E'en so, that late assembled band I view'd,
The

song deserting, for the hill-side start, Like one who journeys in incertitude— Nor with less hurried step did we depart.

MANFRED.

PURGATORIO, C. III. VER. 103 TO THE END.

THEN one of them began-" Whoe'er thou be, Thus moving onward, this way bend thine eye, And tell if e'er on earth thou didst me see." Tow'rds him I turn'd, and view'd him steadfastly. Light skinn'd, well favour'd, and of noble air— But a deep gash had scarr'd his forehead high. Him humbly I disclaim'd, as one I ne'er

Before had seen; whereat he said, "Behold!" And show'd a wound that on his breast he bare. Then, smiling, thus his name and lineage told.

"Manfred am I-of the Empress Constance heir; And therefore pray thee, when thou tread'st on mould,

Thou to my royal daughter do repair,

(Whom Spain and Sicily hold in reverence due,) And give her of my fate the truth to hear— That when two mortal strokes had traversed thro' My earthly frame, I render'd up my sprite, In tears, to Him who pardons them that sue. Huge were my sins; but goodness infinite

Hath arms so wide, that in their vast embrace All things that seek its sheltering shade unite. And, if Cosenza's shepherd, whom in chase Of me that unrelenting pontiff sent,

Had in God's holy word survey'd his face, My bones had still, in hallow'd burial pent, At the bridge head, by Benevento, lain

Safe guarded by their rude-piled monument. Now are they stirr'd with wind, and drench'd with rain,

Where, driven by him beyond the kingdom's

bound,

On Verde's brink they unnanneal'd remain. Yet not this interdict hath power to bound Eternal love, or its return deny,

While hope is still with verdant freshness crown'd. 'Tis true, whoe'er in contumacy die

'Gainst holy church, though they at last repent, Must on this outer shore forbidden lie

Full thrice ten-fold the period they have spent
In course presumptuous, if the stern decree
Be not by virtuous prayers to mercy bent;
And hence how vast the service, mayst thou see,
If to my dear Costanza thou make plain
Our converse, and the sentence pass'd on me,
And what remission prayer may still obtain."

SORDELLO.

PURGATORIO, C. VI. VER. 59 TO THE END.

THEN I" My good conductor, let us haste-For strength no longer fails me, as before— And see the hill a lengthening shadow cast!" "So long as day-light serves to guide us o'er

The toilsome road, we will not pause,” he said; And yet thy words some shape of error bore: For still, or e'er thou reach the mountain's head, Thou'lt see Him back return, whose hidden ray Is now unbroken by thine upward tread. But lo! some spirit there appears to stay All lonely, and on us directs its sight:

'Twill teach us to our point the speediest way." Then tow'rds it we drew nigh.-O Lombard sprite! How haughty and disdainful was thine air! How roll'd thine eyes, majestically bright! No words the shadow spake, and let us fare Strait onward, whilst it view'd us, passing by, Like to a lion, couching in his lair.

But Virgil pray'd him, as we drew more nigh,

That he would show us where we best might climb The ascent-whereto he deign'd not aught reply; But ask'd our country, and our life's pass'd time. "Mantua"-my guide began-but had not traced Another word, when, from the trance sublime That held him rapt, the spirit sprang forth in haste,

And "Mantua!” cried “Thy countryman am I, Sordello." Each the other then embraced. Ah, woe's dark hostel! Bond-slave Italy! Ship without pilot, on tempestuous main ! Not queen of states, but sink of harlotry! That high heroic spirit was full fain,

Even at the sweet voice of his native air, To greet a townsman with fraternal strain; And now thy living sons each other tear

With mutual rage; aye, those who circled round By the same moat and the same rampart are. Seek, wretched one! from this to the other bound, Thy sea-coasts through, then look into thy breast! See if in any nook sweet peace be found! What boots it, so the saddle be not press'd,

Justinian's hand the bridle erst restored?

So much the more thy vileness stands confest. Ah tribe, that shouldst submit thee to thy lord, And let great Cæsar his just seat obtain,

If thou hadst read aright God's holy word! Who now that furious beast can hope restrain, That never felt the rider's sovereignty,

Since thou hast taken in thine hands the rein? O German Albert! who hast let go free

Her, so untameable and savage grown,

And shouldst have fork'd her flanks with grasping knee;

May the just judgment of the stars be shown
Upon thy blood; and signal be it, so

As thy successor may with trembling own;

For that ye let the imperial garden grow
(Thou and thy sire) a wilderness, while ye
Are hot for conquests o'er some northern foe!
Come hither come! Verona's nobles see,

And Orvieto's-men devoid of thought!

These lost already-those in jeopardy.

Come, cruel! come! behold the oppression wrought Upon thine own; and heal their sufferings! See, What safety may to Santafior' be brought! Come, and behold thy Rome! How mourneth she A lonesome widow, crying, night and day,

'My Cæsar! wherefore shun my company?" Come, see thy people—what the love they pay Each other and, if no compassion move, At least let honour in thy bosom sway ! And, may I dare to ask-O highest Jove, Who, for us men, on earth wast crucified! Wilt thou not view us from thy seat above? Or is that secret good thou dost provide In the deep abyss of wisdom infinite, So wholly to our misty sense denied, That all Italia's realms are peopled quite

With tyrants, and each villain partisan Is hail'd Marcellus in his country's right? My native Florence !— Thou untouch'd mayst scan This free digression-it concerns thee not— Thanks to thy people, and their sage divan. Some justice hold at heart, though fear of blot Doth make that they are slow in taking aim; But thine are ever ready for the shot.