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Dante, musing along the pleasant way, with the clear stream singing by him, found the key-note he wanted; and thus began, in melodious sublimation of the theme, through which, consciously or not, the forebodings of great love—always so near the heart when its passion is deepest—steal in like a solemn second, deepening and enriching the happier strain:—

Ladies who have intelligence in love,

I would speak of my lady to your ear,

Though well I know her sum of praise could ne'er

Be ended; but to give some utterance meet

To ease the mind—I say her worth above

All other greatness fills me with such fire

Of love, that did not failing forces tire

Speaking, I should bring all men to her feet

Not now in such a lofty guise I treat;

Lest all too mean for song so high I prove,

But rather of the gentle state I love,

With softer tones will sing, oh ladies sweet,

Ladies and maidens gentle-souled, as who

Could speak on such a theme to only you.

An angel of divine intelligence

Lifts up his voice and says, 'Sire, on this earth

Such wondrous light from one of mortal birth

Shines forth that all below resplendent glows.

Heaven nothing lacks but this, nor can dispense

With her; and thus upon the Lord we call

To grant her to us, saints and angels all.'

Pity alone some pleading for us shows,

And God replies, who best my lady knows,

'My dearly-loved, have patience till descends