oling him for her
loss? The following stanza from Rossetti's matchless version is proof
enough for all who care to read:

"Why now do pangs of torment clutch thy heart,
Which with thy love should make thee overjoyed,
As him whose intellect has passed the skies?
Behold, the spirits of thy life depart
Daily to Heaven with her, they so are buoyed
With thy desire, and Love so bids them rise.
O God I and thou, a man whom God made wise,
To nurse a charge of care, and love the same!
I tell thee, in His name,
From sin of sighing grief to hold thy breath,
Nor let thy heart to death,
Nor harbour death's resemblance in thine eyes.
God hath her with Himself eternally,
Yet she inhabits every hour with thee."

Beatrice certainly lived; and no matter in what veil of mysticism the
poet may choose to envelop her in his later writings, and in spite of
the imagery of his phrases, even in the _New Life_, she never fails to
appear to us as a real woman. We know that Dante first saw her on
Mayday, in the year 1274, when neither had reached the age of ten, and
the thrill he felt at this first vision has been described in his own
words on the first page of this chapter. From that time forth it seems
that, boy as he was, he was continually haunted by this apparition,
which had at once assumed such domination over him. Often he went
seeking her, and all that he saw of her was so noble and praiseworthy
that he is moved to apply to her the words of Homer: "She seems not the
daughter of mortal man, but of God." And he further says: "Though her
image, which stayed constantly with me, gave assurance to Love to hold
lordship over me, yet it was of such noble virtue that it never suffered
Love to rule me without the faithful counsel of the reason in those
matters in which it was useful to hear such counsel." So began his pure
and high ideal of love, which is most remarkable in that it stands in
striking contrast, not only to the usual amatory declarations of the
time to be found in literature, but also to the very life and temper of
the day and generation in which he was so soon to play a conspicuous
part. It was a day of almost unbridled passions and lack of
self-restraint, and none before had thought to couple reason with the
thought of love. For nine years his boyish dreams were filled with this
maiden, Beatrice, and not once in all that time did he have word with