II. A sweet Thought, which was once the life within Went up before our Father's feet, and there And its sweet talk of her my Soul did win, So that I said "Thither I too will fare." That Thought is fled; and one doth now appear Which tyrannizes me with such fierce stress That my heart trembles-ye may see it leapAnd on another Lady bids me keep Mine eyes, and says: "Who would have blessedness, Let him but look upon that Lady's eyes; Let him not fear the agony of sighs." III. This lowly Thought, which once would talk with me Of a bright Seraph sitting crowned on high, Found such a cruel foe, it died; and so My Spirit wept-the grief is hot even nowAnd said: "Alas for me! how swift could flee That piteous Thought which did my life console !" And the afflicted one, ⚫ questioning Mine eyes if such a Lady saw they never, I said: "Beneath those eyes might stand for ever To have known their power stood me in little stead ; IV. "Thou art not dead, but thou hast wandered, Thou Soul of ours who thyself dost fret," A Spirit of gentle Love beside me said : "For that fair Lady whom thou dost regret Yet courteous, in her majesty she is. And still call thou her 'Woman' in thy thought; 1820. V. My Song, I fear that thou wilt find but few Of such hard matter dost thou entertain; Quite unaware of what thou dost contain, MATILDA GATHERING FLOWERS. [From the "Purgatorio," canto 28, l. 1-51.] AND, earnest to explore within-around- Up the green slope, beneath the forest's roof, And solemn, struck upon my forehead bare The sacred hill obscures the morning air. Incessantly renewing their blithe quest, With perfect joy received the early day, Singing within the glancing leaves, whose sound Such as from bough to bough gathers around My slow steps had already borne me o'er Perceived not where I entered any more, My going on. Water of purest hue 1820. On earth would appear turbid and impure Compared with this, whose unconcealing dew, I moved not with my feet, but mid the glooms The mighty multitude of fresh May-blooms Charms every sense, and makes all thought take wing) Singing, and gathering flower after flower, With which her way was painted and besprent. To bear true witness of the heart within, And gathering flowers, as that fair maiden when FROM GUIDO CAVALCANTI. TO DANTE ALLIGHIERI-SONNET. RETURNING from its daily quest, my Spirit Changed thoughts and vile in thee doth weep to find :! SCENES FROM THE MAGICO PRODIGIOSO Enter CYPRIAN, dressed as a Student; CLARIN and MOSCON as poor Scholars, with books. Cyprian. IN the sweet solitude of this calm place, And flowers, and undergrowth of odorous plants, To me are ever best society. And, whilst with glorious festival and song And bears his image in loud jubilee To its new shrine, I would consume what still Lives of the dying day in studious thought, Far from the throng and turmoil. You, my friends, Go and enjoy the festival; it will Be worth the labour. And return for me When the sun seeks its grave among the billows Moscon. I cannot bring my mind, Great as my haste to see the festival Certainly is, to leave you, sir, without Just saying some three or four thousand words. Of such festivity you can be content To come forth to a solitary country With three or four old books, and turn your back On all this mirth? Clarin. My master's in the right; There is not anything more tiresome Than a procession-day, with troops, and priests, And dances, and all that. Moscon. From first to last, Clarin, you are a temporizing flatterer; You praise not what you feel, but what he does ;- Clarin. You lie under a mistake; For this is the most civil sort of lie That can be given to a man's face. I now Say what I think. Cyprian. Enough, you foolish fellows; Puffed-up with your own doating ignorance, You always take the two sides of one question. Now go; and, as I said, return for me When night falls, veiling in its shadows wide This glorious fabric of the universe. Moscon (to Clarin.) How happens it, although you can But he is more than half way there.-Soho! Livia, I come; good sport, Livia, soho! [Exit. Cyprian. Now, since I am alone, let me examine The question which has long disturbed my mind With doubt, since first I read in Plinius The words of mystic import and deep sense In which he defines God. My intellect Can find no God with whom these marks and signs Which I must fathom. Demon. Enter the DEMON as a fine Gentleman. But thou shalt never find what I can hide. [Reads. Cyprian. What noise is that among the boughs? Who moves? What art thou? Demon. 'Tis a foreign gentleman. Even from this morning I have lost my way |