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4
A Masque of Dead Florentines
Chorus.
O lasso!
Woe, the dead poet! Woe, the alien tomb,
And brooding brow shadow'd by all Hell's gloom!
How was that City proud and confident
That past him by. Alas! all's woe upon her!
Say, wouldst thou know his heart? His heart was riven
To God one half, to Beatrice half was given.
But since God saw Heav'n bare without her soul,
He took her; and the cloven heart was whole.
BEATRICE PORTINARI passes. She is in a clear green garment, and holds her hand to her heart.
Beatrice.
My spirit, like a sigh, just flutter'd o'er
Our homestead city; melted then to soar
As altar-smoke. But one who'd mourn'd me wed,
Follow'd me from that Feast. I liv'd, being dead.
