Poems, translated and original

FIORILLA’S _house_.--_Enter_ FIORILLA _and_ LEONARDO.

Fiorilla. The letter was delivered?

Leonardo. ’Twas entrusted To one who never failed me, and the messenger Is even now returned.

Fiorilla. Did he reveal The whole to Foscarini?

Leonardo. No--we judged The youth should know naught of his lady’s falsehood. ’Twas vaguely urged, that matters of deep import Required his presence here; that enemies Were laboring ’gainst his peace. But, pardon me-- I know not how this artifice may prevent The nuptials of proud Contarini!

Fiorilla. Know you That Foscarini loves the maid, and she Returns his passion, bitterly detesting His haughty rival! Let the youthful lover Come at the latest hour--his presence crosses These ill starred nuptials.

Leonardo. And you, fairest lady-- Forgive me--is a false admirer worth Such stratagem to regain?

Fiorilla. Hear me, Leonardo. You see me but the gay and fickle dame Whose smiles are showered on all; to whom the hours, Brilliant alike, seem but to bring their tribute Of emulous sweets, even as the gilded flowers Yield up their honey to the fluttering insect. How well for those who bask in Pleasure’s smile, She wears a mask!

Leonardo. But _your_ smile is the sunlight That banishes all gloom where’er it shines.

Fiorilla. Yet envious philosophers have said The sun himself, that warms and gladdens all, Is a cold, lifeless mass. No more of that. His beams can scorch and wither--so can those You’ve aptly likened to them, when condensed In hatred’s burning glass.

Leonardo. I cannot guess Your meaning.

Fiorilla. Contarini--you may deem ’Twas vanity--’twas pride--that bound me to him! Folly! when all that Venice boasts of rank And wealth were at my feet, why should I spurn Such suppliance--turning to one who seemed To mock my power?

Leonardo. He never offered, then, His solemn vows?

Fiorilla. He did! by all that’s sacred! And I, who feigned his passionate words to hear As the wind’s idle breath, treasured them deep, Deep in my soul, which they have filled with gall. Aye! and its bitterness shall be distilled In drops upon his heart! Stay, Leonardo, You’ve not heard all. You shall not see me creep Like a scorned slave, aside, while others fill The place that should be mine. I’ll hurl him thence Or ere he gains that height!

Leonardo. Nay, lady--

Fiorilla. Yes! ’Tis you must aid me, while I bring to light His plottings. It will peril many a head In Venice--but I care not, so he finds The hand he spurned is armed with deadly power!

Leonardo. If you have aught of import to disclose, Madam, unto the council----

Fiorilla. Aye--the council! And they shall hear! Yet, tell me, is not he One of that fearful number who preside In secret o’er the state?

Leonardo. ’Tis rumored so-- But the inquisitors’ persons are unknown.

Fiorilla. ’Tis well. Forget my passion and my words. Now to our business. Leonardo, seek This youth, and speedily conduct him hither; He cannot come too soon. I will await you. [_Exeunt._