The Beginning of the Story - Page 4 of 25

49   With me away, our foes to fight,
You'd feel a need for cheer and light;
When victor I'd returned – your sight
Could scarce persuade your fears to flight.

50   You feared I might with harm have met;
Till eyes assured you, still would fret.
One scratch you saw – the slightest yet –
Beneath your tears would soon be wet.

51   Too, when I sank in moods depressing,
You'd seek the cause, alarm expressing,
And while unanswered, would be pressing
My face with carmine lips caressing;

52   Nor rest 'til cause remained obscure;
You'd hold me, and to haste my cure
Show me your garden to secure
Some solace from its flowers' allure.

53   You'd pluck the fairest thereamong,
Around my neck to see them hung
In garlands strung
To chase my gloom thus strangely sprung.

54   Then as your pains proved unavailing,
So tears would be your lashes veiling...
Whither such dear regard unfailing?
Why now denied, when I am ailing?

55   Come, Laura mine, for I must know
Today your care of long ago.
I beg you now, some sympathy show –
Your love is agonizing so!

56   Now when my grief is far too sweeping,
I do not seek for copious weeping;
Enough for salve one tear a-creeping,
If from your tender heart upleaping.

57   This body of mine, now study, Adored:
Mark well the wounds, dealt not by sword.
Wash out the blood where flesh is gored –
Arms, legs and neck – by binding cord.

58   Come, Love, and this my garb perceive,
To which you wished no rust should cleave;
Clothe me anew; these bands unweave
That I from pain may know reprieve.

59   Your eyes – ah, let their gaze contain
This form of mine, all racked with pain,
Life's fast unreeling to detain,
Else soon its thread may snap in twain.

60   Besides you, Laura, none is there
Who may assuage these aches I bear;
One touch but on my body spare,
And life flows back though corpse it were.

61   But woe is me! What woe severe!
Gone is the Laura I call to here;
Uncaring now, she's nowhere near.
She has betrayed my love sincere.

62   In some new fold her heart is placed,
So cheating me whom once it graced;
My love she has misled, abased,
Past troth forgot, past tears a waste.

63   What aches are there I've sensed not?
What deaths yet wait, my woe to plot?
Dear parents gone – ah, orphaned lot!
Friendless, and by his love – forgot!

64   My name and honor smeared – the smart
Is arrow poisoning my heart;
Pity for Father, yet one dart;
And jealousy sears me nigh apart!