Then on the board a snow-white cloth he spread, Laid on its wooden dish the loaf of bread, Brought purple grapes with autumn sunshine hot, The fragrant peach, the juicy bergamot; Then in the midst a flask of wine he placed, And with autumnal flowers the banquet graced. Ser Federigo, would not these suffice Without thy falcon stuffed with cloves and spice? When all was ready, and the courtly dame With her companion to the cottage came, Upon Ser Federigo’s brain there fell The wild enchantment of a magic spell! The room they entered, mean and low and small, Was changed into a sumptuous banquet-hall, With fanfares by aerial trumpets blown; The rustic chair she sat on was a throne; He ate celestial food, and a divine Flavor was given to his country wine, And the poor falcon, fragrant with his spice, A peacock was, or bird of paradise! When the repast was ended, they arose And passed again into the garden-close. Then said the lady, “Far too well I know Remembering still the days of long ago, Though you betray it not with what surprise You see me here in this familiar wise. You have no children, and you cannot guess What anguish, what unspeakable distress A mother feels, whose child is lying ill, Nor how her heart anticipates his will. And yet for this, you see me lay aside All womanly reserve and check of pride, And ask the thing most precious in your sight, Your falcon, your sole comfort and delight, Which if you find it in your heart to give, My poor, unhappy boy perchance may live.” Ser Federigo listens, and replies, With tears of love and pity in his eyes: “Alas, dear lady! there can be no task So sweet to me, as giving when you ask. One little hour ago, if I had known This wish of yours, it would have been my own. But thinking in what manner I could best Do honor to the presence of my guest, I deemed that nothing worthier could be Than what most dear and precious was to me, And so my gallant falcon breathed his last To furnish forth this morning our repast.” In mute contrition, mingled with dismay, The gentle lady tuned her eyes away, Grieving that he such sacrifice should make, And kill his falcon for a woman’s sake, Yet feeling in her heart a woman’s pride, That nothing she could ask for was denied; Then took her leave, and passed out at the gate With footstep slow and soul disconsolate.