Historical View of the Literature of the South of Europe, Volume 1

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Page 191 - PER me si va nella città dolente, Per me si va nell' eterno dolore, Per me si va tra la perduta gente. Giustizia mosse il mio alto fattore : Fecemi la divina potestate, La somma sapienza e il primo amore.
Page 194 - If thou art bent to know the primal root, From whence our love gat being, I will do As one, who weeps and tells his tale. One day, For our delight we read of Lancelot, How him love thrall'd.
Page 194 - The soul, who spilt our life.” Such were their words; At hearing which, downward I bent my looks, And held them there so long, that the bard cried: “What art thou pondering?
Page 194 - The land that gave me birth Is situate on the coast, where Po descends To rest in ocean with his sequent streams. ' Love that in gentle heart is quickly learnt Entangled him by that fair form, from me Ta'en in such cruel sort, as grieves me still ; ' Love that denial takes from none beloved Caught me with pleasing him so passing well That as thou seest, he yet deserts me not. ' Love brought us to one death; Caina waits The soul who spilt our life.
Page 194 - By one so deep in love, then he, who ne'er From me shall separate, at once my lips All trembling kiss'd. The book and writer both Were love's purveyors. In its leaves that day We read no more.
Page 194 - Alone we were, and no Suspicion near us. Ofttimes by that reading Our eyes were drawn together, and the hue Fled from our alter'd cheek.
Page 210 - ... of Dante. Without a prototype in any existing language, equally novel in its various parts, and in the combination of the whole, it stands alone, as the first monument of modern genius, the first great work which appeared in the reviving literature of Europe.
Page 224 - ... 1 lampeggiar de l'angelico riso che solean fare in terra un paradiso, poca polvere son che nulla sente. Ed io pur vivo, onde mi doglio e sdegno, rimaso senza '1 lume ch'amai tanto in gran fortuna e 'n disarmato legno. Or sia qui fine al mio amoroso canto: secca è la vena de l'usato ingegno e la cetera mia rivolta in pianto. S'io avesse pensato che sì care fossin le voci de...
Page 266 - Senza cibo e dormir così si serba, che '1 sole esce tre volte e torna sotto. Di crescer non cessò la pena acerba, che fuor del senno al fin l'ebbe condotto.
Page 352 - French languages, towards the end of the sixteenth, and the beginning of the seventeenth century...

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