Together, cross their coats as for Christ's cause, And saving Milan win the world's applause. Ecelin perished: and I think grass grew Never so pleasant as in Valley Rù [Sidenote: And went home duly to their reward.] By San Zenon where Alberic in turn Saw his exasperated captors burn Seven children and their mother; then, regaled So far, tied on to a wild horse, was trailed To death through raunce and bramble-bush. I take God's part and testify that 'mid the brake Wild o'er his castle on the pleasant knoll, You hear its one tower left, a belfry, toll-- The earthquake spared it last year, laying flat The modern church beneath,--no harm in that! Chirrups the contumacious grasshopper, Rustles the lizard and the cushats chirre Above the ravage: there, at deep of day A week since, heard I the old Canon say He saw with his own eyes a barrow burst And Alberic's huge skeleton unhearsed Only five years ago. He added, "June 's The month for carding off our first cocoons The silkworms fabricate"--a double news, Nor he nor I could tell the worthier. Choose! And Naddo gone, all 's gone; not Eglamor! Believe, I knew the face I waited for, A guest my spirit of the golden courts! Oh strange to see how, despite ill-reports, Disuse, some wear of years, that face retained Its joyous look of love! Suns waxed and waned, And still my spirit held an upward flight, Spiral on spiral, gyres of life and light More and more gorgeous--ever that face there The last admitted! crossed, too, with some care As perfect triumph were not sure for all, [Sidenote: Good will--ill luck, get second prize:] But, on a few, enduring damp must fall, --A transient struggle, haply a painful sense Of the inferior nature's clinging--whence Slight starting tears easily wiped away. Fine jealousies soon stifled in the play Of irrepressible admiration--not Aspiring, all considered, to their lot Who ever, just as they prepare ascend Spiral on spiral, wish thee well, impend Thy frank delight at their exclusive track, That upturned fervid face and hair put back! Is there no more to say? He of the rhymes-- Many a tale, of this retreat betimes, Was born: Sordello die at once for men? The Chroniclers of Mantua tired their pen Telling how _Sordello Prince Visconti_ saved Mantua, and elsewhere notably behaved-- Who thus, by fortune ordering events, Passed with posterity, to all intents, For just the god he never could become. As Knight, Bard, Gallant, men were never dumb In praise of him: while what he should have been, Could be, and was not--the one step too mean For him to take,--we suffer at this day Because of: Ecelin had pushed away Its chance ere Dante could arrive and take [Sidenote: What least one may I award Sordello?]