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XIV.
They sought, together, climes afar,
And oft within some olive grove,
When even came, with twinkling star,
They sung of Surrey's absent love.
His step the Italian peasant staid,
And deemed that spirits from on high,
Round where some hermit saint was laid,
Were breathing heavenly melody;
So sweet their harps and voices join,
To praise the name of Geraldine.
They sought, together, climes afar,
And oft within some olive grove,
When even came, with twinkling star,
They sung of Surrey's absent love.
His step the Italian peasant staid,
And deemed that spirits from on high,
Round where some hermit saint was laid,
Were breathing heavenly melody;
So sweet their harps and voices join,
To praise the name of Geraldine.
XV.
Fitztraver! O what tongue may say,
The pangs thy faithful bosom knew,
When Surrey, of the deathless lay,
Ungrateful Tudor's sentence slew?
Regardless of the tyrant's frown,
His harp called wrath and vengeance down;
Fitztraver! O what tongue may say,
The pangs thy faithful bosom knew,
When Surrey, of the deathless lay,
Ungrateful Tudor's sentence slew?
Regardless of the tyrant's frown,
His harp called wrath and vengeance down;
