---

---

• Of Florence and of Beatrice
• Servant & singer from of old,
• O'er Dante's love heart in youth had toll'd
• The knell that gave his Lady peace;
• And now in manhood flew the dart
• Wherewith his City stabbed pierced his heart.

• Yet if his Lady's home above
• Was Heaven, on earth she filled his soul;
• And if his City held control
• 10To cast his the body forth to rove,
• The soul could soar from ? earth's vain throng,
• And Heaven and Hell ? fulfil the song.

• Follow his feet's appointed way;—
• But little light we find that clears
• The darkness of the exiled years.
• Follow his spirit's journey:—Nay,
• What fires are blent, what winds are blown
• On paths that he must tread he's trod his feet may tread alone?

• Yet of the twofold life he led
• 20 In chainless thought and fettered will
• Some glimpses reach us,—somewhat still
• Of the steep stairs and bitter bread,—
• Of the soul's quest whose stern avow
• For years had made him haggard now.

• Alas! the Sacred Song whereto
• Both heaven and earth had set their hand
• Not only at Fame's gate did stand
• Knocking to claim the passage through,
• But toiled to ope that heavier door
• 30 Which Florence shut for evermore.

• Shall not his birth's baptismal Town
• One last high presage yet fulfil,
• And at that font if in Florence still
• His forehead take the laurel-crown?
• O God! and or shall dead souls deny
• The undying soul its prophecy?

• Aye, 'tis their hour. Not yet forgot
• The bitter words he spoke that day
• When for some great charge far away
• 40 His colleagues Her rulers his acceptance sought.
• “And if I go, who stays?”—so rose
• His scorn:—“and if I stay, who goes?”

• “Lo! thou art gone now, and we stay:”
• (The curled lips mutter): “and no star
• Is from thy mortal path so far
• As streets where childhood knew the way.
• And To Heaven and Hell thy feet may win,
• But thine own house they come not in.”

• Therefore, the loftier rose the song
• 50 To touch the secret ways things of God,
• The deeper pierced the hate that trod
• On base men's track who wrought the wrong;
• Till the soul's effluence came to be
• Its own exceeding agony.

• Even such was Dante's mood, when now,
• Mocked for long years with Fortune's sport,
• He dwelt at yet another court,
• There where Verona's knee did bow
• And her voice hailed with proud acclaim
• 60 Can Grande della Scala's name.

• As that lord's honoured lordly kingly guest awhile
• His life we follow; through the days
• Which walked in exile's barren ways,—
• The nights which still beneath one smile
• Heard through all spheres one song increase,—
• ‘Even I, even I am Beatrice.’

• At Can La Scala's court, no doubt,
• Due reverence did his steps attend;
• The ushers on his path would bend
• 70At ingoing as at going out;
• The penmen waited on his call
• At council-board, the grooms in hall.

• And pages hushed their laughter down,
• Shuffling the badge-caps from their hair
  Added TextAnd squires would still the merry stir,
• When he passed up the dais-chamber
• With set brows lordlier than a frown;
• And tire-maids hidden among these
• Drew close their loosened bodices.

• Belike Perhaps the priests, fed these to ban
• 80 Or bless at on bidding, if at whiles
• They found him in their Chapel wandering in their aisles,
• Grudged their soul's [?] ghostly greeting to the man
• By whom, ? and heart were filled though not of ghostly guild,
• With Heaven and Hell though of no guild men's hearts were fill'd.

• And the court-poets (he, forsooth,
• A whole world's poet strayed to court!)
• [???] him of paltry sport Gave to his scorn their hate's retort
  Added TextHad for his scorn their hate's retort.
• He'd meet them flushed with facile easy youth,
• Hot on their errands. Like noon-flies
• 90 They vexed him in the ears and eyes.

• But at this court, [?] peace still must wrench
• Her chaplet from the teeth of war:
• By day they held high watch from far afar,
• At night they cried across the trench;
• And still, in Dante's path, the fierce
• Gaunt soldiers wrangled o'er their spears.

• But vain seemed all the strength to him,
• As golden convoys sunk at sea
• Which raised would Whose wealth might root out penury:
• 100Because it was not, limb with limb,
• Knit like his heart-strings round the wall
• Of Florence, that all pride her foes might fall.

• Yet in the tiltyard, when the dust
• Cleared from the sundered press of knights
• Ere yet again it swoops and smites,
• He almost deemed his longing must
• Find force to wield that multitude
• And turn hurl that strength the way he would.

• How should he move them,—fame & gain
• 110 On all hands calling them at strife?
• He still might find but his one life
• To give, by Florence counted vain;
• One voice she heard once and cast out
  Added TextOne heart the false hearts made her doubt;
• One sword, at ? rout
  Added TextOne voice she heard once and cast out.

• Oh! if his Florence could but come,
• A lily-sceptred damsel fair,
• As her own Giotto painted her
• On many shields and gates at home,—
• A lady crowned, at a soft pace
• 120 Riding the lists round to the dais:

• Till where Can Grande rules the lists,
• As young as Truth, as calm as Force,
• She stops now, while her blazoned horse draws her rein now, while her horse
• Bows at the turn of the white wrists;
• And when each knight within his stall
• Gives ear, she speaks and tells them all:

• All the foul tale,—truth sworn untrue
• And falsehood's triumph. All the tale?
• Great God! and should must she not prevail
• 130To fire them ere they heard it through,—
• Pass, Dante, pass! thy life day wears short,
  Added TextAnd hand achieve ere heart could rest
• An exile at Can Grande's Court!
  Added TextThat high adventure of her quest?

• Watch we his steps. He comes upon
• The women at their palm-playing.
• The conduits round the gardens sing
• And meet in scoops of milk-white stone,
• Where by thy bodies rest fatigued wearied damsels rest & hold
• Their hands in the wet spurt of gold.

• One of whom, knowing well that he,
• 140 By some found stern, was mild with them,
• Would run and pluck his garment's hem,
• Saying, “Messer Dante, pardon me,”—
• Praying to hear from him that they might hear the song
• Which first of all he made, when young.

• “Donne che avete”* ... thereunto
• Thus would he murmur, having first
• Drawn near the fountain, while she nurs'd
• His hand against her side: a few
• Sweet words, and scarcely those, half said:
• 150 Then turned, and changed, and bowed his head.

• For then the voice said in his heart,
• “Even I, even I am Beatrice”;
• And his whole life would yearn to cease:
• Till having reached his room, apart
• Beyond vast lengths of palace-floor,
• He drew the arras round his door.

• At such times, Dante, thou hast set
• Thy forehead to the painted pane
• Full oft, I know; and if the rain
• 160Smote it outside, her fingers met
• Thy brow; and if the sun fell there,
• Her breath was on thy face and hair.

• Then, weeping, I think certainly
• Thou hast beheld, past sight of eyne,—
• Within another room of thine
• Where now thy body may not be
• But where in thought thou still remain'st,—
• A window often wept against:

• The window thou, a youth, hast sought,
• 170 Flushed in the limpid eventime,
• Ending with daylight the day's rhyme
• Of her; where oftenwhiles her thought
• Held thee—the lamp untrimmed to write—
• In joy through the blue lapse of night.

• At Can La Scala's court, no doubt
• Guests seldom wept. It was brave sport,
• No doubt, at Can La Scala's court,
• Within the palace and without;
• Where music, set to madrigals,
• 180 Loitered all day through groves and halls.

• Because Can Grande of his life
• Had not had six and twenty years
• As yet. And when the chroniclers
• Tell you of that Vicenza strife
• And of strifes elsewhere,—you must not
• Conceive for church-sooth he had got

• Just nothing in his wits but war:
• Though certes 'twas the young man's joy
• (Aye, and he knew it from a boy)
  Added Text(Grown with his growth from a mere boy,)
• 190To mark his “Viva Cane!” scare
• The foe's shut front, till it would reel
• All blind with shaken points of steel.

• But there were places—held too sweet
• For eyes that had not the due veil
• Of lashes and clear lids—as well
• In favour as his saddle-seat:
• Breath of low speech he scorned not there
• Nor light cool fingers in his hair.

• Yet if the child his father's plan   by thoughtful
  Added Textwell-found
  work judged plan   whom the sire's plan
• 200 Made free of a deep treasure-chest
• Scoffed it with ill-conditioned jest,—
• We may hold fast be sure too that the man
• Was not mere thews, nor all content
• With lust lewdness swathed clean in sentiment.

• So we you may read and marvel not
• That such a man as Dante—one
• Who, while Can Grande's deeds were done,
• Had drawn his robe round him and thought—
• Now at the same guest-table far'd
• 210 Where keen Uguccio wiped his beard.*

• But Dante recked not of the wine;
• And if Whether the women stayed or went,
• His visage held one stern intent:
• And when the music had its sign
• To breathe upon them for more ease,
• Sometimes he turned and bade it cease.

• There was a Jester, a foul lout
• Whom the court loved for graceless arts;
• Sworn scholiast of the bestial parts
• Of speech; a ribald mouth to shout
• In Folly's horny tympanum
• All things of which [?] tongues are dumb
• Such things as that strike make the wise man dumb.

• And Dante loathed the beast. Much loved, him Dante loathed. And so,
• One day when Dante felt perplex'd
• If any day that could come next
• Were worth the waiting for or no,
• 220 And his words, always scarce Till now his scanty speech quite ceas'd,—
• Can Grande summoned in this beast.

• The jests, be sure, came rank in filth
  Added TextRank words, with such, are wit's best wealth
• Lords mouthed approval; ladies kept
• Cackling Twittering with clustered heads, except
• Some few that took their trains by stealth
• And went. Can Grande shook his hair
• And smote his thighs and laughed i' the air.

• Then, facing on his guest, he cried,—
• “Say, Messer Dante, how it is
• 230 I get out of a clown like this
• More than your wisdom can provide?”
• And Dante: “'Tis man's ancient whim
• That still his like seems good to him.”

• But wherefore should we turn the grout
• In a drained cup, or be at strife
• From the worn garment of a life
• To rip the twisted ravel out?
• Good needs expounding; but of ill
• Each hath enough to guess his fill.

• They named him Justicer-at-Law:
• Each month to bear the tale in mind
• Of hues a wench might wear unfin'd
• 250And of the load an ox might draw;
• To cavil in the weight of bread
• And to see purse-thieves gibbeted.

• Therefore the bread he had to eat
• Seemed brackish, less like corn than tares;
• And the rush-strown accustomed stairs
• Each day were steeper to his feet;
• And when the night-vigil was done,
• His face brows would ache to feel the sun.

• Nathless,—a churchman of his kin
  Added TextNevertheless, when through his kin
• 260 Sending him There came the tidings how at last
• In Florence a decree was pass'd
• Whereby all banished folk might win
• Free pardon, so a fine were paid
• And act of public penance made,—

• This Dante writ in answer thus,
• Words such as these: “That clearly they
• In Florence must not have to say,—
• The man abode aloof from us
• Nigh fifteen years, yet lastly skulk'd
• 270 Hither to candleshrift and mulct.

• “That since no gate led, by God's will,
• To Florence, but the one whereat
• The priests and money-changers sat,
• He still would still wander; for that still,
• He saw Even through the spirit's body's prison-bars,
• His life soul possessed the sun and stars.”

• Such were his words . as these It is indeed
• For ever well that poets our singers should
• Utter good words and know them good
• 280Not through song merely; having with close heed
• Lest, having spent for the work's sake
• Six days, the man be left to make.

• Months o'er Verona, and till the feast
• Was come to for Florence the Free Town:
• And in the Church at the shrine of Baptist John
• The exiles, many with priest and girt with many a priest
• Communing and reading as they went,
  Added TextAnd carrying candles as they went,
• Were offered to the blessed held to mercy of the saint.

• Up the church aisle On the high seats in sober state,—
• 290 Gold neck-chains range [?] o'er range below
• Gold screen-work where the lilies grow,—
• The Heads of the Republic sate,
• Marking the humbled face go by
• Each one of his house-enemy.

• And as each proscript rose and stood
• From kneeling in the ushered ashen dust
• On the shrine-steps, some magnate thrust
• A beard into the velvet hood
• Of his front colleague's gown, to see
• 300 The cinders stuck in the bare knee.

• Tosinghi passed, Manelli passed,
• Rinucci passed, each in his place;
• But not an Alighieri's face
• Went by that day from first to last
• In the Republic's triumph; nor
• A foot came home to Dante's door.

• ( Respublica—a public thing:
• A shameful shameless prostitute,
• Whose lust with one lord may not suit,
• 310So takes by turns its revelling
• A night with each, till he at morn
• Is beaten forth bare and forlorn,
  Added TextIs stripped and beaten forth forlorn,

• And leaves her, cursing her. If she,
• Indeed, have not some spice-draught, hid
• In scent under a silver lid,
• To drench his open throat with—he
• Once hard asleep; and lay thrust him not
• At dawn beneath the stairs boards to rot.)

• Years filled out their twelve moons, & ceased
• 320 One in another; We may say and alway
• There were the whole twelve hours each day
• And each night as the weeks years increased;
• All through the months each month the same And rising moon and setting sun
• And [how much?] Dante knew[heard?] of them. Beheld that Dante's work was done.

• Only some hours, some days that passed
  Added TextEach hour, as then the Vision pass'd,
• He [?] heard the tone[?] utter harmony
• Of the nine trembling spheres, till she
• Bowed her eyes towards him in the last,
• So that all ended with her eyes,
• 330 Hell, Purgatory, Paradise.

• “It is my trust, as the years fall,
• To write more worthily of her
• Who now, being made God's minister,
• Looks on His visage and knows all.”
• Such was the hope that he dared send
• Forth solemnly, to make an end.

• Of the “New Life,” his youth's dear book.
• Adding thereunto: “In such hop trust
• I labour, and believe I must
• 340Accomplish this which my soul took
• In charge, if God, my Lord and hers,
• Leave my life with me a few years.”

• The trust which he had borne in youth
• Was all at length accomplished. He
• At length had written worthily—
• Yea even of her; no rhymes uncouth
• 'Twixt tongue and tongue; but by God's aid
• The first words Italy had said.

• Clearly herself; the same whom he
• 350 Met, not past girlhood, in the street,
• Low-bosomed and with hidden feet;
• And then as woman perfectly,
• In years that followed, more than once,—
• And now at last among the suns

• All this, being there, we had not seen.
• Seen only was the shadow wrought
• On the [stern?] strong features bound in thought;
• The vagueness gaining gait and mien;
• The white streaks thickening, that were few gathering clear to view
• 360 In the burnt beard the women knew.

• “Whereat” (Boccaccio's words) “he smil'd
• For pride in fame.” It might be so:
• Nevertheless we cannot know
• 370If then his thought were not beguil'd
• To mirth, for that he scarce could tell
• If he indeed were back from Hell.

• So the day came, after a space,
• When Dante felt assured that there
• The sunshine must lie sicklier
• Even than in any other place,
• Let alone Save only Florence. The same day When that day
• Silent, Had come, he rose and went his way.

• He went and turned not. From his shoes
• 380 It may be that he shook the dust,
• As every righteous dealer must
• Not less than once ere life can close;
• And unaccomplished destiny
• Looked black Struck cold his forehead, it may be.

• No book keeps record how the Prince
• Sunned himself out of Dante's reach,
• And Nor how the Jester stank in speech;
• While lords, long courtiers, used to sulk smile and wince,
• Poets and harlots, all the throng,
• 390 Let flow loose their slaver and their song.

• No book keeps record if the seat
• Which Dante had at his host's board
• Were sat in next by clerk or lord,—
• If leman lolled with dainty feet
• At ease, or hostage brooded there,
• Or priest lacked silence for his prayer.

• Eat and wash hands, Can Grande;—scarce
• We know their deeds now: hands which fed
• Our Dante with that bitter bread;
• 400And thou the watch-dog of those stairs
• Which, of all the paths his feet knew well
  Added TextWhereon the weary footsteps fell,
• Were steeper found than Heaven or Hell.
  Added TextThat knew the paths of Heaven or Hell.