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My tongue is palsied. Subtly hid

Fire creeps me through from limb to limb: My loud ears tingle all unbid :

Twin clouds of night mine eyes bedim.

Ease is thy plague; ease makes thee void,

Catullus, with these vacant hours, And wanton: ease, that hath destroyed Great kinys, and states with all their powers.

1859.

Lorace to Pyrrha.

Op. I. 5.

Quis multâ gracilis te puer in rosa
Perfusus liquidis urget odoribus
Grato, Pyrrha sub antro?

Cui flavam religas comam

Simplex munditiis? Heu quoties fidem
Mutatosque deos flebit, et aspera
Nigris æquora ventis

Emirabitur insolens,

Qui nunc te fruitur credulus aureâ, Qui semper vacuam, semper amabilem Sperat, nescius auræ

Fallacis. Miseri, quibus

Intentata nites. Me tabulâ sacer
Votivâ paries indicat uvida
Vestimenta potenti

Suspendisse maris deo.

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 winds 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.

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 todo.

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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