The woods were long austere with snow: at last [Sidenote: This bubble of fancy.] Pink leaflets budded on the beech, and fast Larches, scattered through pine-tree solitudes, Brightened, "as in the slumbrous heart o' the woods Our buried year, a witch, grew young again To placid incantations, and that stain About were from her caldron, green smoke blent With those black pines"--so Eglamor gave vent To a chance fancy. Whence a just rebuke From his companion; brother Naddo shook The solemnest of brows; "Beware," he said, "Of setting up conceits in nature's stead!" Forth wandered our Sordello. Naught so sure As that to-day's adventure will secure Palma, the visioned lady--only pass O'er yon damp mound and its exhausted grass, Under that brake where sundawn feeds the stalks Of withered fern with gold, into those walks Of pine and take her! Buoyantly he went. Again his stooping forehead was besprent With dew-drops from the skirting ferns. Then wide Opened the great morass, shot every side With flashing water through and through; a-shine, Thick steaming, all alive. Whose shape divine, Quivered i' the farthest rainbow-vapor, glanced Athwart the flying herons? He advanced, But warily; though Mincio leaped no more, Each footfall burst up in the marish-floor A diamond jet: and if he stopped to pick Rose-lichen, or molest the leeches quick, And circling blood-worms, minnow, newt or loach, A sudden pond would silently encroach This way and that. On Palma passed. The verge Of a new wood was gained. She will emerge Flushed, now, and panting,--crowds to see,--will own She loves him--Boniface to hear, to groan, To leave his suit! One screen of pine-trees still Opposes: but--the startling spectacle-- Mantua, this time! Under the walls--a crowd Indeed, real men and women, gay and loud Round a pavilion. How he stood! In truth [Sidenote: When greatest and brightest, bursts.] No prophecy had come to pass: his youth In its prime now--and where was homage poured Upon Sordello?--born to be adored, And suddenly discovered weak, scarce made To cope with any, cast into the shade By this and this. Yet something seemed to prick And tingle in his blood; a sleight--a trick-- And much would be explained. It went for naught-- The best of their endowments were ill bought With his identity: nay, the conceit, That this day's roving led to Palma's feet Was not so vain--list! The word, "Palma!" Steal Aside, and die, Sordello; this is real, And this--abjure! What next? The curtains see Dividing! She is there; and presently He will be there--the proper You, at length-- In your own cherished dress of grace and strength: Most like, the very Boniface!