THE BROOK. FROM THE SPANISH LAUGH of the mountain!-lyre of bird and tree! How without guile thy bosom, all transparent Thy secrets scan, thy smooth, round pebbles count! Thou shunn'st the haunts of man, to dwell in limpid founit! THE CELESTIAL PILOT FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, II. AND now, behold! as at the approach of morning Appeared to me, may I again behold it !— A light along the sea, so swiftly coming, And when therefrom I had withdrawn a little Thereafter, on all sides of it, appeared I knew not what of white, and underneath, My master yet had uttered not a word, He cried aloud; "Quick, quick, and bow the knee! Behold the Angel of God! fold up thy hands! Henceforward shalt thou see such officers! "See, how he scorns all human arguments, So that no oar he wants, nor other sail Than his own wings, between so distant shores! See, how he holds them, pointed straight to heaven, Fanning the air with the eternal pinions, That do not moult themselves like mortal hair!" And then, as nearer and more near us came But down I cast it; and he came to shore Upon the stern stood the Celestial Pilot! “In exitu Israel out of Egypt!" Thus sang they all together in one voice, Then made he sign of holy rood upon them, THE TERRESTRIAL PARADISE. FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, XXVIII. LONGING already to search in and round Withouten more delay I left the bank, gently-breathing air, that no mutation Had in itself, smote me upon the forehead, No heavier blow, than of a pleasant breeze, Whereat the tremulous branches readily Did all of them bow downward towards that side Where its first shadow casts the Holy Mountain; Yet not from their upright direction bent But, with full-throated joy, the hours of prime Even as from branch to branch it gathering swells, Through the pine forests on the shore of Chiassi, When Eolus unlooses the Sirocco. Already my slow steps had led me on Could see no more the place where I had entered. And lo! my farther course cut off a river, All waters that on earth most limpid are, Would seem to have within themselves some mixture, Compared with that, which nothing doth conceal, Although it moves on with a brown, brown current, Under the shade perpetual, that never Ray of the sun lets in, nor of the moon. 117 EVEN as the Blessed, in the new covenant, So, upon that celestial chariot. A hundred rose ad vocem tanti senis, They all were saying; "Benedictus qui venis,” I once beheld, at the approach of day, And the sun's face uprising, overshadowed, Thus in the bosom of a cloud of flowers, With crown of olive o'er a snow-white veil, up, |