And from between the seraphim

The glory issues for a hymn.

O Mary Mother, be not loth

To listen,-thou whom the stars clothe,

Who seest and mayst not be seen!
Hear us at last, O Mary Queen!
Into our shadow bend thy face,
Bowing thee from the secret place,
O Mary Virgin, full of grace!

DANTE AT VERONA.

'Yea, thou shalt learn how salt his food who fares Upon another's bread,-how steep his path Who treadeth up and down another's stairs.'

(Div. Com. Parad. xvii.)

'Behold, even I, even I am Beatrice.'

(Div. Com. Purg. xxx.)

OF Florence and of Beatrice

Servant and singer from of old,

O'er Dante's heart in youth had toll'd The knell that gave his Lady peace;

And now in manhood flew the dart

Wherewith his City pierced his heart.

Yet if his Lady's home above

Was Heaven, on earth she filled his soul;

And if his City held control

To cast the body forth to rove,

The soul could soar from earth's vain throng,

And Heaven and Hell fulfil the song.

Follow his feet's appointed way ;

But little light we find that clears

The darkness of the exiled years.

Follow his spirit's journey :-nay,

What fires are blent, what winds are blown On paths his feet may tread alone?

Yet of the twofold life he led

In chainless thought and fettered will

Some glimpses reach us,―somewhat still

Of the steep stairs and bitter bread,—

Of the soul's quest whose stern avow

For years had made him haggard now.

Alas! the Sacred Song whereto

Both heaven and earth had set their hand Not only at Fame's gate did stand Knocking to claim the passage through, But toiled to ope that heavier door Which Florence shut for evermore.

Shall not his birth's baptismal Town
One last high presage yet fulfil,
And at that font in Florence still

His forehead take the laurel-crown?

O God! or shall dead souls deny
The undying soul its prophecy?

Aye, 'tis their hour. Not yet forgot
The bitter words he spoke that day
When for some great charge far away
Her rulers his acceptance sought.

'And if I go, who stays ?'--so rose
His scorn :-' and if I stay, who goes ?'

'Lo! thou art gone now, and we stay :'
(The curled lips mutter): and no star
Is from thy mortal path so far

As streets where childhood knew the way.
To Heaven and Hell thy feet may win,
But thine own house they come not in.'

Therefore, the loftier rose the song

To touch the secret things of God,

The deeper pierced the hate that trod

On base men's track who wrought the wrong; Till the soul's effluence came to be

Its own exceeding agony.

Arriving only to depart,

From court to court, from land to land,

Like flame within the naked hand

His body bore his burning heart

That still on Florence strove to bring
God's fire for a burnt offering.

Even such was Dante's mood, when now,
Mocked for long years with Fortune's sport,
He dwelt at yet another court,

There where Verona's knee did bow

And her voice hailed with all acclaim

Can Grande della Scala's name.

As that lord's kingly guest awhile

His life we follow; through the days
Which walked in exile's barren ways,—

The nights which still beneath one smile
Heard through all spheres one song increase,-
'Even I, even I am Beatrice.'

At Can La Scala's court, no doubt,

Due reverence did his steps attend ;

The ushers on his path would bend