From that time life was one impassioned dream:
He lingered on the spot which she had made
So sacred by her presence, and he thought
It happiness to only breathe the air
Her sigh had perfumed—but to press the floor
Her faery step had hallowed. He renounced
All projects of ambition, joyed no more
In pleasures of his age, but like a ghost,
Confined to one peculiar spot, he strayed
Where first he saw the Princess; and the court
Through which she pass'd to matins, now became
To him a home; and either he recalled
Fondly her every look, or else embalmed
Her name in wild sweet song. - - - -
His love grew blazed abroad—a Poet's love
Is immortality! The heart whose beat
Is echoed by the lyre, will have its griefs,
Its tenderness, remembered, when each pulse
Has long been cold and still. Some pitied him,
And others marvelled, half in mockery;
They little knew what pride love ever has
In self devotedness. The Princess heard
Of her pale lover; but none ever knew
Her secret thoughts: she heard it silently.
It could not be but woman's heart must feel
Such fond and faithful homage!—But some deemed
Even such timid worship was not meet
For royalty. They bade the youth depart,
And the King sent him gold; he turned away,
And would not look upon the glittering treasure—
And then they banished him! He heard them say
He was an exile with a ghastly smile,
And murmured not—but rose and left the city.
He went on silently, until he came
To where a little hill rose, covered o'er
With lemon shrubs and golden oranges:
The windows of the palace where she dwelt—
