Page:Castruccio Castrucani.pdf/60

Rh

There is no cloud upon the placid sky, There is no motion in the drooping leaves; I neither like this waiting nor this stillness. Too much the rest of this still night contrasts The unrest that is feverish in my soul! The midnight, with its pale and mournful moon, That wanders, like an orphan, through the heavens, Companionless, with its dark boughs, that seem Still as the heavy shadows which they fling, This hour is not for enterprise. The heart Mocks its own projects and its own designs, So little, with eternal night around, So worthless, gazing on those distant worlds. Why, what vain fantasies are these to cross My mind at such a time! but we are toys E'en to ourselves. Where can Rinaldo stay? The banquet hour is past—Ah! here he comes.

You come full late, my lord

I come too soon; Despair and danger are my comrades here!

What can you mean?

Mean? that Castruccio's friend