LXIII. But these are foolish things to all the wise, On most things, from a tyrant to a tree; LXIV. There was deep silence in the chamber: dim And distant from each other burn'd the lights, And slumber hover'd o'er each lovely limb Of the fair occupants: if there be sprites, [trim, They should have walk'd there in their sprightliest By way of change from their sepulchral sites, And shown themselves as ghosts of better taste Than haunting some old ruin or wild waste. LXV. Many and beautiful lay those around, Like flowers of different hue, and clime, and root, In some exotic garden sometimes found, With cost, and care, and warmth induced to shoot. One with her auburn tresses lightly bound, And fair brows gently drooping, as the fruit Nods from the tree, was slumbering with soft breath, And lips apart, which show'd the pearls beneath. LXVI. One with her flush'd cheek laid on her white arm, And raven ringlets gather'd in dark crowd Above her brow, lay dreaming soft and warm; And smiling through her dream, as through a cloud The moon breaks, half unveil'd each further charm, As, slightly stirring in her snowy shroud, Her beauties seized the unconscious hour of night All bashfully to struggle into light. LXVII. This is no bull, although it sounds so; for 'Twas night, but there were lamps, as hath been said. A third's all pallid aspect offer'd more The traits of sleeping sorrow, and betray'd Through the heaved breast the dream of some far shore Beloved and deplored; while slowly stray'd (As night-dew, on a cypress glittering, tinges The black bough) tear-drops through her eyes' dark fringes. LXVIII. A fourth as marble, statue-like and still, Lay in a breathless, hush'd, and stony sleep; - or what you will ; My similes are gather'd in a heap, So pick and choose-perhaps you'll be content With a carved lady on a monument. LXIX. And lo! a fifth appears ;—and what is she? I know not, never counting past their teens; Which lays both men and women on the shelf, LXX. But all this time how slept, or dream'd, Dudù? But ere the middle watch was hardly over, LXXI. And that so loudly, that upstarted all The Oda, in a general commotion: Matron and maids, and those whom you may call Neither, came crowding like the waves of ocean, One on the other, throughout the whole hall, All trembling, wondering, without the least notion More than I have myself of what could make The calm Dudù so turbulently wake. LXXII. But wide awake she was, and round her bed, By the North Pole, they sought her cause of care, For she seem'd agitated, flush'd, and frighten'd, Her eye dilated and her colour heighten'd. LXXIII. But what is strange-and a strong proof how great In holy matrimony snores away. Not all the clamour broke her happy state Of slumber, ere they shook her, so they say At least, and then she, too, unclosed her eyes, And yawn'd a good deal with discreet surprise. LXXIV. And now commenced a strict investigation, Alike might puzzle either wit or dunce To answer in a very clear oration. Dudù had never pass'd for wanting sense, 66 But, being no orator as Brutus is," Could not at first expound what was amiss. LXXV. At length she said, that in a slumber sound She dream'd a dream, of walking in a wood— A "wood obscure," like that where Dante found (1) Himself in at the age when all grow good; Life's half-way house, where dames with virtue crown'd Run much less risk of lovers turning rude; And that this wood was full of pleasant fruits, And trees of goodly growth and spreading roots; LXXVI. And in the midst a golden apple grew,- LXXVII. ; That on a sudden, when she least had hope, It fell down of its own accord before Her feet; that her first movement was to stoop A bee flew out and stung her to the heart, (1) "Nell' mezzo del' cammin' di nostra vita Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura," &c.— Inferno. |