LXXVIII "So be thou pleased, my heart," (Zerbino cried,) "To love me yet, when I am dead and gone, As to abandon thee without a guide, And not to die, distresses me alone. For did it me in place secure betide To end my days, this earthly journey done, I cheerful, and content, and fully blest Would die, since I should die upon thy breast. LXXIX "But since to abandon thee, to whom a prize I know not, my sad fate compels, I swear, My Isabella, by that mouth, those eyes, By what enchained me first, that lovely hair; My spirit, troubled and despairing, hies Into hell's deep and gloomy bottom; where To think, thou wert abandoned so by me, Of all its woes the heaviest pain will be." LXXX At this the sorrowing Isabel, declining Her mournful face, which with her tears o'erflows, Towards the sufferer, and her mouth conjoining To her Zerbino's, languid as a rose; Rose gathered out of season, and which, pining Fades where it on the shadowy hedgerow grows, Exclaims, "Without me think not so, my heart, On this your last, long, journey to depart. LXXXI "Of this, my heart, conceive not any fear, For I will follow thee to heaven or hell; It fits our souls together quit this sphere, Together go, for aye together dwell. No sooner closed thine eyelids shall appear Than either me internal grief will quell, Or, has it not such power, I here protest, I with this sword to-day will pierce my breast. LXXXII "I of our bodies cherish hope not light, That they shall have a happier fate when dead: Together to entomb them, may some wight, Haply by pity moved, be hither led." She the poor remnants of his vital sprite Went on collecting, as these words she said; And while yet aught remains, with mournful lips, The last faint breath of life devoutly sips. LXXXIII 'Twas here his feeble voice Zerbino manned, Crying. "My deity, I beg and pray, By that love witnessed, when thy father's land Thou quittedst for my sake; and, if I may In any thing command thee, I command, That, with God's pleasure, thou live-out thy day; Nor ever banish from thy memory, That, well as man can love, have I loved thee. LXXXIV "God haply will provide thee with good aid, To free thee from each churlish deed I fear; As, when in the dark cavern thou wast stayed, He sent, to rescue thee, Anglante's peer; So he (grammercy!) succoured thee dismaid At sea, and from the wicked Biscayneer. And, if thou must choose death, in place of worse, Then only choose it, as a lesser curse." LXXXV I think not these last words of Scotland's knight Were so exprest, that he was understood: With these, he finished, like a feeble light, Which needs supply of was, or other food. -- Who is there, that has power to tell aright The gentle Isabella's doleful mood? When stiff, her loved Zerbino, with pale face, And cold as ice, remained in her embrace.