The Vision, Or Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise

T.Y. Crowell & Company, 1881 - 452 páginas

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Página vii - IN the midway * of this our mortal life, I found me in a gloomy wood, astray Gone from the path direct ; and e'en to tell, It were no easy task, how savage wild That forest, how robust and rough its growth, Which to remember only, my dismay Renews, in bitterness not far from death.
Página 4 - THROUGH me you pass into the city of woe: Through me you pass into eternal pain: Through me among the people lost for aye. Justice the founder of my fabric moved: To rear me was the task of power divine, 5 Supremest wisdom, and primeval love.* Before me things create were none, save things Eternal, and eternal I endure. All hope abandon, ye who enter here.
Página viii - The hour was morning's prime, and on his way Aloft the sun ascended with those stars,' That with him rose when Love Divine first moved Those its fair works...
Página 359 - But for that damn'd magician, let him be girt With all the grisly legions that troop Under the sooty flag of Acheron...
Página 142 - NOW was the hour that wakens fond desire In men at sea, and melts their thoughtful heart Who in the morn have bid sweet friends farewell, And pilgrim newly on his road with love Thrills, if he hear the vesper bell from far, That seems to mourn for the expiring day...
Página 139 - There underneath, not made by torments sad, But by dun shades alone ; where mourning's voice Sounds not of anguish sharp, but breathes in sighs. There I with little innocents abide, Who by death's fangs were bitten, ere exempt From human taint. There I with those abide, Who the three holy virtues' put not on, But understood the rest,* and without blame Follow'd them all. But, if thou know'st, and canst, Direct us how we soonest may arrive, Where Purgatory its true beginning takes.
Página 121 - Down, down ; bend low Thy knees ; behold God's angel : fold thy hands : Now shalt thou see true ministers indeed.
Página 134 - And dashed it into Arno; from my breast Loosening the cross, that of myself I made When overcome with pain. He hurl'd me on, Along the banks and bottom of his course ; Then in his muddy spoils encircling wrapt.
Página 359 - Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice...
Página 353 - Here thou to us, of charity and love, Art, as the noon-day torch ; and art, beneath, To mortal men, of hope a living spring. So mighty art thou, Lady, and so great, That he, who grace desireth, and comes not To thee for aidance, fain would have desire Fly without wings.

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