But it is not to list to the waterfall[qy]

That Parisina leaves her hall,

And it is not to gaze on the heavenly light

That the Lady walks in the shadow of night;

And if she sits in Este's bower,

'Tis not for the sake of its full-blown flower; 20

She listens—but not for the nightingale—

Though her ear expects as soft a tale.

There glides a step through the foliage thick,[qz]

And her cheek grows pale, and her heart beats quick.

There whispers a voice through the rustling leaves,

And her blush returns, and her bosom heaves:

A moment more—and they shall meet—

'Tis past—her Lover's at her feet.