Imatges de pÓgina

And kinder joy to look again for me ;
Then, Oh the charity !
Seeing amidst the stones
The earth that held my bones,
A sigh for very love at last
Might ask of heaven to pardon me the past :

And heaven itself could not say nay,

As with her gentle veil she wiped the tears away.

Volga la vista desiosa e lieta
Cercandomi : ed, oh pietà !
Già terra infra le pietre
Vedendo, amor l'inspiri
In guisa che sospiri
Si dolcemente, che mercè m' impetre,
E faccia forza al cielo,
Asciugandosi gli occhi col bel velo.

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How well I call to mind,


When from those boughs the wind
Shook down upon her bosom flower on flower;
And there she sat, meek-eyed,
In midst of all that pride,
Sprinkled and blushing through an amorous shower.
Some to her hair paid dower,
And seemed to dress the curls,
Queenlike, with gold and pearls;

Da be rami scendea,

Dolce ne la memoria,

Una pioggia di fior sovra 'l suo grembo ;

Ed ella si sedea

Umile in tanta gloria,

Coverta già de l' amoroso nembo.

Qual fior cedea sul lembo,

Qual su le trecce bionde ;
Ch' oro fortito e perle

Some, snowing, on her drapery stopp’d,
Some on the earth, some on the water dropp'd ;
While others, fluttering from above,
Seemed wheeling round in pomp, and saying

• Here

reigns Love."

How often then I said,

Inward, and fill'd with dread,

“Doubtless this creature came from Paradise!”

Eran quel dì a vederle :
Qual si posava in terra, e qual su l'onde :
Qual con un vago errore


dir,-Qui regna amore.

Quante volte diss'io,

Allor pien di spavento,
Costei per fermo nacque in paradiso:

For at her look the while,

Her voice, and her sweet smile,

And heavenly air, truth parted from mine eyes;
So that, with long-drawn sighs,

I said, as far from men,

“ How came I here, and when!”

I had forgotten; and alas,
Fancied myself in heaven, not where I was ;
And from that time till this, I bear

Such love for the green bower, I cannot rest elsewhere.

Così carco d'obblio

Il divin portamento,

E’l volto, e le parole, e 'l dolce viso,

M’ aveano, e sì diviso

Da l' imagine vera;
Ch'i' dicea sospirando,
Qui come venn' io, o quando ?
Credendo esser in ciel, non là dovera.

Da indi in quà mi piace
Quest'erba sì, ch' altrove non ho pace.




ANDREA DE Basso was a churchman of Ferrara, who lived in the fifteenth century. The translator need not disclaim all participation with the bigotry of his fine poem. A finer rebuke might be given it, by supposing the soul of the deceased to animate her body for the occasion, and to return his “railing accusation” in a spirit of gentle and final knowledge. It must be owned, however, that his ferocity is of a very grand and appalling description. The seeming coarseness of one or two passages (besides being reducible to nothing in the eyes of a philosophy more genial, and more discerning between life and death,) is borne away in the tempest of the speaker's enthusiasm, and in the sense of the great interests which he thought he was advocating.

Rise from the loathsome and devouring tomb,
Give up thy body, woman without heart,
Now that its worldly part
Is over; and deaf, blind, and dumb,

Risorga da la tomba avara e lorda

La putrida tua salma, O donna cruda,
Or che di spirto nuda,
E cieca, e muta, e sorda,

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