The scene is easily pictured: the bravery of words at meeting, all the just displeasure of many a day bursting forth; then the cessation of anger in the beloved presence and the final unconditional surrender. A lighter mood succeeds, but love's royal clemency is still the text: Say, little girl, what have I done to thee, What have I done to thee that thou art dumb? Oft wouldst thou seek me once, such friends were we, But now thou goest away whene'er I come. If thou hast missed in aught, why quick, confess it, For thee this heart will all, yes all, forgive; If miss be mine, contrive that I should guess it; And soon the thing shall finish, as I live! The dutiful lover rings all the changes on humble remonstrance: I go where I may see thee all alone, So I may kneel before thee on the ground, And ask of thee how is it that unknown Unto thy heart is every prick and wound? Canst thou not see that e'en my breath is flown, Thinking of thee while still the days go round? If thou wouldst not that I should quickly die, Love only me and bid the rest good-bye. He might as well speak to the winds or to the stones, and he admits as much. "Whensoever I pass I sing to make thee glad; if I do not come for a few hours I send thee a greeting with my eyes. But thou dost act the deaf and likewise the dumb: pity thou hast none for my tears." If he fails to fulfil his prophecy of dying outright, at any rate he falls into the old age of youth, which arrives as soon as the bank of hope breaks: Come night, come day, one only thought have I, Which graven on my heart must ever stay; Grey grows my hair and dismal age draws nigh, Wilt thou not cease the tyrant's part to play? Thou seem'st a very Turk for cruelty, Of Barbary a very Turk I say; I know not why thy love thou dost deny, Or why with hate my love thou dost repay. This may be compared with a song taken down from the mouth of a peasant near Reggio, an amusing illustration of the kind of thing in favour with Calabrian herdsmen:-- Angelical thou art and not terrene, Who dost kings' wives excel in loveliness! Thou art a pearl, or Grecian Helen, I ween, For whom Troy town was brought to sore distress; Thine are the locks which graced the Magdalene, Lucrece of Rome did scarce thy worth possess: If thou art pitiless to me, oh, my Queen, No Christian thou, a Turk, and nothing less!