XIII.

THEY SUP.

With laugh and song they to the table went. Said Mahaud gayly: "It is my intent To make Joss chamberlain. Zeno shall be A constable supreme of high degree." All three were joyous, and were fair to see. Joss ate--and Zeno drank; on stools the pair, With Mahaud musing in the regal chair. 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.