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şşervants—a larger male establisment, I am told, trust will be next year at farthest, unless especial than is kept at Sion House."

family reasons prevent our dear Sarah from un“But all without breeches — think of that, dertaking the journey—to give us a few months ; Bridget," said the vexed father, who was in the if she could put up with my little India chintz strange and not infrequent mood of sporting with room, I would willingly give it up." his own distress of mind.

“For God's sake, Bridget, spare me !” cried the La, you there again, brother! that, to be sure, unhappy father, rushing from the room, unable as I distantly hinted to Mr Hill, is no subject for longer to restrain himself. a lady's discussion. But, if Mr Makmukrandluk If Sarah had nobly striven to conceal her feelwere to receive a hint of the excessive delicacy of ings from her father, it was now his turn to try to English women-particularly those born and bred deceive his child. He was more successful than in Lon'on-I would not grudge out of my own she had been. His fears had been ever alive ; pocket, before my niece goes to her estates, to put while Sarah's eyes and mind were delightfully every man and boy of them in decent-you under- preoccupied. Her father was not remarkable at stand me, brother? Sarah, poor dear, has her little any time for blandness of manners ; but he was head so carried just now—and no wonder-such civil and kind to her Highland Chief ; to herself, a man, and such a match !—that she cannot even when he did speak to her at all, more tenderly think of her own wedding clothes, much less of complacent than he had ever been ; until, at last, .” The spinster hesitated.

every look and tone vibrated to her heart ; for “Far less of clansmen's breeches, or want of “farewell" was in them all. breeches,” interrupted Mr Bradshaw more peevish- Good Mistress Bridget could not, meanwhile, ly than ever. “ For heaven's sake, Bridget, don't divine what had come over her brother. However, make yourself ridiculous, nor worry a man whose she at last settled that the gout had got into his heart is bruised enough already.”

head. “Ridiculous ! Mr Bradshaw,” said the indig- “Sarah, my dear, a flying gout had got into my nant spinster ; but she saw the muscles working brother's head; but I sent for Dr Coddler. He is and quivering about the usually firmly-compressed quite right this morning; and I must insist on mouth of her brother as he hastily turned his your not allowing our dear unnamed to wait on back.

you to-morrow, unless he choose to accompany us “My dear brother !-Abram Bradshaw!" cried to the milliner's and the India shops. I do bethe kind-hearted sister, following him “ ten lieve, child, but for me you would go to your thousand pardons-for heaven's sake, what is the castle without a tolerable gown or shift to your matter?"

back. Now, coming from Lon'on, and an only “Is it nothing to lose Sarah, you foolish wo- girl, I trust you will, as must be expected, be man?” said Mr Bradshaw, gulping down his able to show the ladies of your neighbourhood feelings, and disguising his real fears from his something like a decent wardrobe.” sister.

“ Ladies of my neighbourhood, my poor aunt," “Our dear Sarah! surely it is, brother; but thought Sarah. But what cared Sarah for wardthen so lost—a husband so adoring.” Old Brad- robes, ladies, and neighbourhoods? Were there shaw was about suffering a relapse into cross hu- not Ranald's noble-minded mother-Ranald's kinmour; but he checked himself, and let his good- dred—Ranald's clan-- Ranald's glens and lakes? hearted sister maunder on.

She attended her aunt, however, to London ; and “My niece shan't be lost to me, Mr Bradshaw, for two days,—two ages they seemed, -bought more than every married young person is lost to , finery, and never once saw Ranald. her family. I am not quite an easy-chair old If a day's absence did not lessen Lochnaveen's woman yet, thank heaven !-and, if money and passion for his mistress, it ever produced conflict, post-horses can do it, I'll visit my niece at her or something like a revolution, in his feelings, castle next season, and every season-ay, were it and another manner of considering his approachfifty miles beyond York city! I am pretty sure- ing marriage. Alone with Sarah, his happiness and that is not what every old aunt can say—that was perfect ; not from the mere egotism of love, I shall be extremely welcome to a slice of my but by the exclusion of those persons and things nephew's salmon, and a cut of his venison. Don't which, in reminding him of her birth and position, you think so, Abram ?”

disturbed his self-complacency, fretted his pride, “ To a whole sheep-head, pluck, haggis, and and alarmed his fears for the future. To Mr all-I have no doubt of it, Bridget.”

Hill, who might understand how very great a “Nay, that is a stumbling-block, Abram; but, man and chief he was, Lochnaveen was frank and as my niece is but a puny eater at best and a courteous; to Mistress Bridget, whose deference Lon’on girl bred and born-I hope she will be ex- soothed his vanity, polite and attentive; but the cused. Indeed, I think, Abram, I had better drop London goldsmith and the northern Chief were, in a few lines to the dowager, Mrs Makmukrandluk, spite of themselves, repellant qualities. He loved about my management of poor dear Sarah's ways. Sarah fondly ; he was proud of her beauty, alive I dare say she is a very motherly sort of body, and to all her fascinations of manner, and daily more just the nice, chatty, experienced old lady, that, and more sensible of her high and hidden qualities whatever may happen, will be such a comfort to of mind, and inherent sweetness of disposition; our girl. I only wish I could induce her, when but “old Bradshaw's daughter," the “city heiress," my nephew and niece return our visit—which I l was a different being.

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Sarah could scarcely allow herself to be dis- means to improve his estates, was only restrained pleased with his impatience of ordinary society. from completely ruining his family, to which many It was a feeling she shared, though, in her breast, of his contemporaries, as Mr Bradshaw remarked, arising from very opposite tastes and motives. showed a happy predisposition.

She already perceived that she was more ad- The Chief was now feasted and congratulated on mired, or in better accordance with the magnifi- all hands, till he became disposed to resent as incent tastes of the chief, in the jewelled splendour sults attentions paid so exclusively to the accepted and rich brocades of her afternoon costume, than lover of the city heiress, and to remark that no in the plain linen gown and mob-cap of the morn- such homage had been paid, in his own right, to ing. She also sometimes feared that Lochnaveen the northern Chief. Lochnaveen even feared that knew or recked little of women, in their most en- some shade of envy mingled with the contempt he dearing character—as the faithful and sympathiz- felt, or tried to feel, for the profuse dinners, costly ing depositories of fears and hopes, the charmers wines, and superb beaufets of rich plate exhibited and soothers of firesides. But this it would yet by those new connexions, of whose hospitalities he be her delight to teach him. Though his tastes was invited, and in courtesy compelled to partake. might differ from her simple habits, what so natu- He could have despised himself for the meanness ral as that her high-born mountain Chief should of this feeling ; but, under it, the wish daily grew relish splendour and magnificence. Little airs of stronger that he were away from London—from impatience and petulance shown to such of her all those pompous vulgarities of wealth-with friends and visiters, as from some caprice, he did Sarah wholly his own. Even in his most jealous not like, were readily pardoned. With his fine moments of watchfulness, he could not discover natural breeding and quick talents, how, indeed, that she had any overweening pride of riches, or could he be supposed to tolerate those worthy, value for the costly luxuries to which she had been kind, stupid, vulgar people! Sarah could love familiarized from her infancy. them all : yet she could also see and pardon Ran- Among the numerous dinner parties, principally ald's coldness and impatience. What could not contrived and executed by Mistress Bridget, was her love have pardoned ? It could do every thing one given to Mr Bradshaw's friend and patron, but wholly blind her understanding.

the favourite and powerful minister of the day. When Sarah’s marriage-settlements came to be Sir Robert Walpole, on entering the room, heartily arranged, fresh difficulties and mortifications arose, congratulated the handsome Highlander on the though not from the ordinary causes. Ten times fair prize he was winning from England. “This rather, Ranald said, and well believed, would he is a new species of depredation,” said the sagacious have carried off his bride without a plack, to some minister. “We have found out the way at last to of the lonely shielings in the sylvan glens, which make honest and loyal men of the most warlike of she loved to picture, than have submitted to the King George's subjects. My pretty goddaughter exposure of his circumstances, and the torture to his will, I know, be the bond of fealty for one brave pride occasioned by these endless questionings and clan. Ay, that you will, my sweet Sarah, make arrangements.

loyal George's men of half the wild Jacobites of Mr Bradshaw, however, at last acknowledged the North. Say I commissioned you to receive to the peace-maker general, Aaron Hill, that his their allegiance, and sealed the warrant.” And Sir son-in-law elect had, though with abundant self- Robert took the bride elect in his arms, and kissed will and superfluous pride, shown at this time her cheek in the free manner of good-humoured something like generosity : “of an idiotic kind,” godfathers of those days with pretty goddaughters; he added, drily, as if he had praised overmuch. nor was Sarah violently offended. But the red “ This is ill-natured, Mr Bradshaw."

streak, the fiery cross, kindled and burned on Ran“ No, it is merely just. This map, with its ald's brow, the hereditary badge of his ireful race, tremendous muster-roll of Celtic names of places His scowling glance even rolled towards Sarah. and touns, in our bashaw's dominions, no doubt “Desert my Prince, too!" was his bitter thought. includes many future capabilities. This list of "Would-nay, God forbid that my mother heard Bhalie Hossack's—to whom, by the way, make this ! Am I longer worthy to be called her son ? my compliments, as to the only man with a Who are those around me? Where am I, the chief rational idea in that country—includes I cannot of Clan Raonull? This crafty Whig slave of the tell how many mosses, moors, lochs, forests, graz- Elector! Sarah, too, to permit the old fox to polings, ploughgates, and davochs of land, all of lute her cheek!” Ranald looked unutterable diswhich might lie till doomsday under the original pleasure and disgust; but he saw Sarah’s timid, curse, before your chief of three tails would deign supplicating, brimful eyes, anxiously watching to cultivate even a kail-garden with the paltry him, as if the day of maiden power were already gold of a London tradesman. But poor Sarah has past, the season of suffering and submission antimade her election. I ought now to consider their cipated. That look instantly checked, if it did not interests as one; the son, if he shall ever come, disarm his wrath. He whispered an entreaty for may have more sense than the father.”

pardon, and owned he could not bear to see any The settlements which Mr Bradshaw was left one salute her ; no, not her father-not even Aunt to arrange, at last, precisely as he liked, did equal Bridget. This was a weakness of his :—she must honour to his liberality and intelligence. The forgive it. And Sarah smiled sweetly though whole debts of Lochnaveen were to be at once gravely, and gave him her hand in amity. swept off; and the Chief, with ample power and

(To be continued.)

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14

DANTE AND BEATRICE.

BY BON GAULTIER.

Da lei si move ciascun mio pensiero,
Perchè l'anima ha preso qualitate
Di sua bella persona.

Canzonieri di Dante.
My every thought its being takes from her,
For that her fair perfections have my soul
To their own likeness wrought.

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On the 21st of July 1840 there was discovered / all mirthfulness long gone out of them,--hope in the Capella del Potestà, at Florence, a portrait from aught in this world long dead in those eyes, of Dante, as he was at the age of twenty-five, and stern in the clear sense of right and rigorpainted by his friend Giotto. Very different are the ous scorn of wrong ; but assuredly it is tenderfeatures it presents from those which the portraits ness, not harshness-sadness, not bitterness, that of the poet in his later years had made familiar are there. “I think,” says Carlyle,

“ it is the to us, graven into deep furrows by care and mournfullest face that ever was painted from thought and the burning passion of the genius | reality; an altogether tragic, heart-affecting face. that won for him his simple chaplet of laurel, There is in it, as foundation of it, the softness, which sits so fitly on his brows, that we invariably tenderness, gentle affection as of a child ; but all associate it with his image. It is not till we this as if congealed into contradiction, into abnehave examined them narrowly, side by side, that, gation, isolation, and proud hopeless pain." Sad, as in the face of a friend restored to us, after years sad is it, looked upon by itself; and when placed of separation have written strange histories upon in contrast with that portrait of his youth, it3 the smooth features which reflected back the sun- melancholy interest is deepened in a tenfold deshine of our own youth, we can trace in that so gree. These two portraits are indeed the best biosad and worn visage the lineaments which marked igraphy of Dante. its early years. In both portraits the leading The interest of the early portrait is heightened characteristic is sensibility. The delicate nos- by the fact, that it shows Dante to us as he was tril and tremulous lip of the youth, true to the , in that year when Beatrice died-that Beatrice indication of every deep and refined emotion, ap- i whom he loved with a tenderness, and purity, and pear in the prematurely-old man in an expression unselfishness of affection, which we do not say are of fixed sadness. The prominent eye lids of the unparalleled, but of which no such record exists young lover of Beatrice, that seen as though they as he has left—that Beatrice whom centuries have drooped and trembled beneath her gaze, have in- reverenced in his great poem, which she may deed sunk back, and show in their dark splen- truly be said to have inspired. Her presence it dour those eyes that have looked upon “ that was, which irst woke in him the love of the

of Hell, and Purgatory, and Hea- beautiful, that aspiration after inward purity and ven, in which his sorely-vexed spirit sought for grace, which it is the peculiar office of woman to a solution of the perplexities which beset his mor- inspire. To her influence may be traced the tal life. There is inore, ay, how much more of sor- reverence for woman which pervades his works, row there—more force, more sternness of purpose, and speaks in pictures of affection and beauty, -but of tenderness and gentle heart, there is no which Shakspeare alone—if he, indeed-has surabatement. It is just the difference between the passed. She was the day-star of his ambition, youth of finely-touched sympathies, to whom the while she lived ; and when she died, and he reyet untried riddle of the world and the dim yearn- covered from the shock of that event, which nearly inys of his own pure spirit have brought the brought him to the grave, she became the guarhaunting sadness of the prophet, and the man dian angel, in the light of whose pure eyes he ever who has proved the worth that was in him by doing walked. Death made her but dearer to his heart. and suffering greatly ;—who has borne him, with From thenceforth, as he saw her in the beautifyheroic heart and a soul true to its immortal gifts, ing light of memory and love, she seemed to surthrough exile, and poverty, and disgrace, through pass her former self in loveliness, as far as she sorrows deepened by being shared by others that had done her companions whilst on earth.* To were most dear to him, and through those fiery live and speak in a manner worthy of her, to whom conflicts of his own spirit, which are the penalties his whole love was given, was his ceaseless aiin. paid by genius for its greatness. These are things The world reaps the harvest of that noble enthat burn their impress deep into cheek and brow; deavour in his poem; and for the man Dante, and, looking on this Dante, we exclaim, in the words doubt not that to him, as to many a man whom of the people of Verona, when they saw him in their Heaven has blessed with a love pure and noble, streets, “ Eccovi l'uom ch' è stato all' Inferno!" Wrongly have these features been called, as

* Sotto suo velo ed oltre la riviera

Verde, pareami più se stessa antica they often are, harsh, and bitter, and unremorse

Vincer, che l'altre qui quand' ella c'era. ful. Seared and sorrow-stricken they may be,

Purgatorio, Canto xxxi.

great vision

though never, it may be, to be crowned with pos- sore-saddened heart! These longings of his tosession, it was

wards his Beatrice ; their meeting together in the -An inward light, Paradiso ; his gazing in her pure transfigured Making the path before him always bright;

eyes, her that had been purified by death so long, sustaining and guiding him through wrong, and separated from him so far ; ah! one likens it struggle, and evil days; nerving his heart against its to the song of angels ; it is among the purest own weakness, and teaching him to look upwards and utterances of affection, perhaps the very purest beyond this speck of time for that rest and solace that ever came out of a human soul.” Yet there which were denied to him here. Strange, and austere, have been critics, who have tried to show that no and cold of heart must he often have appeared to such person as Beatrice ever lived ; and that this those about him in those rapt communings of his being was a mere personification of Philosophy or with her who was his “soul's health.” How it was Religion! It is easy to understand that a strength with Gemma Donati, whom he afterwards mar- and purity of affection like this of Dante's, this ried, and by whom he had seven children, the blending of the real with the ideal, this noblest contradictions of biographers have left us to con- idolatry, which bows--and never owns a higher jecture. That she loved him, and that, by kind-heart than when it so bows—to woman as the ness and devotion, he repaid her love, cannot be link between earth and heaven,—this doubted. A nature like his could not do other

Devotion to something afar wise. And that she understood and respected his

From the sphere of our sorrow, devotion to the memory of Beatrice, seems to be

was too high a matter for the sympathies of emasstrongly confirmed by the fact that their youngest

culated churchmen and moping pedants. But that child was called by that name. But his inner heart they should have maintained such a plea in the never was hers. It was away with her to whom face both of the circumstantial narrative of Dante he surrendered it proudly in his boyhood, and himself, and of the testimony of his contemporawho proudly claimed it as her own for ever, ries, is a piece of scholastic perversity more than shining into it, in requital, with that pure and usually absurd. perfect light into which she had herself ascended. Dante has presented the world with the story of We hear of Gentucca of Lucca, and of Madonna di his love for Beatrice in his Vita Nuova, where he

has not Pietra, as having for a time engaged his fancy ;

rupled to paint in the minutest detail and he himself points at something of the kind those emotions and fluctuating shades of passion in the reproach addressed to him by Beatrice in to which other writers have only dared to give

The title the “Purgatorio,”—that reproach where womanly voice in their imaginary characters

. pride in the superiority of her own personal which he selected for his book, “The New Life,” charms is exquisitely mingled with rebuke for shows the object which he had in view. Some having allowed himself to stoop for a time to commentators have inferred, that by this name he lower feelings, and to aught less noble than his merely meant to indicate that it contained the story first high aspirations towards herself.

of his youth. But only the most prosaic can fail

to see its true significance. Until he saw Beatrice Nature or art ne'er showed thee aught so sweet,

his soul had slept ; but, seeing her, it sprang up As the fair limbs, that girdled me around; Which now are scattered dust aneath men's feet; into life and power. Thenceforth she was his life. And if the chiefest sweet by death was found

He felt, like Thekla towards Max Piccolomini in To fail thee so, what thing about thy heart

Schiller's “ Wallenstein," that to her he owed Of mortal mould should, after that, have wound ?

whatever of great and good in emotion and imBehoved thee, when first stricken by the dart Of frail and fleeting things, aloft to spring

pulse stirred within him :To me, o'er such uplifted high apart.

Her present-hers alone-It not beseemed, that thou shouldst stoop thy wing

Is this New Life which lives in me. She hath To a slight girl, or other transient, vain,

A right to her own creature. What was I,
Delightsome toy, that must thy bosom sting.

Ere her fair love infused a soul into me!
Purgatorio, Canto xxxi.*

“In that part of the book of my memory," he says These fancies, however, were but the rose-hued before which is little that can be read, standeth a cloudlets of an hour. They passed ; and there in the rubric which says, Incipit Vita Nova. Under deep blue heaven shone Beatrice, the“ bright par- which rubric I find written the words which it is my ticular star” of his affection. Never, without intention to record in this little book,- if not all deepest shame, can such fallings away, for however of them, at least those which are of leading mobrief a space, be reflected upon by a loving and ment.” Doubtless he felt with the prophetic innoble nature like his. But he who gave so much stinct of genius, that the world would not be infor his love might surely be permitted something to disposed to know what inspiration it was, under be forgiven; and in that forgiveness be bound by which the energies of his soul awoke. Or he an additional and dearer tie to the object of his felt, at least, that in this transcript of his own love.

feelings he offered what tribute then lay within his Carlyle has said beautifully, “I know not in

power of homage to his Beatrice, and in her to wothe world an affection equal to that of Dante. It manhood, for the ennobling influences of which to is a tenderness, a trembling, longing, pitying love; him she had been and was the ever-springing like the wail of Eolian harps, soft, soft ; like a child's young heart; and then that stern and

Of this little volume, which is comparatively * See also the previous canto.

little known, even among the readers of Dante,

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in this country, but which contains the key to | among many words which I did not understand, I Dante's character, it is proposed in the follow- heard these I am thy lord !' In his arms ineing pages to present as condensed a sketch as pos- thought I saw the form of one asleep, and naked, sible.

saving a crimson scarf, which was thrown lightly

round the figure; and, looking on it long and inIt was at a festival, held in celebration of May- tently, I knew that it was the lady of my health, day, in the year 1274, at the house of her father, who had deigned to salute me that same day. In Folcho Portinari, a leading and wealthy citizen of one of his hands, methought that he who bore her Florence, that Dante first saw the lady Bice. She held something that was all on fire; and, turning had just completed her eighth year. He was then to me, he said, Behold thy heart!' And, after a at the end of his ninth. Her complexion, he in space, methought he awoke the sleeper, and, with forms us, was brilliant and engaging, and she wore much persuasion, constrained her to eat the thing a girdle and other ornaments suitable to a girl of that was burning in his hand, which she did reher tender years. The impression upon Dante luctantly and with hesitation. This done, his joy was deep and instantaneous. After describing his soon after dissolved into the most bitter lamenta. emotions in the fantastic language of the school- tion; and so, all in tears, he took up this lady men, he adds:

again within his arms, and with her, as I thought, “ From that time forth Love ruled my soul, ascended towards heaven. Thereupon such anwhich had submitted itself so readily to his com- guish seized me, that my fitful slumber was mand, and he assumed such imperious sway and broken, and I awoke. Musing upon what I had masterdom over me, through the influence given seen, I resolved to make it known to the many to him by my imagination, that I could not choose famous poets of that time; and, finding that I pisbut do his pleasure in all things. He oftentimes sessed the art of ordering words in rhyme, I wrote enjoined me to strive to obtain a sight of this the following sonnet, in which, saluting all who young angel; and thus did I, in my boyhood, go were under fealty to love, and entreating them to many a time in quest of her; and I saw in her de- give judgment upon my vision, I wrote to them portient so much that was noble and beautiful, that which I had seen in my sleep. that assuredly that saying of the poet Ilomer

THE VISION OF THE BURNING HEART. might be spoken of her:

To every captive soul, and gentle heart, From heaven she had her birth, and not from mortal clay.

Into whose sight shall come this song of mine, “ Her image, which was evermore present with That they to me its matter may divine, me, placed me wholly under the thraldom of love; Be greeting in Love's name, our master, sent! yet were her excellencies so noble, that, in yielding A fourth part of the hours was nearly spent,

When all the stars of heaven most brightly shine, to his sway, I carried with me the full sanction of

When Love came suddenly before mine eyne, reason, in all those matters where it is of impor

Remembering whom with horror makes me start. tance to listen to her counsel. Were I to dwell Joyful he seemed, and bore within his hand upon all the passionate acts of my youth, they

My heart; while in his arms, and calmly sleeping, would appear like fables. I shall not, therefore, He woke her, and she ate, by his command,

My lady folded in a mantle lay. linger upon these, but, passing over many things,

The burning heart, as though she feared her prey; which influenced me strongly at the time, I shall And then Love went his way, deject and weeping." come to those words which are written in my me.

Many replies were made to this sonnet. Among mory, under more conspicuous titles.”

others who sought to resolve the fantastic vision Dante, as we can read in his physiognomy, was a shy and bashful boy; but how distant and re- Cavalcanti, one of the noblest and most accom

was the “young father of Italian song,” Guido verential must his admiration of Beatrice have plished gentlemen of Italy, whom Dante warmly heen, when we find that nine years elapsed before designates “the foremost of my friends." llis he heard her voice. The occasion is thus described sonnet, which, besides being graceful in itself, and with all a lover's minuteness:

strangely prophetic, is interesting, as having led to “ Her dress was snowy white, and with her were the formation of the friendship which ever aftertwo ladies, older than herself; and, as she passed wards subsisted between them, runs thus:me, she turned her eyes towards the spot, where I stood in breathless trepidation; and, moved by that

CAVALCANTI'S REPLY. ineffable courtesy of nature, which has this day Thou hast, I ween, beheld whate'er of bright, received its guerdon in a brighter world, she saluted

Or great, or good, a mortal vision may,

If thou hast in thee felt his sovereign might, me in words of such thrilling sweetness, that it

Who in the world of honour beareth sway. seemed to me as though I had in that moment be- All'noyance dies, where beams his gracious sight; held the utmost limits of bliss. Like a drunken Minds, sanctified by pity, himn obey, man, I rushed away from those about me to the And on our sleep he pours such deep delight,

That all unfelt he bears our hearts away. solitude of my own chamber, and sate me down to

Your heart he bore away, for well he knew muse upon her and her most gracious courtesy. That death full soon should call thy lady hence, And, as I mused, a sweet sleep came over me, in And, fearing this, he fed her with that heart. which a marvellous vision was presented to my When all in tears he seemed, and thus withdrew, eyes. Methought I saw within my chamber a Sweet was thy sleep, but soon from thee to part, flame-coloured cloud, and within it the figure of

For onward strode its foe, to scare it thence. one whose imperious eye struck a we into my Such visions as these are the fruits of a passion heart. Ilis look was radiant with exultation; and so absorbing as Dante's, which did not find its

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