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BEATRICE

FROM DANTE.

PURGATORIO, XXX., XXXL.

EVEN as the Blessed, in the new covenant,

Shall rise up quickened, each one from his

grave,

Wearing again the garments of the flesh,

So, upon that celestial chariot,

A hundred rose ad vocem tanti senis.

Ministers and messengers of life eternal.

They all were saying; Benedictus qui venis," And scattering flowers above and round about, "Manibus o date lilia plenis."

I once beheld, at the approach of day.
The orient sky all stained with roseate hues,
And the other heaven with light serene
adorned,

And the sun's face uprising, overshadowed, So that, by temperate influence of vapors. The eye sustained his aspect for long while;

Thus in the bosom of a cloud of flowers, Which from those hands angelic were thrown

up,

And down descended inside and without,

With crown of olive o'er a snow-white veil,
Appeared a lady, under a green mantle,
Vested in colors of the living flame.

Even as the snow, among the living rafters Upon the back of Italy, congeals,

Blown on and beaten by Sclavonian winds,

[blocks in formation]

And then, dissolving, filters through itself, Whene'er the land, that loses shadow, breathes. Like as a taper melts before a fire,

Even such I was, without a sigh or tear, Before the song of those who chime forever After the chiming of the eternal spheres ;

But, when I heard in those sweet melodies Compassion for me, more than had they said, "O wherefore, lady, dost thou thus consume him?"

66

The ice, that was about my heart congealed, To air and water changed, and, in my anguish, Through lips and eyes came gushing from my breast.

Confusion and dismay, together mingled, Forced such a feeble "Yes!" out of my mouth,

To understand it one had need of sight

Even as a cross-bow breaks, when 't is dis

charged,

Too tensely drawn the bow-string and the bow, And with less force the arrow hits the mark;

So I gave way under this heavy burden,
Gushing forth into bitter tears and sighs,
And the voice, fainting, flagged upon its pas-

sage.

SPRING.

FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES D'ORLEANS.
XV. CENTURY.

GENTLE Spring!-in sunshine clad,
Well dost thou thy power display!
For Winter maketh the light heart sad,

And thou,-thou makest the sad heart gay. He sees thee, and calls to his gloomy train, The sleet, and the snow, and the wind, and the

rain;

And they shrink away, and they flee in fear,

When thy merry step draws near.

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