XL.
Against this adversary of the reason there arose one day, about the hour of nones, a strong imagination within me; for I seemed to see this glorified Beatrice in those crimson garments in which she had first appeared to my eyes, and she seemed to me young, of the same age as when I first saw her. Then I began to think of her; and calling her to mind according to the order of the past time, my heart began bitterly to repent of the desire by which it had so vilely allowed itself for some days to be possessed, contrary to the constancy of the reason: and this so wicked desire being expelled, all my thoughts returned to their most gentle Beatrice. And I say that thenceforth I began to think of her with my heart so all ashamed, that oftentimes my sighs manifested it; for almost all of them told, as they went forth, that which was discoursed of in my heart, to wit, the name of that most gentle one, and how she had departed from us. And many times it came to pass, that some one thought had such anguish in itself that I forgot it and the place where I was. By this rekindling of sighs my tears which had been assuaged were rekindled in such wise that my eyes seemed two things which desired only to weep; and often it happened that through the long continuance of weeping there came a purple color around them, such as is wont to appear after any torment that one may endure; whence it seems that they were worthily rewarded for their vanity, so that from that time forward they could not gaze at any one who might so look at them as to have power to draw them to a like intention. Wherefore I, wishing that this wicked desire and vain temptation should be seen to be destroyed, so that the rhymed words which I had before written should give rise to no question, resolved to make a sonnet in which I would include the purport of this account. And I said then, “Alas! by force.”
I said “Alas!” inasmuch as I was ashamed that my eyes had so gone astray after vanity. I do not divide this sonnet, for its meaning is sufficiently clear.
Alas! by force of sighs that oft return,
Springing from thoughts which are within my heart,
Mine eyes are conquered, and have lost the art
To look at once whose gaze on them may turn.
And they are such, they two desires appear,
Only to weep, and sorrow to display;
And ofttimes they lament in such a way
That Love gives them the martyr’s crown to wear.
These thoughts and sighs that issue with my breath,
Become within my heart so full of pain
That Love, subdued by woe, falls senseless there;
For on themselves these grieving ones do bear
That sweet name of my Lady written plain,
And many words relating to her death.