In the fifth circle of his imaginary Hell, (through which he is conducted by the spirit of Virgil,) Dante sees the souls of Paris and Helen, of Semiramis, Cleopatra, Tristan, and other personages, real and fabulous, who had given way to carnal passions. Among them he observes those of two lovers, whose tragical end had afflicted the house of his friend and patron, Guido Novello da Polenta, Lord of Ravenna. He asks permission to speak with them; and out of excess of pity at the recital of their story, falls like a man struck dead.

This is the beautiful and affecting passage in Dante, on which the author of the present volume, when a young man, ventured to found the Story of Rimini. He introduces it in the volume for the purpose of enriching his Stories in Verse, for even a translation cannot hinder it from doing that. Stories are told in many ways in going from mouth to mouth; and the reader will be good enough to consider the Story of Rimini as a detail of the particu lars of a domestic event, given by a young man out of the interest which he has taken in what he has heard, but with no thought of competing in point of effect, or in any other point, with the wonderful summary, in the shape of which he first heard it.

To recur to an illustration of another sort, he will add, from his Autobiography, that the "design" of his poem is "altogether different in its pretensions." It is "a picture, by an immature hand, of sunny luxuriance overclouded; not of a cloud, no less brief than beautiful, crossing the gulfs of Tartarus. Those who, after having seen lightning, will tolerate no other effect of light, have a right to say so, and may have the highest critical reason on their side; but those who will do otherwise have perhaps more; for they can enjoy lightning, and a bask in the sunshine

too."

SCARCE had I learnt the names of all that press Of knights and dames, than I beheld a sight Nigh reft my wits for very tenderness,

"O guide!" I said, "fain would I, if I might, Have speech with yonder pair, that hand in hand Seem borne before the dreadful wind so light."

"Wait," said my guide, "until thou seest their band

Sweep round. Then beg them, by that love, to stay;

And they will come, and hover where we stand.”

Anon the whirlwind flung them round that way;

And then I cried, “Oh, if I ask nought ill,
Poor weary souls, have speech with me, I pray."

As doves, that leave some bevy circling still,
Set firm their open wings, and through the air
Sweep homewards, wafted by their pure good

will;

So broke from Dido's flock that gentle pair, Cleaving, to where we stood, the air malign; Such strength to bring them had a loving prayer.

The female spoke. "O living soul benign!" She said, "thus, in this lost air, visiting

Us, who with blood stain'd the sweet earth divine;

"Had we a friend in heaven's eternal King, We would beseech him keep thy conscience clear, Since to our anguish thou dost pity bring.

"Of what it pleaseth thee to speak and hear, To that we also, till this lull be o'er

That falleth now, will speak and will give ear.

"The place where I was born is on the shore, Where Po brings all his rivers to depart In peace, and fuse them with the ocean floor.

"Love, that soon kindleth in a gentle heart, “* Seiz'd him thou look'st on for the form and face, Whose end still haunts me like a rankling dart. "

“Love, which by love will be denied no grace, Gave me a transport in my turn so true, That lo! 'tis with me, even in this place.

"Love brought us to one grave.

slew,

The hand that

Is doom'd to mourn us in the pit of Cain."
Such were the words that told me of those two.

Downcast I stood, looking so full of pain
To think how hard and sad a case it was,
That my guide ask'd what held me in that vein.

His voice arous'd me; and I said, "Alas!

All their sweet thoughts then, all the steps that led

To love, but brought them to this dolorous pass."

Then turning my sad eyes to theirs, I said, "Francesca, see-these human cheeks are wetTruer and sadder tears were never shed.

"But tell me. At the time when sighs were

sweet,

What made thee strive no longer ?-hurried thee To the last step where bliss and sorrow meet?"

"There is no greater sorrow," answer'd she, "And this thy teacher here knoweth full well, Than calling to mind joy in misery.

"But since thy wish be great to hear us tell How we lost all but love, tell it I will, As well as tears will let me. It befell,

"One day, we read how Lancelot gazed his fill At her he lov'd, and what his lady said.

We were alone, thinking of nothing ill.

"Oft were our eyes suspended as we read, And in our cheeks the colour went and came; Yet one sole passage struck resistance dead.

"'Twas where the lover, moth-like in his flame, Drawn by her sweet smile, kiss'd it. O then, he Whose lot and mine are now for aye the same,

"All in a tremble, on the mouth kiss'd me. The book did all. Our hearts within us burn'd Through that alone. That day no more read we.”

While thus one spoke, the other spirit mourn'd With wail so woful, that at his remorse

I felt as though I should have died. I turn'd

Stone-stiff; and to the ground, fell like a corse.

UGOLINO AND HIS CHILDREN.

FROM THE SAME.

In the ninth, or frozen circle of his Hell, Dante is shown the embodied spirits of traitors. Among them is Count Ugolino, who betrayed Pisa to the Florentines, horribly feeding on the skull of Archbishop Ruggieri, who was said to have shut up the Count with his four children in a tower, and starved them all to death. Dante interrogates Ugolino, and is told his dreadful story.

QUITTING the traitor Bocca's barking soul,56
We
We saw two more, so iced up in one hole,
That the one's visage capp'd the other's head;
And as a famish'd man devoureth bread,

'Twixt nape and brain. Tydeus, as stories show, Thus to the brain of Menalippus ate: 57

CA

"O thou!" I cried, "showing such bestial hate!
To him thou tearest, read us whence it rose;
That, if thy cause be juster than thy foe's,
The world, when I return, knowing the truth,
May of thy story have the greater ruth.”

His mouth he lifted from his dreadful fare, That sinner, wiping it with the gray hair Whose roots he had laid waste; and thus he said:

"A desperate thing thou askest; what I dread Even to think of. Yet, to sow a seed

Of infamy to him on whom I feed,

Tell it I will:—ay, and thine eyes shall see
Mine own weep all the while for misery.

A

Who thou mayst be, I know not; nor can dream How thou cam'st hither; but thy tongue doth

seem

To show thee, of a surety, Florentine.

Know then, that I was once Count Ugoline,
And this man was Ruggieri, the archpriest,
Still thou mayst wonder at my raging feast;
For though his snares be known, and how his key
He turn'd upon my trust, and murder'd me,
Yet what the murder was, of what strange sort
And cruel, few have had the true report.

Hear then, and judge.—In the tower, called

since then

The Tower of Famine, I had lain and seen
Full many a moon fade through the narrow bars,
When, in a dream one night, mine evil stars
Show'd me the future with its dreadful face.
Methought this man led a great lordly chase
Against a wolf and cubs, across the height
Which barreth Lucca from the Pisan's sight.