Now knowest thou our acts, and what our crime was; Wouldst thou perchance by name know who we are, There is not time to tell, nor could I do it. Thy wish to know me shall in sooth be granted; I’m Guido Guinicelli, and now purge me, 1046 Having repented ere the hour extreme.” The same that in the sadness of Lycurgus 1047 Two sons became, their mother re-beholding, Such I became, but rise not to such height, The moment I heard name himself the father Of me and of my betters, who had ever Practised the sweet and gracious rhymes of love; And without speech and hearing thoughtfully For a long time I went, beholding him, Nor for the fire did I approach him nearer. When I was fed with looking, utterly Myself I offered ready for his service, With affirmation that compels belief. And he to me: “Thou leavest footprints such In me, from what I hear, and so distinct, Lethe cannot efface them, nor make dim. But if thy words just now the truth have sworn,