|
The lamp whose oil's run out, in the moment of extinction, will glow suddenly, and most brilliantly as it fails in those last hours--this dying light's ardour, was yours good Frederigo; in life you never lost heart, seemed defeated; in death, your belief became suddenly so strong, radiant, sustained by an absolute integrity. Anger, insults, countless traps everywhere you strode on alone, truthful, at peace, glad to be despised, your armor, justice. Well now you're under a just king, see you've won--nothing's hidden--the Sun's made His clear day yours to dwell in forever. |
An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition |
|
Notes: From V CLXIV:324. See also B E21:213; MS PaI; 1548 Valgrisi; 1586; 1760 Rota. A third on the death of Fregoso. Key |
