Prayed place for him, and bade them set his seat
Upon the dais. Then the feast began,
And wine went free as wit, and music died—
Outdone by merrier laughter:—only one
Nor eat, nor drank, nor spoke, nor smiled,—but gazed
On the pale bride, pale as her crown of pearls,
Who sate so cold, and still, and sad of cheer,
At the bride-feast.
At the bride-feast. But of a truth, Torel
Read the thoughts right that held her eyelids down,
And knew her leal to her memories.
Then, to a little page who bore the wine,
He spake: “Go tell thy Lady thus from me:
In mine own land, if any stranger sit
A wedding guest—the bride, out of her grace,
In token that she knows her guest’s good-will,
In token she repays it, brims a cup,
Wherefrom he drinking, she in turn doth drink.
So is our use.” The little page made speed
And told the message. Then that lady pale—
Ever a gentle and a courteous heart—
Lifted her troubled eyes, and smiled consent
On the swart stranger. By her side, untouched,
Stood the brimmed gold. “Bear this,” she said, “and pray
He hold a Christian lady apt to learn
A graceful lessson.” But Sir Torel loosed
From off his finger—never loosed before—
The ring she gave him on the parting day;
And ere he drank, behind his veil of beard
Dropped in the cup the ruby, quaffed, and sent.—
Then she, with sad smile, set her lips to drink,
And something in the Cyprus touching them,
Glanced—gazed—the ring!—her ring!—Jove! how she eyes
The wistful eyes of Torel!—how, heartsure,
Under all guise, knowing her lord returned,
She springs to meet him coming!—telling all
In one great cry of joy.
In one great cry of joy. Oh, me! the rout,
The storm of questions, stilled, when Torel told
His name, and, known of all, claimed the Bride Wife.
Maugre the wasted feast, and woeful groom,
All hearts but his were light to see Torel:
But Adalieta’s lightest, as she plucked
The bridal-veil away. Something therein—
