“And though she hears her praises, she doth
     go
  Benignly clothed with humility,
  And like a thing come down she seems
     to be
  From heaven to earth, a miracle to show.

  “So pleaseth she whoever cometh nigh,
  She gives the heart a sweetness through
     the eyes,
  Which none can understand who doth
     not prove.

“And from her lip there seems indeed to move
A spirit sweet and in Love’s very guise,
Which goeth saying to the soul, ’Ah,

      sigh!’"[U]

[Footnote U:  Perhaps the spirit of the latter part of this sonnet may be better conveyed by rendering thus:—­

“So pleaseth she all those approaching nigh
her,
* * * * *
Which goeth saying to the soul, ‘Aspire!’”

Compare the very beautiful Ballata vi. and Sonnet xlviii., beginning,

“Di donne io vidi una gentile schiera.” ]

With this incomparable sonnet we close that part of the “Vita Nuova” which relates to the life of Beatrice.  It fitly completes the golden record of youth.  Its tender lines are the epitaph of happy days, and in them is found that mingled sweetness and sadness which in this world are always the final expression of love.  Its tone is that of the wind of autumn sighing among the leaves of spring.  Beneath its outward meaning lies a prophecy of joy,—­but that joy is to be reached only through the gates of death.

* * * * *

THE PHILTER.

  “A draught of water, maiden fair,”
    I said to the girl beside the well. 
  Oh, sweet was the smile on her face of guile,
    As she gave me to drink,—­that witch of hell!

  I drank, and sweet was the draught I drank,
    And thanked the giver, and still she smiled;
  And her smile like a curse on my spirit sank,
    Till my face grew wan, and my heart grew wild.

  And lo! the light from the day was gone,
    And gone was maiden, and gone was well: 
  The dark instead, like a wall of stone,
    And rivers that roared through the dark, and fell.

  Was it the draught, or was it the smile,
    Or my own false heart?  Ah, who shall tell? 
  But the black waves beat at my weary feet,
    And sits at my side the witch of hell.

DID I?

“Giorno d’orrore.”

Wheels rolled away in the distance; the corner of a gray cloak fluttered where the drive turns down hill.  From under the fore-wheel of Juggernaut I struggled back to life with a great sob, that died before it sounded.  I looked about the library for some staff to help me to my feet again.  The porphyry vases were filled with gorgeous boughs, leaves of deep scarlet, speckled, flushed, gold-spotted, rimmed with green, dashed with orange, tawny and crimson, blood-sprinkled, faint clear amber; all hues and combinations