it was in some way the cause of my being. Again, this my Mother Tongue was my introducer into the path of knowledge, which is the ultimate perfection, inasmuch as with it I entered into the Latin Language, and with it I was taught; the which Latin was then the way of further advancement for me. And so it is evident and known by me that this my language has been my great benefactor. Also it has been engaged with me in one self-same study, and this I can thus prove. Each thing naturally studies its self-preservation; hence, if the Mother Tongue could seek anything of itself, it would seek that; and that would be to secure for itself a position of the greatest stability: but greater stability it could not secure than by uniting itself with number and with rhyme.

And this self-same study has been mine, as is so evident that it requires no testimony; therefore its study and mine have been one and the same, whereby the harmony of friendship is confirmed and increased. Also between us there has been the benevolence of long use: for from the beginning of my life I have had with it kind fellowship and conversation, and have used it, when deliberating, interpreting, and questioning; wherefore, if friendship increases through long use, as in all reason appears, it is manifest that in me it has increased especially, for with this my Mother Tongue I have spent all my time. And thus one sees that to the shaping of this friendship there have co-operated all causes of birth and growth. Therefore, let it be concluded that not only Love, but the most Perfect Love, is that which I have for it. So it is, and ought to be.

Thus, casting the eyes backwards and gathering up the afore-stated reasons, one can see that this Bread, with which the Meat of the under-written Poems ought to be eaten, is made clear enough of blemishes, and of fault in the nature of its grain. Wherefore, it is time to attend to and serve up the viands.

This will be that barley-bread with which a thousand will satisfy themselves; and my full baskets shall overflow with it. This will be that new Light, that new Sun, which shall rise when the sun of this our day shall set, and shall give light to those who are in darkness and in gloom because the sun of this our day gives light to them no more.

* * * * *

The Second Treatise.

    Ye who the third Heaven move, intent of thought,
      Hear reasoning that is within my heart,
      Thoughts that to none but you I can impart:
    Heaven, that is moved by you, my life has brought
      To where it stands, therefore I pray you heed
      What I shall say about the life I lead.

    To you I tell the heart's new cares: always
      The sad Soul weeps within it, and there hears
      Voice of a Spirit that condemns her tears,
    A Spirit that descends in your star's rays.
      Thought that once fed the grieving heart was sweet,
      Thought that oft fled up to your Father's feet.

    There it beheld a Lady glorified,
      Of whom so sweetly it discoursed to me
      That the Soul said, "With her I long to be!"
    Now One appears that drives the thought aside,
      And masters me with so effectual might
      That my heart quivers to the outward sight.

    This on a Lady fixes my regard
      And says, "Who seeks where his salvation lies
      Must gaze intently in this Lady's eyes,
    Nor dread the sighs of anguish!" O, ill-starred!
      Such opposite now breaks the humble dream
      Of the crowned angel in the glory beam.

    Still, therefore, the Soul weeps, "The tender stir,"
      It says, "of thought that once consoled me flies!"
      That troubled one asks, "When into thine eyes
    Looked she? Why doubted they my words of her?"
      I said, "Her eyes bear death to such as I:
      Yet, vainly warned, I gaze on her and die.

    "Thou art not dead, but in a vain dismay,
      Dear Soul of ours so lost in thy distress,"
      Whispers a spirit voice of tenderness.
    "This Lady's beauty darkens all your day,
      Vile fear possesses you; see, she is lowly
      Pitiful, courteous, though so wise and holy.

    "Think thou to call her Mistress evermore:
      Save thou delude thyself, then shall there shine
      High miracles before thee, so divine
    That thou shalt say, O Love, when I adore,
      True Lord, behold the handmaid of the Lord,
      Be it unto me according to thy Word!"

    My song, I do believe there will be few
      Who toil to understand thy reasoning;
      But if thou pass, perchance, to those who bring
    No skill to give thee the attention due,
      Then pray I, dear last-born, let them rejoice
      To find at least a music in my voice.