Page:The poems of George Eliot (Crowell, 1884).djvu/395

 HOW LISA LOVED THE KING.

IX hundred years ago, in Dante's time,

Before his cheek was furrowed by deep rhyme—

When Europe, fed afresh from Eastern story,

Was like a garden tangled with the glory

Of flowers hand-planted and of flowers air-sown,

Climbing and trailing, budding and full-blown,

Where purple bells are tossed amid pink stars,

And springing blades, green troops in innocent wars,

Crowd every shady spot of teeming earth,

Making invisible motion visible birth—

Six hundred years ago, Palermo town

Kept holiday. A deed of great renown,

A high revenge, had freed it from the yoke

Of hated Frenchmen, and from Calpe's rock

To where the Bosporus caught the earlier sun,

'T was told that Pedro, King of Aragon,

Was welcomed master of all Sicily,

A royal knight, supreme as kings should be

In strength and gentleness that make high chivalry.

Spain was the favorite home of knightly grace,

Where generous men rode steeds of generous race;

Both Spanish, yet half Arab, both inspired

By mutual spirit, that each motion fired

With beauteous response, like minstrelsy

Afresh fulfilling fresh expectancy.

So when Palermo made high festival,

The joy of matrons and of maidens all