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What scented stripling, Pyrrha, wooes thee now

In pleasant cavern, all with roses fair ? For whom those yellow tresses bindest thou

With simple care?

Full oft shall he thine altered faith bewail,

His altered gods; and his unwonted gaze Shall watch the waters darken to the gale

In wild amaze.

Who now believing gloats on golden charms;

Who hopes thee ever kind and ever void ; Nor, hapless ! knows the changeful wind's alarms,

Nor thee, untried.

For me, let Neptune's temple-wall declare

How, safe-escaped, in votive offering
My dripping garments own, suspended there,

Him Ocean-king.

1859.

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Ugolino.

INFERNO, C. XXXIII. 1–78.

La bocca sollevò dal fiero pasto
Quel peccator, forbendola ai capelli
Del capo ch' egli avea diretro guasto.

Poi cominciò; tu vuoi ch' io rinnovelli
Disperato dolor, che il cuor mi preme
Già pur pensando pria ch'io ne favelli.

Ma se le mie parole esser den seme
Che frutti infamia al traditor ch' io rodo,
Parlare e lagrimar vedrai insieme.

Io non so chi tu se', nè per qual modo
Venuto se' quaggiù; ma Fiorentino
Mi sembri veramente, quand' io t'odo.

Tu dei saper, ch' io fui 'l conte Ugolino ;
E questi l'Arcivescovo Ruggieri :
Or ti dirò, perch' io son tal vicino.

Che per l'effetto de' suo' ma' pensieri,
Fidandomi di lui, io fossi preso
E poscia morto, dir non è mestieri.

Però, quel che non puoi avere inteso,
Cioè, come la morte mia fu cruda,
U dirai, e saprai se m' ha offeso.

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The grim offender from his savage feast Lifted his mouth; and wiped it with the hair Of th' head unseemly mauled that he released;

Then thus began. “Am I anew to bear Desperate grief, that weighs my heart adown, Even as I think on what I shall declare?

Yet, if my words may, as a seed is sown, Bring shame to the foul traitor that I gnaw, In weeping I will speak. One all unknown

Thou com’st : unknown, by what decree or law Thus low thou didst descend: but Florentine I guess thy race, by what I heard, not saw.

Thou hast to learn, I was Count Ugoline : He, Roger, hight Archbishop. Now I tell The cause of this ill neighbourship of mine.

How by his evil thought's effect it fell, That I, in him confiding, was ensnared And put to death, thou, all men, know full well.

But what to boot I trow thou hast not heard, The manner of my death how horrible, Hear now; and judge, if ill by him I fared.

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Breve pertugio dentro dalla muda
La qual per me ha il titol della Fame,
E' n che conviene ancor ch' altri si chiuda,

M' avea mostrato per lo suo forame
Più lune già, quand' io feci 'l mal sonno
Che del futuro mi squarciò ’l velame.

Questi pareva a me maestro e donno Cacciando il lupo e i lupicini al monte Perche i Pisan' veder Lucca non ponno.

Con cagne magre, studiose, e conte,
Gualandi con Sismondi e con Lanfranchi
S'avea messi dinanzi dalla fronte.

In picciol corso mi pareano stanchi
Lo padre e i figli, e con l' agute sane
Mi
parea

lor veder fender li fianchi.
Quand' io fui desto innanzi la dimane,
Pianger sentì fra 'l sonno i miei figliuoli,
Ch’ eran con meco, e dimandar del pane.

Ben se' crudel, se tu già non ti duoli,
Pensando ciò che al mio cuor s' annunziava :
E se non piangi, di chè pianger suoli?

Già eran desti; e l'ora s' appressava
Che 'l cibo ne soleva esser addotto,
E per suo sogno ciascun dubitava.

A narrow orifice within the cell (Which yet from me, they call the Famine Jail, And wherein others, after me, must dwell,)

Had shewn me many moons both wax and fail Through its dim passage, when I slept the sleep That rent in twain the future's darksome veil.

A mighty lord, He seemed the plain to sweep,
Chasing the wolf and cubs toward the hill
Which Luccan towers from Pisan eyes doth keep.

With dogs high-bred and lean, of eager skill,
By the Gualandi the Sismondi rides,
And the Lanfranchi helps his train to fill.

Too short, too short the wasting strength abides
Of sire or sons: I seemed to see the stroke,
As the keen fangs dug through the weltering sides.

When I the first, ere break of morn, awoke, I heard my sons moan faintly in their sleep That with me dwelt, and bread for life invoke.

Oh thou art hard, if careless yet thou keep, Learning the then sad presage of my thought ! Oh weep for this, if aught can make thee weep.

The wonted hour for victuals to be brought Was near at hand : they were awake, and stirred; But each one, for his dream, was vexed with doubt.

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