WERNER'S

Readings and Recitations.

ΤΗ

THE STATUE AND THE BUST.

ROBERT BROWNING.

HERE'S a palace in Florence, the world knows well, And a statue watches it from the square, And this story of both do our townsmen tell:

Ages ago, a lady there,

At the farthest window facing the east, Asked: Who rides by with the royal air?"

The bridesmaids' prattle around her ceased,
She leaned forth, one on either hand;
They saw how the blush on the bride increased.

They felt by its beats her heart expand,

As one at each ear and both in a breath Whispered: "The Great Duke, Ferdinand."

That self-same instant, underneath,

The Duke rode past in his idle way, Empty and fine like a swordless sheath.

Gay he rode, with a friend as gay,

Till he threw his head back- Who is she?" "A bride the Riccardi brings home to-day."

Hair in heaps lay heavily

Over a pale brow, spirit-pure,

Carved like the heart of the coal-black tree,

Crisped like a war-steed's encolure

And vainly sought to dissemble her eyes Of the blackest black our eyes endure.

And lo! a blade for a knight's emprise

Filled the fine empty sheath of a man,The Duke grew straightway brave and wise.

He looked at her as a lover can;

She looked at him as one who awakes;
The past was a sleep, and her life began.

Now, love so ordered, for both their sakes,
A feast was held that self-same night
In the pile which the mighty shadow makes.

The Duke (with the statue's face in the square)
Turned in the midst of the multitude

At the bright approach of the bridal pair.

Face to face the lovers stood

A single minute, and no more,

While the bridegroom bent as a man subdued

Bowed till his bonnet brushed the floor

For the Duke on the lady a kiss conferred,
As the courtly custom was of yore.

In a minute can lovers exchange a word?
If a word did pass, which I do not think,
Only one out of the thousand heard,

That was the bridegroom. At day's brink
He and his bride were alone at last
In a bedchamber, by a taper's blink.

Calmly he said that her lot was cast;

That the door she had passed was shut on her Till the final catafalque repassed;

The world, meanwhile, its noise and stir,

Through a certain window facing the east She could watch like a convent's chronicler;

Since passing the door might lead to a feast,
And a feast might lead to so much beside,
He, of many evils, chose the least.

"Freely I choose, too," said the bride.

"Your window and its world suffice," Replied the tongue, while the heart replied:

""Tis only a coat of a page to borrow,

And tie my hair in a horse-boy's trim, And I save my soul-but not to-morrow" (She checked herself and her eye grew dim) "My father tarries to bless my state; I must keep it one day more for him.

"Is one day more so long to wait?

Moreover, the Duke rides past, I know.
We shall see each other, sure as fate,"

She turned on her side and slept. Just so!
So! we resolve on a thing and sleep:
So did the lady, ages ago.

That night the Duke said: "Dear or cheap,
As the cost of this cup of bliss may prove
To body or soul, I will drain it deep."

And on the morrow, bold with love,

He beckoned the bridegroom (close on call, As his duty bade, by the Duke's alcove),