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I'd see my sweet Sun whose flame I still feel, my beloved make his virtue his shield against chance; he'd nobly draw back into a hard-won tower in times of evil. All he wanted was respect, so, hidden from the treacheries of malice, he'd arm; when we are in peril good advice, friends are scarce, but Lethe-like he'd have no fear Death and the cruel stars saw him possessed by the battle's rage to defeat rebels, wild infidels, and took him away from me. It would have gone hard with him, but this goal was good: he had such high ideals, always prized the splendor and beauty on the heights. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
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Notes: From V X:152. See also Bullock A2:35:73; MSs CASI, RA, Ve. Guerrini: "Morte le tolse veder lo sposo combattere gl'Infedeli". Key |
