The Dream Of The Two Sisters. From Dante.

        Nell ora, credo, che dell'oriente
            Prima raggio nel monte Citerea,
            Che di fuoco d'amor par sempre dente,
        Giovane e bella in sogno mi parea
            Donna vedere andar per una landa
            Cogliendo flori; e cantando dicea ;--
        Sappia qualunque'l mio nome dimanda,
            Ch'io mi son Lia, e vo movendo 'ntorno
            Le belle mani a farmi una ghirlanda--
        Per piacermi allo specchio qui m'adorno;
            Ma mia suora Rachel mai non si smaga
            Dal suo ammiraglio, e siede tutto il giorno.

        Ell' è de'suoi begli occhi veder vaga,
            Com' io dell'adornarmi con le mani;
            Lei lo vodere e me l'ovrare appaga.

        DANTE, Purg. Canto xxvii.


'Twas eve's soft hour, and bright, above.
    The star of beauty beamed,
While lulled by light so full of love,
    In slumber thus I dreamed--
Methought, at that sweet hour,
    A nymph came o'er the lea,
Who, gathering many a flower,
    Thus said and sung to me:--
"Should any ask what Leila loves,
    "Say thou, To wreathe her hair
"With flowerets culled from glens and groves,
    "Is Leila's only care.

"While thus in quest of flowers rare,
    "O'er hill and dale I roam,
"My sister, Rachel, far more fair,
    "Sits lone and mute at home.
"Before her glass untiring,
    "With thoughts that never stray,
"Her own bright eyes admiring,
    "She sits the live-long day;
"While I!--oh, seldom even a look
    "Of self salutes my eye;
"My only glass, the limpid brook,
    "That shines and passes by."

Thomas Moore

Thomas Moore was an Irish poet, singer, and songwriter, celebrated for his Irish Melodies, which are now considered a staple of Irish cultural heritage. Born on May 28, 1779, in Dublin, Ireland, Moore gained fame for his lyrical songs, many of which were set to traditional Irish tunes. Not only a poet, but he was also a staunch advocate of Irish nationalism, often incorporating themes of national identity and resistance into his work. Moore's influential collection 'Irish Melodies' became popular in both Ireland and Britain and helped to define the literary output of the era. He passed away on February 25, 1852, but his legacy in Irish literature and music endures.

Thomas Moore

Lament For The Loss Of Lord Bathurst's Tail.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

To Rosa.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

With Moonlight Beaming.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Late Tithe Case.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

English

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Monna Innominata. A Sonnet Of Sonnets.

Beatrice, immortalized by "altissimo poeta ... cotanto amante;" Laura, celebrated by a great though an inferior bard, - have alike paid the exceptional penalty of exceptional honor, and have come down to us resplendent with charms, but (at least, to my apprehension) scant of attractiveness.

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A Dialogue In Purgatory

        Poi disse un altro.... "Io son Buonconte:
        Giovanna o altri non ha di me cura;
        Per ch' io vo tra costor con bassa fronte."

        Seguito il terzo spirito al secondo,
        "Ricorditi di me, che son la Pia;
        Siena mi fe, disfecemi Maremma.
        Salsi colui che inannellata pria
        Disposata m' avea colla sua gemma."

                    PURGATORIO, CANTO V.


        I

        BUONCONTE

        Sister, the sun has ceased to shine;
        By companies of twain and trine
        Stars gather; from the sea
        The moon comes momently.

        On all the roads that ring our hill
        The sighing and the hymns are still:
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William Vaughn Moody

The Divine Comedy by Dante: The Vision Of Paradise: Canto XXIII

E'en as the bird, who midst the leafy bower
Has, in her nest, sat darkling through the night,
With her sweet brood, impatient to descry
Their wished looks, and to bring home their food,
In the fond quest unconscious of her toil:
She, of the time prevenient, on the spray,
That overhangs their couch, with wakeful gaze
Expects the sun; nor ever, till the dawn,
Removeth from the east her eager ken;
So stood the dame erect, and bent her glance
Wistfully on that region, where the sun
Abateth most his speed; that, seeing her
Suspense and wand'ring, I became as one,
In whom desire is waken'd, and the hope
Of somewhat new to come fills with delight.

Short space ensued; I was not held, I say,
Long in expectance, when I saw the heav'n
Wax more and more resplen...

Dante Alighieri

The Divine Comedy by Dante: The Vision Of Paradise: Canto III

That sun, which erst with love my bosom warm'd
Had of fair truth unveil'd the sweet aspect,
By proof of right, and of the false reproof;
And I, to own myself convinc'd and free
Of doubt, as much as needed, rais'd my head
Erect for speech. But soon a sight appear'd,
Which, so intent to mark it, held me fix'd,
That of confession I no longer thought.

As through translucent and smooth glass, or wave
Clear and unmov'd, and flowing not so deep
As that its bed is dark, the shape returns
So faint of our impictur'd lineaments,
That on white forehead set a pearl as strong
Comes to the eye: such saw I many a face,
All stretch'd to speak, from whence I straight conceiv'd
Delusion opposite to that, which rais'd
Between the man and fountain, amorous flame.

...

Dante Alighieri

The Divine Comedy by Dante: The Vision Of Purgatory: Canto XXXI

"O Thou!" her words she thus without delay
Resuming, turn'd their point on me, to whom
They but with lateral edge seem'd harsh before,
"Say thou, who stand'st beyond the holy stream,
If this be true. A charge so grievous needs
Thine own avowal." On my faculty
Such strange amazement hung, the voice expir'd
Imperfect, ere its organs gave it birth.

A little space refraining, then she spake:
"What dost thou muse on? Answer me. The wave
On thy remembrances of evil yet
Hath done no injury." A mingled sense
Of fear and of confusion, from my lips
Did such a "Yea" produce, as needed help
Of vision to interpret. As when breaks
In act to be discharg'd, a cross-bow bent
Beyond its pitch, both nerve and bow o'erstretch'd,
The flagging weapon feebly hits the mark...

Dante Alighieri

The Divine Comedy by Dante: The Vision Of Paradise: Canto XXXI

In fashion, as a snow-white rose, lay then
Before my view the saintly multitude,
Which in his own blood Christ espous'd. Meanwhile
That other host, that soar aloft to gaze
And celebrate his glory, whom they love,
Hover'd around; and, like a troop of bees,
Amid the vernal sweets alighting now,
Now, clustering, where their fragrant labour glows,
Flew downward to the mighty flow'r, or rose
From the redundant petals, streaming back
Unto the steadfast dwelling of their joy.
Faces had they of flame, and wings of gold;
The rest was whiter than the driven snow.
And as they flitted down into the flower,
From range to range, fanning their plumy loins,
Whisper'd the peace and ardour, which they won
From that soft winnowing. Shadow none, the vast
Interposition of suc...

Dante Alighieri