of the moon which is light, and the latter
with that part which is in darkness. The ancients
represented Death as a youth of as beautiful a
shape and countenance as his brother Life.
Shelley, in the opening lines of Queen Mab,
beautifully develops the same idea. Ossian,
speaking of a man at death's door, says:
"Death stood behind him like the dark side of
the moon behind its silver horn."

The riddles in Turandot afford another
specimen of Schiller's metaphorical power.

Theodore Körner's ode to, or rather dialogue
with, his sword is a fine piece of methaphorical
writing. The sword is his bride. The ode was
written a few hours before he fell in battle.

"My sword, my only treasure!
What would thy glance of pleasure?
It makes thy master glow
To see thee gleaming so."

The sword replies:

"A patriot warrior rears me,
And that it is that cheers me;
It makes me glad to be
The falchion of the free."

* * * *

"Then, with a soldier's kisses,
Partake your bridal blisses;
Woe may the wretch betide
Who e'er deserts bis bride!

"What joy, when sparks are flashing,
From hostile helmets crashing!
In steely light to shine,
Such joy, my bride, is thine.
"Hurrah!"

Michael Angelo was a poet as well as a
sculptor. His lines on the death of Dante are
metaphorical:

He from the world into the blind abyss
Descended, and beheld the realms of woe;
Then to the seat of everlasting bliss
And God's own throne, led by his thought sublime,
Alive he soar'd and to our nether clime
Bringing a steady light, to us below
Reveal'd the secrets of Eternity.

As we proceed through this metaphorical
land, we feel as if walking along the lovely banks
of a limpid gushing stream. Metaphors spring
up like flowers on every side.

Dante is rich in metaphor; Petrarch not so
much; Ariosto is vigorous, but the palm is with
Torquato Tasso.

Dante's sonnet upon the death of Beatrice,

'A lady young, compassionate, and fair,'

is rich in metaphor. He himself explains the
sonnet in the Vita Nuova.

" Suffering from a severe attack of illness,"
he says, "confined to mybed—- so weak that I
could scarcely move a limb—- on the ninth day,
my sufferings being almost intolerable, my
thoughts turned to my lady. And while thus
occupied with her idea, they fell to this
consideration: How slender is the thread of life!
I felt how fragile it was; and although my reason
was not affected, I began to weep internally at
so mnch misery, and, drawing a deep sigh, I
said to myself, ' It is but too true that some
day the most gentle Beatrice must die.' And
this idea gave me so much pain, that I closed
my eyes, and my imagination began to wander.
I fancied I beheld the faces of women with
dishevelled hair, who said to me, ' Thou also must
die. Other faces then appeared, ghastly and
horrible to behold, and they exclaimed, ' Thou
art dead!' And thus my brain wandered, and
I knew not where I was; and I fancied I
beheld other female figures flitting past me, their
long locks streaming in the wind, weeping and
wonderfully sad; and methought that the sun
grew dark, that the stars appeared of a colour
that made me suppose they were weeping, and
that there were mighty earthquakes. And
greatly marvelling at all I beheld, and much
stricken with fear, I thought a friend came and
said to me: ' Knowest thou not that thy
admirable lady has left this earth?' Then I
began to weep bitterly; and it was not only in
imagination that I wept, but I wept veritable
tears with my eyes. I fancied I cast my looks
towards heaven, and there I beheld a host of
angels ascending, bearing before them a snow-
white cloud, singing glorious hymns of rejoicing,
Hosanna to the Most High. Then I felt that
my heart, which was overflowing with love, said
to me: ' It is true that our dear lady is dead.'
I then, it seemed, arose to behold the body that
had contained so noble and so beautiful a soul.
And so powerful was my wandering imagination,
that I beheld the inanimate corpse, a white veil
having been thrown over her features. There
was such an expression; of sweet humility and
repose upon her countenance, that it seemed to
say, ' I am about to enter the realms of peace.'
Such then became my desire to accompany her,
that I invoked death, and exclaimed: ' Most
kind Death, come to me, and be not unkind; for
thou must needs be gentle, having been in such
company. Come then to me, for much do I
desire thee. Seest thou not that I already
bear thy colours?' And when I had seen all
the sad rites performed which are paid unto the
dead, I found myself again in my chamber,
when I fancied I looked towards heaven; and
so strong was my imagination, that, shedding
tears, I exclaimed aloud with my own natural
voice: ' O beautiful spirit, how happy is he
who beholds thee!' And as I said this with an
expression of deep anguish, and invoked Death,
a gentle girl, who was standing at my bedside,
thinking that I wept on account of the bodily
pain I was suffering, wept from pity; other
women, who were attending me as nurses.
thinking that her lamentations had caused me
to weep, told her—- who was nearly allied to me
by blood—- to leave me, and came to awake me,
perceiving that I was dreaming: 'Awake,' they
said, 'and be comforted' In the act of
exclaiming, ' O Beatrice, blessed art thou,' I
awoke; I opened my eyes, and found it was a
dream.

The opening verses of the twenty-fourth
canto of the Inferno afford a beautiful example
of metaphorical poetry:

In tho year's early nonage, when the sun
Tempers his tresses in Aquarius' urn.
And now towards equal day the nights recede;