EXAMPLES of poverty, liberality, and avarice. Hugh Capet gives a history of his family. All the spirits join in singing "Glory to God in the highest."-Dante is anxious to know the cause of the mountain's shaking.
In vain strives will with mightier will contending; 1
Wherefore I drew the sponge unsatisfied
From out the water, to his pleasure bending.
Now o'er the rock it was my task to wind,
Threading the way together with my guide,
As on a wall by battlements confined:
For they who drop by drop pour through the eye
That ill by which the world is all possest,
Full closely to the outer margin lie.
Curst be thou, ancient Wolf!-thy greediness
Surpassing that of every other beast ;-
Thy hunger so profound-so fathomless
O heaven! by whose revolving orbs, as some
Have deem'd, all changes are produced below, When will the Victor to destroy her come? With rare and tardy steps we onward went, Observant of the shades, who, plunged in woe, Pour'd forth their grief in wailing and lament; When in advance a plaintive note arose,
"O blessed Mary!"-on mine ear it fell,
Like to a woman's cry in child-bed throes.
And, "Oh, how poor," it added, “was thy plight,
That lowly dwelling doth attest full well,
Where thou thy holy burden gav'st to light!
O good Fabricius," then pursued the voice,
"Virtue accompanied with poverty,
Rather than vicious grandeur was thy choice."
These words such pleasure gave me, I drew on
To ascertain more clearly who might be
The spirit from whose lips they came.-Anon
Those bounteous gifts continued it to praise
Which Nicholas unto the virgins made,
That honor might attend their youthful days.
"O spirit, tell, I pray thee, what thy name,
Who speakest of such good;" and “why,” I said,
"Dost thou alone these worthy themes proclaim?
Not unrequited shall be thy reply,
If I return to close the short lived race
Of human life, which to its end draws nigh."
"Not in the hope of comfort thence," said he,
"Will I inform thee; but because such grace,
Ere thou art dead, is manifest in thee.
Of that ill favour'd plant was I the root,
Which so o'ershadow'd all the Christian land
That rarely thence is gather'd wholesome fruit.
Were power to Douay, Ghent, Lille, Bruges given,
Revenge would soon arrive; and at His hand
I ask revenge, whose dwelling is in heaven.
Hugh Capet was the name I had on earth :
The Philips and the Louis', who bore sway
In France of late, from me derive their birth:
My sire at Paris plied the butcher's trade.
When all the ancient kings had pass'd away,
Save only one in sable weeds array'd,
I found the imperial reins within my hands:
From new possessions such great power I won,
And friends flock'd round me in such numerous bands,
That in due course of time the widow'd crown
Was placed upon the forehead of my son,
From whom the consecrated bones come down.
Till the great dower of Provence took away
Reproach of birth, a limited command
My offspring had,—then virtuous: from that day
Commenced with violence and many a lie
Its rapine ;-for amends it then laid hand
On Normandy, Poitou, and Gascony.
Charles enter'd Italy, and, for amends,
A victim of the young Conraddin made,
And sent to heaven Aquinas, for amends.
I see from France, ere many years have flown,
Another Charles Italia's peace invade,
Thereby to make his race more fully known. Unarm'd he goes, save with that lance alone
Which Judas tilted with; and this he bears So, that e'en now is Florence overthrown. Land shall he reap not; but of shame and guilt The heavier load, as, light the heart he wears, While blood around him is profusely spilt.
I see the other, captured on the waves,
And, just let loose, his bargain'd daughter sell,
E'en as the Corsairs do their common slaves.
O Avarice! what canst thou more effect
Than draw my lineage to thee by such spell,
Its very blood it ceases to respect?
That past and future ill may seem less dread-
Entering Alagna, lo the fleur-de-lis,
And in his Vicar Christ a captive led !
I see him mock'd a second time ;-again
The vinegar and gall produced I see;
And Christ himself 'twixt living robbers slain.
I see the modern Pilate, whom avails
No cruelty to sate, and who unbidden
Into the temple sets his greedy sails.
O thou, my Lord! when shall I joyfully
Behold the vengeance, which, profoundly hidden,
Makes sweet thine anger in thy mystery?
She whom I praised-the Holy Spirit's spouse,
When thou didst turn unto me with request
For comment, forms the subject of our vows
During the period that the day remains;
But soon as night around us throws her vest,
Then take we up instead far different strains.
Pygmalion's sordid avarice next we chide,
Whom greedy lust of all-engrossing gain
Changed to a robber, traitor, parricide.
Midas' dire sufferings then our thoughts engage,
Who compass'd all that avarice would obtain-
A laughing stock to every future age.
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