“Qual è colui che forse di Croazia Viene a veder la Veronica nostra, Che per l’antica fama non si sazia Ma dice nel pensier fin che si mostra: Signor mio Gesù Cristo, Iddio verace, Or fu sì fatta la sembianza vostra?” etc. Then I, beholding them, said within myself: “These pilgrims seem to be come from very far; and I think they cannot have heard speak of this lady, or know anything concerning her. Their thoughts are not of her, but of other things; it may be, of their friends who are far distant, and whom we, in our turn, know not.” And I went on to say: “I know that if they were of a country near unto us, they would in some wise seem disturbed, passing through this city which is so full of grief.” And I said also: “If I could speak with them a space, I am certain that I should make them weep before they went forth of this city; for those things that they would hear from me must needs beget weeping in any.” And when the last of them had gone by me, I bethought me to write a sonnet, showing forth mine inward speech; and that it might seem the more pitiful, I made as though I had spoken it indeed unto them. And I wrote this sonnet, which beginneth: “Ye pilgrim-folk.” I made use of the word _pilgrim_ for its general signification; for “pilgrim” may be understood in two senses, one general, and one special. General, so far as any man may be called a pilgrim who leaveth the place of his birth; whereas, more narrowly speaking, he only is a pilgrim who goeth towards or frowards the House of St. James. For there are three separate denominations proper unto those who undertake journeys to the glory of God. They are called Palmers who go beyond the seas eastward, whence often they bring palm-branches. And Pilgrims, as I have said, are they who journey unto the holy House of Gallicia; seeing that no other apostle was buried so far from his birthplace as was the blessed Saint James. And there is a third sort who are called Romers; in that they go whither these whom I have called pilgrims went: which is to say, unto Rome. _This sonnet is not divided, because its own words sufficiently declare it._ Ye pilgrim-folk, advancing pensively As if in thought of distant things, I pray, Is your own land indeed so far away— As by your aspect it would seem to be— That this our heavy sorrow leaves you free Though passing through the mournful town midway; Like unto men that understand to-day Nothing at all of her great misery? Yet if ye will but stay, whom I accost, And listen to my words a little space, At going ye shall mourn with a loud voice. It is her Beatrice that she hath lost; Of whom the least word spoken holds such grace That men weep hearing it, and have no choice.