_Francesca_. Dar’st thou—hold! To hear—thou lov’st me! {775} So sudden is thy passion! Know’st thou not I am thy brother’s wife? Can’st thou so soon Forget thy lost beloved one? Ah me Wretched! Let go my hand—thy kisses here Are frenzy! _Paolo_. This, this is no sudden passion! I lost my love—and thou art she! Of thee I spoke; for thee I wept: thee loved: thee ever I love—and to my latest hour will love! Ay, if for this, my madness, doomed to suffer Eternal chastisement beyond the grave, Eternally still more and more I'll love thee! _Francesca_. Can this be true? _Paolo_. The day that to Ravenna I went, ambassador from my father’s court, I saw thee cross the vestibule, attended By a band of mourning females,—pause beside A recent sepulchre; in pious act Prostrate thyself, and thy joined hands to heaven Lift up, with silent interrupted tears. “Who is it?” I inquired of one. “The daughter Of Guido,” he replied. “And whose the tomb?” “Her mother’s tomb.” Oh, in my inmost heart How felt I pity for that mourning daughter! How throbbed my breast, confused! Thou wast veiled, Francesca, and thy eyes saw not that day; Yet from that day I loved thee. _Francesca_. Thou—oh cease! Didst love me! _Paolo_. For a time I hid my passion; Yet seemed it one day thou hadst read my heart. Forth from thy chamber to the secret garden Thy steps were turned. And nigh the silver lake, Prone ’mong the flowers, with sighs I watched thy chamber, And at thy coming, trembling rose. Intent Upon a book, thine eyes beheld me not; But on the book let fall a tear. I came In deep emotion nigh. Confused my words, Confused were also thine. That book, Francesca, Thou gav’st to me; we read—we read together “Of Lancillotto,[1] how by love compelled;” Alone we were, and free from all suspicion. Our eyes then met; my face was crimsoned—thou Didst tremble—and in haste wast gone. _Francesca_. That day— The book remained with thee. _Paolo_. It rests upon My heart; it made me in my exile happy. Here ’tis; behold the page we read together. Behold! and mark the drop which fell that day From thy dear eyes. _Francesca_. Away—I do conjure thee; Hence! no remembrance should I yet preserve, Save of a brother slain. _Paolo_. Oh, then that blood I had not shed! O, fatal—fatal wars! That slaughter bowed my soul to misery; I dar’d not ask thy hand; I went to Asia, To battle there. I hoped yet to return, To find thy wrath appeased—to obtain thy hand. Ah! to obtain thy hand, I do confess I nourished hope. _Francesca_. Ah me! I pray thee—hence! My sorrow and my honor now respect! Oh for the strength by which I may resist! _Paolo_. Thou clasp’st my hand! Joy! tell me, wherefore clasp My hand! _Francesca_. Paolo! _Paolo_. Dost thou hate me not? Dost thou not hate me? _Francesca_. ’Tis right I should hate thee.