"He lies sick of a fever in Naples, Near unto death, as they tell, In his need and pain forsaken By the wanton he loved so well. "Now send for him and forgive him, If ever thou loved'st me, Now send for him and forgive him As God shall be good to thee." "Well so,--if he turn in repentance And bow himself to my will; That the high-born lady I chose him May be my daughter still." VII. In Mantua there is feasting For the Marquis' grace to his son; In Mantua there is rejoicing For the prince come back to his own. The pomp of a wedding procession Pauses under the pillared porch, With silken rustle and whisper, Before the door of the church. In the midst, Federigo the bridegroom Stands with his high-born bride; The six true-hearted comrades Are three on either side. The bridegroom is gray as his father, Where they stand face to face, And the six true-hearted comrades Are like old men in their place. The Marquis takes the comrades And kisses them one by one: "That ye were fast and faithful And better than I to my son, "Ye shall be called forever, In the sign that ye were so true, The Faithful of the Gonzaga, And your sons after you." VIII. To the Marchioness comes a courtier: "I am prayed to bring you word That the minstrel keeps his promise Who brought you news of my lord; "And he waits without the circle To kiss your highness' hand; And he asks no gold for guerdon, But before he leaves the land "He craves of your love once proffered That you suffer him for reward, In this crowning hour of his glory, To look on your son, my lord." Through the silken press of the courtiers The minstrel faltered in. His clasped hands were bloodless, His face was white and thin; And he bent his knee to the lady, But of her love and grace To her heart she raised him and kissed him Upon his gentle face. Turned to her son the bridegroom, Turned to his high-born wife, "I give you here for your brother Who gave back my son to life. "For this youth brought me news from Naples How thou layest sick and poor, By true comrades kept, and forsaken By a false paramour. "Wherefore I charge you love him For a brother that is my son." The comrades turned to the bridegroom In silence every one. But the bridegroom looked on the minstrel With a visage blank and changed, As his whom the sight of a spectre From his reason hath estranged; And the smiling courtiers near them On a sudden were still as death; And, subtly-stricken, the people Hearkened and held their breath With an awe uncomprehended For an unseen agony:-- Who is this that lies a-dying, With her head on the prince's knee? A light of anguish and wonder Is in the prince's eye, "O, speak, sweet saint, and forgive me, Or I cannot let thee die!