Non è più bassa o vil cosa terrena.
No earthly thing is there more base or vile
Than, miserable, that I am deprived of thee:
Therefore my weak, infirm and tottering powers,
Wearied of error, do for pardon cry.
Stretch out, O Lord most high! to me that chain
Which linketh with itself each heavenly gift,
The faith, I mean, to which I turn and reach,
Flying the sense that to destruction leads.
So much the greater, that it is more rare,
Will be that gift of gifts-the greater since
The world has no content or peace without.
For only from this fount of bitter grief
Can penitence arise within my heart;
No other key doth open Heaven to man.
Appena in terra i begli occhi vid' io.
I SCARCE beheld on earth those beauteous eyes,
That were two suns in life's dark pilgrimage,
Before the day when, closed upon the light,
Heaven hath re-ope'd them to contemplate God.
I know, and grieve, yet mine was not the fault
To' admire too late the beauty infinite,
But cruel Death's. You he hath not despoil'd,
But ta'en her from a blind and wicked world.
Therefore, Luigi, to eternalize
The unique form of that angelic face
In living stone, which now with us is earth,
Since Love such transformations doth effect,
And Art the object cannot reach unseen,
'Tis meet, to sculpture her, I copy you.
Condotto da molti anni all' ultim' ore.
CONDUCTED by long years to the last hours,
Too late, O world, I learn thy emptiness;
Proffering to man the quiet thou hast not,
And that repose which dieth in its birth.
But not on that account reproach nor grief,
For all my fugitive and ill-spent years,
Renews desires and thoughts within my heart;
For he who in sweet error groweth old,
Whilst he appears to quicken his desire,
Doth kill the soul,-the body profits not.
At length I see, by sad experience,
That he enjoys a better, surer lot,
Who at his birth is nearest unto death.
Dal mondo scese ai ciechi abissi, e poi.
FROM earth descending, to the blind abyss,
He scann'd the one and other hell, and then
To God went up, fill'd with the living thought,
And gave the light of truth to man on earth.
Star of high worth, that with its beaming rays
Disclosed to our blind sight the eternal truths;
And found at length a wicked world's reward,
Too often given to the greatest men.
Ill were the works of Dante felt, or known
His glorious purpose, by that thankless crowd,
For to the just alone is safety barr'd.
Yet were I such a man-born to like fate,
I would exchange the greatest lot on earth,
For his sad exile, with his virtue join'd.
Quanto dirne si dee, non si può dire.
THERE is no tongue to speak his eulogy;
Too brightly burn'd his splendour for our eyes:
Far easier to condemn his injurers,
Than for the tongue to reach his smallest worth.
He to the realms of sinfulness came down,
To teach mankind; ascending then to God,
Heaven unbarred to him her lofty gates,
To whom his country hers refused to ope.
Ungrateful land, to its own injury
Nurse of his fate! Well too does this instruct,
That greatest ills fall to the perfectest.
And 'midst a thousand proofs let this suffice,
That, as his exile had no parallel,
So never was there man more great than he.
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