but agony,
    Whose pains were light matched with His victory,
    When the world’s power to harm Him was defied? 
Why rather speak and write not of the realm
    He rules in heaven, and soon will bring below
    Unto the praise and glory of His name? 
Ah foolish crowd!  This world’s thick vapours whelm
    Your eyes unworthy of that glorious show,
    Blind to His splendour, bent upon His shame.

XXII.

IDEAL LOVE.

Il vero amante.

He who loves truly, grows in force and might;
    For beauty and the image of his love
    Expand his spirit:  whence he burns to prove
    Adventures high, and holds all perils light. 
If thus a lady’s love dilate the knight,
    What glories and what joy all joys above
    Shall not the heavenly splendour, joined by love
    Unto our flesh-imprisoned soul, excite? 
Once freed, she would become one sphere immense
    Of love, power, wisdom, filled with Deity,
    Elate with wonders of the eternal Sense. 
But we like sheep and wolves war ceaselessly: 
    That love we never seek, that light intense,
    Which would exalt us to infinity.

XXIII.

THE MODERN CUPID.

Son tremil’ anni.

Through full three thousand years the world reveres
    Blind Love that bears the quiver and hath wings: 
    Now too he’s deaf, and to the sufferings
    Of folk in anguish turns impiteous ears. 
Of gold he’s greedy, and dark raiment wears;
    A child no more, that naked sports and sings,
    But a sly greybeard; no gold shaft he flings,
    Now that fire-arms have cursed these latter years. 
Charcoal and sulphur, thunder, lead, and smoke,
    That leave the flesh with plagues of hell diseased,
    And drive the craving spirit deaf and blind,
These are his weapons.  But my bell hath broke
    Her silence.  Yield, thou deaf, blind, tainted beast,
    To the wise fervour of a blameless mind!

XXIV.

TRUE AND FALSE NOBILITY.

In noi dal senno.

Valour and mind form real nobility,
    The which bears fruit and shows a fair increase
    By doughty actions:  these and nought but these
    Confer true patents of gentility. 
Money is false and light unless it be
    Bought by a man’s own worthy qualities;
    And blood is such that its corrupt disease
    And ignorant pretence are foul to see. 
Honours that ought to yield more true a type,
    Europe, thou measurest by fortune still,
    To thy great hurt; and this thy foe perceives: 
He rates the tree by fruits mature and ripe,
    Not by mere shadows, roots, and verdant leaves:—­
    Why then neglect so grave a cause of ill?