Men prattled, freelier that the crested gaunt [Sidenote: How Guelfs criticise Ghibellin work] White ostrich with a horse-shoe in her beak Was missing, and whoever chose might speak "Ecelin" boldly out: so,--"Ecelin Needed his wife to swallow half the sin And sickens by himself: the devil's whelp, He styles his son, dwindles away, no help From conserves, your fine triple-curded froth Of virgin's blood, your Venice viper-broth-- Eh? Jubilate!"--"Peace! no little word You utter here that 's not distinctly heard Up at Oliero: he was absent sick When we besieged Bassano--who, i' the thick O' the work, perceived the progress Azzo made, Like Ecelin, through his witch Adelaide? She managed it so well that, night by night, At their bed-foot stood up a soldier-sprite, First fresh, pale by-and-by without a wound, And, when it came with eyes filmed as in swound, They knew the place was taken."--"Ominous That Ghibellins should get what cautelous Old Redbeard sought from Azzo's sire to wrench Vainly; Saint George contrived his town a trench O' the marshes, an impermeable bar." "--Young Ecelin is meant the tutelar Of Padua, rather; veins embrace upon His hand like Brenta and Bacchiglion." What now?--"The founts! God's bread, touch not a plank! A crawling hell of carrion--every tank [Sidenote: As unusually energetic in this case.] Choke full!--found out just now to Cino's cost-- The same who gave Taurello up for lost, And, making no account of fortune's freaks, Refused to budge from Padua then, but sneaks Back now with Concorezzi--'faith! they drag Their carroch to San Vitale, plant the flag On his own palace, so adroitly razed He knew it not; a sort of Guelf folk gazed And laughed apart; Cino disliked their air-- Must pluck up spirit, show he does not care-- Seats himself on the tank's edge--will begin To hum, _za, za, Cavaler Ecelin_-- A silence; he gets warmer, clinks to chime, Now both feet plough the ground, deeper each time, At last, _za, za_, and up with a fierce kick Comes his own mother's face caught by the thick Gray hair about his spur!" Which means, they lift The covering, Salinguerra made a shift To stretch upon the truth; as well avoid Further disclosures; leave them thus employed. Our dropping Autumn morning clears apace, And poor Ferrara puts a softened face On her misfortunes. Let us scale this tall Huge foursquare line of red brick garden-wall [Sidenote: How, passing through the rare garden,] Bastioned within by trees of every sort On three sides, slender, spreading, long and short; Each grew as it contrived, the poplar ramped, The fig-tree reared itself,--but stark and cramped, Made fools of, like tamed lions: whence, on the edge,