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It was amazement, wonder and delight,

       Although not love, that moved his cruel sense;

       "Tell on," quoth he, "unfold the chance aright,

       Thy people's lives I grant for recompense."

       Then she, "Behold the faulter here in sight,

       This hand committed that supposed offence,

       I took the image, mine that fault, that fact,

       Mine be the glory of that virtuous act."

      XXII

       This spotless lamb thus offered up her blood,

       To save the rest of Christ's selected fold,

       O noble lie! was ever truth so good?

       Blest be the lips that such a leasing told:

       Thoughtful awhile remained the tyrant wood,

       His native wrath he gan a space withhold,

       And said, "That thou discover soon I will,

       What aid? what counsel had'st thou in that ill?"

      XXIII

       "My lofty thoughts," she answered him, "envied

       Another's hand should work my high desire,

       The thirst of glory can no partner bide,

       With mine own self I did alone conspire."

       "On thee alone," the tyrant then replied,

       "Shall fall the vengeance of my wrath and ire."

       "'Tis just and right," quoth she, "I yield consent,

       Mine be the honor, mine the punishment."

      XXIV

       The wretch of new enraged at the same,

       Asked where she hid the image so conveyed:

       "Not hid," quoth she, "but quite consumed with flame,

       The idol is of that eternal maid,

       For so at least I have preserved the same,

       With hands profane from being eft betrayed.

       My Lord, the thing thus stolen demand no more,

       Here see the thief that scorneth death therefor.

      XXV

       "And yet no theft was this, yours was the sin,

       I brought again what you unjustly took."

       This heard, the tyrant did for rage begin

       To whet his teeth, and bend his frowning look,

       No pity, youth; fairness, no grace could win;

       Joy, comfort, hope, the virgin all forsook;

       Wrath killed remorse, vengeance stopped mercy's breath

       Love's thrall to hate, and beauty's slave to death.

      XXVI

       Ta'en was the damsel, and without remorse,

       The king condemned her guiltless to the fire,

       Her veil and mantle plucked they off by force,

       And bound her tender arms in twisted wire:

       Dumb was the silver dove, while from her corse

       These hungry kites plucked off her rich attire,

       And for some deal perplexed was her sprite,

       Her damask late, now changed to purest white.

      XXVII

       The news of this mishap spread far and near,

       The people ran, both young and old, to gaze;

       Olindo also ran, and gan to fear

       His lady was some partner in this case;

       But when he found her bound, stript from her gear,

       And vile tormentors ready saw in place,

       He broke the throng, and into presence brast;

       And thus bespake the king in rage and haste:

      XXXVIII

       "Not so, not so this grief shall bear away

       From me the honor of so noble feat,

       She durst not, did not, could not so convey

       The massy substance of that idol great,

       What sleight had she the wardens to betray?

       What strength to heave the goddess from her seat?

       No, no, my Lord, she sails but with my wind."

       Ah, thus he loved, yet was his love unkind!

      XXIX

       He added further: "Where the shining glass,

       Lets in the light amid your temple's side,

       By broken by-ways did I inward pass,

       And in that window made a postern wide,

       Nor shall therefore this ill-advised lass

       Usurp the glory should this fact betide,

       Mine be these bonds, mine be these flames so pure,

       O glorious death, more glorious sepulture!"

      XXX

       Sophronia raised her modest looks from ground,

       And on her lover bent her eyesight mild,

       "Tell me, what fury? what conceit unsound

       Presenteth here to death so sweet a child?

       Is not in me sufficient courage found,

       To bear the anger of this tyrant wild?

       Or hath fond love thy heart so over-gone?

       Wouldst thou not live, nor let me die alone?"

      XXXI

       Thus spake the nymph, yet spake but to the wind,

       She could not alter his well-settled thought;

       O miracle! O strife of wondrous kind!

       Where love and virtue such contention wrought,

       Where death the victor had for meed assigned;

       Their own neglect, each other's safety sought;

       But thus the king was more provoked to ire,

       Their strife for bellows served to anger's fire.

      XXXII

       He thinks, such thoughts self-guiltiness finds out,

       They scorned his power, and therefore scorned the pain,

       "Nay, nay," quoth he, "let be your strife and doubt,

       You both shall win, and fit reward obtain."

       With that the sergeants hent the young man stout,

       And bound him likewise in a worthless chain;

       Then back to back fast to a stake both ties,

       Two harmless turtles dight for sacrifice.

      XXXIII

       About the pile of fagots, sticks and hay,

       The bellows raised the newly-kindled flame,

       When thus Olindo, in a doleful lay,

       Begun too late his bootless plaints to frame:

       "Be these the bonds? Is this the hoped-for day,

       Should join me to this long-desired dame?

       Is this the fire alike should burn our hearts?

       Ah, hard reward for lovers' kind desarts!

      XXXIV

       "Far other flames and bonds kind lovers prove,

       But thus our fortune casts the hapless die,

      

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