, Viridis, Countess of Milan,
Was deemed superb; Diana on the mount
Dazzled the shepherd boy; ever we count
The Isabel of Saxony so fair,
And Cleopatra's beauty all so rare--
Aspasia's, too, that must with theirs compare--
That praise of them no fitting language hath.
Divine was Rhodope--and Venus' wrath
Was such at Erylesis' perfect throat,
She dragged her to the forge where Vulcan smote
Her beauty on his anvil. Well, as much
As star transcends a sequin, and just such
As temple is to rubbish-heap, I say,
You do eclipse their beauty every way.
Those airy sprites that from the azure smile,
Peris and elfs the while they men beguile,
Have brows less youthful pure than yours; besides
Dishevelled they whose shaded beauty hides
In clouds. "
"Flatt'rer," said Mahaud, "you but sing
Too well. "
Then Joss more homage sought to bring;
"If I were angel under heav'n," said he,
"Or girl or demon, I would seek to be
By you instructed in all art and grace,
And as in school but take a scholar's place.
Highness, you are a fairy bright, whose hand
For sceptre vile gave up your proper wand. "
Fair Mahaud mused--then said, "Be silent now;
You seem to watch me; little 'tis I know,
Only that from Bohemia Joss doth come,
And that in Poland Zeno hath his home.
But you amuse me; I am rich, you poor--
What boon shall I confer and make secure?
What gift? ask of me, poets, what you will
And I will grant it--promise to fulfil. "
"A kiss," said Joss.
"A kiss! " and anger fraught
Amazed at minstrel having such a thought--
While flush of indignation warmed her cheek.
"You do forget to whom it is you speak,"
She cried.
"Had I not known your high degree,
Should I have asked this royal boon," said he,
"Obtained or given, a kiss must ever be.
No gift like king's--no kiss like that of queen! "
Queen! And on Mahaud's face a smile was seen.