und, in the which the whole affection
concurs and which comes to be one and the same affection. Then there is
no love or desire of any particular thing, that can urge, nor even
present itself before the will; for there is nothing more straight than
the straight, nothing more beautiful than beauty, nothing better than
goodness, nothing can be found larger than size, nor anything lighter
than that light which with its presence darkens and obliterates all
lights.

CES. To the perfect, if it be perfect, there is nothing that can be
added; therefore the will is not capable of any other desire, when that
which is of the perfect is present with it, highest and best. Therefore
I understand the conclusion where he says to Love, "Turn otherwhere thy
bow," and wherefore should he try to kill him who is already dead, that
is, he, who has no more life nor sense about other things, so that he
cannot be stabbed or pierced or become exposed to other species. And
this lament proceeds from him, who having tasted of the highest unity,
desires to be in all things severed and withdrawn from the multitude.

MAR. You understand quite well.

XII.

CES. Now here is a boy in a boat, which little by little is being
submerged in the tempestuous waves, and he, languid and tired, has
abandoned the oars; around it the legend "Fronti nulla, fides." There is
no doubt that this signifies that he was induced, by the serene aspect
of the waters, to venture on the treacherous sea, which having suddenly
become troubled, the boy, in mortal fear, and in his impotence to still
the tempest, has lost his head, his hope, and the power of his arm. But
let us see the rest:--

52.

Oh, gentle boy, that from the shore didst loose
The baby bark, and to the slender oar
Didst set thy unskilled hand; lured by the sea!
Late hast thou seen the evil of thy plight.
See there the traitor rolls his fatal waves,
The prow of thy frail bark, now sinks, now mounts.
The soul borne down with anxious cares
Prevaileth not against the swollen floods.
Thy oars thou yieldst to thy fierce enemy,
Waiting for death with calm collected thought,
With eyelids closed, lest thou shouldst see him come.
If thee no friendly aid should quickly reach
Thou surely must the full result soon feel,
Of thy inquisitive temerity.
My cruel fate is like unto thine own,
For I too, lured, enticed by Love, must feel,
The rigour kee