O FATHER ours, that dwellest in the sky,
Not circumscribed, but for Thy love intense
To Thy first Emanations there on high;
Let each and every creature that hath sense

Praise Thee, Thy name, Thy goodness, as 'tis fit
They render thanks for Thy warm effluence.
Thy kingdom come; Thy peace too come with it,
Which, if it come not by Thy gift divine,
Comes not to us by strength of human wit.
As of their wills the angel Powers to Thine,
Chanting Hosanna, render sacrifice;
So may we men our human wills resign.
Each day give daily manna from the skies,

Without the which, in this rough desert place He backward slides who forward busiest hies. And as we pardon each to each, efface

And blot away, benign, our heavier debt,
Nor hold our ill deserts before Thy face.

Our virtue, weak and easily beset,

Oh hazard not with the inveterate foe
That vexeth sore; but free us from his net.

1835.

Speech of Piccarda.

PARADISO, C. III. 70–87.

FRATE, la nostra volontà quieta

Virtù di carità; che fa volerne

Sol quel ch' avemo; e d' altro non ci asseta.

Se disiassimo esser più superne

Foran discordi gli nostri disiri

Dal voler di Colui, che qui ne cerne.

Che vedrai non capere in questi giri,
S'essere in caritate è qui necesse,

E se la sua natura ben rimiri.
Anzi è formale ad esto beato esse

Tenersi dentro alla divina voglia,

Perch' una fansi nostre voglie stesse.
Sì che, come noi siam di soglia in soglia

Per questo regno, a tutto 'l regno piace,
Com' allo Re, ch' in suo voler ne 'nvoglia.

In la sua volonta de è nostra pace :

Ella è quel mare, al qual tutto si muove
Ciò ch' ella cria, o che Natura face.

LOVE by his virtue, Brother, hath appeased
Our several wills: he causeth us to will
But what we have, all other longings eased.
Did we desire a region loftier still,

Such our desire were dissonant from His,
Who bade us each our several stations fill:

A thing impossible in these spheres of bliss

If whoso dwelleth here, in Love alone

Must dwell, and if Love's nature well thou wis. Within the will Divine to set our own

Is of the essence of this Being blest,

For that our wills to one with His be grown. So, as we stand throughout the realms of rest, From stage to stage, our pleasure is the King's, Whose will our will informs, by Him imprest. In His Will is our peace. To this all things By Him created, or by Nature made, As to a central Sea, self-motion brings.

En Morte di Napoleone.

ODE

DI ALESSANDRO MANZONI.

1.

Er fu; siccome immobile,
Dato il mortal sospiro,

Stette la spoglia immemore
Orba di tanto spiro,

Così percossa, attonita

La Terra al nunzio sta;

Muta pensando all' ultima Ora dell' Uom fatale, Nè sa quando una simile Orma di piè mortale La sua cruenta polvere A calpestar verrà.

ODE

On the Death of Napoleon.

1.

He died; As in the senseless clay
No stir of life was left,

When, drawn the mortal sigh, it lay
Of such a soul bereft,

So, at the tidings thunderstruck
And pensive, Earth remains:

And muses o'er the dying hour

And o'er the Child of Fate,
Nor knows if ever such a Power
Again shall desolate

With like deep track of wounds and stains

Her blood-red plains.