The heavy bolt he draws, and unawares A stranger enters with slow steps, unsought, A long robed monk, and in his hand he bears A jewelled goblet curiously wrought; But of his face beneath the cowl he wears For all his searching Nino seeth nought; And slowly past him with long stride he hies, While Nino follows with bewildered eyes. XI. Straight on he goes with dusky rustling gown. His steps are soft, his hands are white and fine; And still he bears the goblet on whose crown A hundred jewels in the lamplight shine; And ever from its edges dripping down Falls with dark stain the rich and lustrous wine, Wherefrom through all the chamber's shadowy deeps A deadly perfume like a vapour creeps. XII. And now he sets it down with careful hands On the slim table's polished ebony; And for a space as if in dreams he stands, Close hidden in his sombre drapery. "Oh lover, by thy lady's last commands, I bid thee hearken, for I bear with me A gift to give thee and a tale to tell From her who loved thee, while she lived, too well." XIII. The stranger's voice falls slow and solemnly. Tis soft, and rich, and wondrous deep of tone; And Nino's face grows white as ivory, Listening fast-rooted like a shape of stone. Ah, blessed saints, can such a dark thing be? And was it death, and is Leonora gone? Oh, love is harsh, and life is frail indeed, That gives men joy, and then so makes them bleed. XIV. "There is the gift I bring"; the stranger's head Turns to the cup that glitters at his side: "And now my tongue draws back for very dread, Unhappy youth, from what it must not hide. The saddest tale that ever lips have said; Yet thou must know how sweet Leonora died, A broken martyr for love's weary sake, And left this gift for thee to leave or take." XV. Poor Nino listens with that marble face, And eyes that move not, strangely wide and set. The monk continues with his mournful grace: "She told me, Nino, how you often met In secret, and your plighted loves kept pace Together, tangled in the self-same net; Your dream's dark danger and its dread you knew, And still you met, and still your passion grew. XVI. "And aye with that luxurious fire you fed Your dangerous longing daily, crumb by crumb; Nor ever cared that still above your head The shadow grew; for that your lips were dumb. You knew full keenly you could never wed: 'Twas all a dream: the end must surely come; For not on thee her father's eyes were turned To find a son, when mighty lords were spurned. XVII.