Of what it pleaseth thee to speak and hear,
To that we also, till this lull be o'er
That falleth now, will speak and will give ear.
The place where I was born is on the shore,
Where Po brings all his rivers to depart
In peace, and fuse them with the ocean floor.
Love, that soon kindleth in a gentle heart,
Seized him thou look'st on for the form and face,
Whose end still haunts me like a rankling dart.
Love, which by love will be denied no grace,
Gave me a transport in my turn so true,
That to! 'tis with me, even in this place.
Love brought us to one grave. The hand that slew
Is doom'd to mourn us in the pit of Cain."
Such were the words that told me of those two.
Downcast I stood, looking so full of pain
To think how hard and sad a case it was,
That my guide ask'd what held me in that vein.
His voiced aroused me; and I said, "Alas
All their sweet thoughts then, all the steps that led
To love, but brought them to this dolorous pass."
Then turning my sad eyes to theirs, I said,
"Francesca, see—these human cheeks are wet—
Truer and sadder tears were never shed.
But tell me. At the time when sighs were sweet,
What made thee strive no longer?—hurried thee
To the last step where bliss and sorrow meet?"
"There is no greater sorrow," answered she,
"And this thy teacher here knoweth full well,
Than calling to mind joy in misery.