felt that his pleasant sins had separated him forever from
the number of those who may see God.

At last he found himself a messenger, and sent him with
a noble poem, his swan-song, to the kings of France and
England and the many princes to whom he once gave
pleasure, praying for their assistance; and the messenger
returned laden with gold.

"Now do I see," cried the agèd poet, "that God will
not abandon me"; and, assuming the monastic dress at
once, he lived blamelessly the rest of his days. ¹⁴

So it was not his destiny to pass the door where hope is
left behind, and he could say to Dante: "Contrite I see
my past folly, and joyful I see before me the day I hope
for."

"Then he hid himself in the fire that refines them." ¹⁵

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