Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/378

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 Gersa. This is too much! Hearken, my lady pure!

 Erminia. Silence! and hear the magic of a name—
Erminia! I am she,—the Emperor's niece!
Praised be the Heavens, I now dare own myself!

 Gersa. Erminia! Indeed! I've heard of her.
Pr'ythee, fair lady, what chance brought you here?

 Erminia. Ask your own soldiers.

 Gersa.⁠And you dare own your name.
For loveliness you may—and for the rest
My vein is not censorious.

 Erminia.⁠Alas! poor me!
'Tis false indeed.

 Gersa.⁠Indeed you are too fair:
The swan, soft leaning on her fledgy breast,
When to the stream she launches, looks not back
With such a tender grace; nor are her wings
So white as your soul is, if that but be
Twin picture to your face. Erminia!
To-day, for the first day, I am a king,
Yet would I give my unworn crown away
To know you spotless.

 Erminia.⁠Trust me one day more,
Generously, without more certain guarantee,
Than this poor face you deign to praise so much;
After that, say and do whate'er you please.
If I have any knowledge of you, sir,
I think, nay I am sure you will grieve much
To hear my story. O be gentle to me,
For I am sick and faint with many wrongs,
Tired out, and weary-worn with contumelies.

 Gersa. Poor lady!