THE DIVINE COMEDY: PURGATORY

BY DANTE ALIGHIERI

Complete

Translated By

The Rev. H. F. Cary

PURGATORY

Cantos 1 - 33

CANTO I

O'er better waves to speed her rapid courseThe light bark of my genius lifts the sail, Well pleas'd to leave so cruel sea behind;And of that second region will I sing, In which the human spirit from sinful blotIs purg'd, and for ascent to Heaven prepares. 

Here, O ye hallow'd Nine! for in your trainI follow, here the deadened strain revive;Nor let Calliope refuse to soundA somewhat higher song, of that loud tone, Which when the wretched birds of chattering noteHad heard, they of forgiveness lost all hope. 

Sweet hue of eastern sapphire, that was spreadO'er the serene aspect of the pure air, High up as the first circle, to mine eyesUnwonted joy renew'd, soon as I 'scap'dForth from the atmosphere of deadly gloom, That had mine eyes and bosom fill'd with grief. The radiant planet, that to love invites, Made all the orient laugh, and veil'd beneathThe Pisces' light, that in his escort came. 

To the right hand I turn'd, and fix'd my mindOn the' other pole attentive, where I sawFour stars ne'er seen before save by the kenOf our first parents. Heaven of their raysSeem'd joyous. O thou northern site, bereftIndeed, and widow'd, since of these depriv'd!

As from this view I had desisted, straightTurning a little tow'rds the other pole, There from whence now the wain had disappear'd, I saw an old man standing by my sideAlone, so worthy of rev'rence in his look, That ne'er from son to father more was ow'd. Low down his beard and mix'd with hoary whiteDescended, like his locks, which parting fellUpon his breast in double fold. The beamsOf those four luminaries on his faceSo brightly shone, and with such radiance clearDeck'd it, that I beheld him as the sun. 

"Say who are ye, that stemming the blind stream, Forth from th' eternal prison-house have fled?"He spoke and moved those venerable plumes. "Who hath conducted, or with lantern sureLights you emerging from the depth of night, That makes the infernal valley ever black?Are the firm statutes of the dread abyssBroken, or in high heaven new laws ordain'd, That thus, condemn'd, ye to my caves approach?"

My guide, then laying hold on me, by wordsAnd intimations given with hand and head, Made my bent knees and eye submissive payDue reverence; then thus to him replied. 

"Not of myself I come; a Dame from heavenDescending, had besought me in my chargeTo bring. But since thy will implies, that moreOur true condition I unfold at large, Mine is not to deny thee thy request. This mortal ne'er hath seen the farthest gloom. But erring by his folly had approach'dSo near, that little space was left to turn. Then, as before I told, I was dispatch'dTo work his rescue, and no way remain'dSave this which I have ta'en. I have display'dBefore him all the regions of the bad;And purpose now those spirits to display, That under thy command are purg'd from sin. How I have brought him would be long to say. From high descends the virtue, by whose aidI to thy sight and hearing him have led. Now may our coming please thee. In the searchOf liberty he journeys: that how dearThey know, who for her sake have life refus'd. Thou knowest, to whom death for her was sweetIn Utica, where thou didst leave those weeds, That in the last great day will shine so bright. For us the' eternal edicts are unmov'd:He breathes, and I am free of Minos' power, Abiding in that circle where the eyesOf thy chaste Marcia beam, who still in lookPrays thee, O hallow'd spirit! to own her shine. Then by her love we' implore thee, let us passThrough thy sev'n regions; for which best thanksI for thy favour will to her return, If mention there below thou not disdain. "

"Marcia so pleasing in my sight was found, "He then to him rejoin'd, "while I was there, That all she ask'd me I was fain to grant. Now that beyond the' accursed stream she dwells, She may no longer move me, by that law, Which was ordain'd me, when I issued thence. Not so, if Dame from heaven, as thou sayst, Moves and directs thee; then no flattery needs. Enough for me that in her name thou ask. Go therefore now: and with a slender reedSee that thou duly gird him, and his faceLave, till all sordid stain thou wipe from thence. For not with eye, by any cloud obscur'd, Would it be seemly before him to come, Who stands the foremost minister in heaven. This islet all around, there far beneath, Where the wave beats it, on the oozy bedProduces store of reeds. No other plant, Cover'd with leaves, or harden'd in its stalk, There lives, not bending to the water's sway. After, this way return not; but the sunWill show you, that now rises, where to takeThe mountain in its easiest ascent. "

He disappear'd; and I myself uprais'dSpeechless, and to my guide retiring close, Toward him turn'd mine eyes. He thus began;"My son! observant thou my steps pursue. We must retreat to rearward, for that wayThe champain to its low extreme declines. "

The dawn had chas'd the matin hour of prime, Which deaf before it, so that from afarI spy'd the trembling of the ocean stream. 

We travers'd the deserted plain, as oneWho, wander'd from his track, thinks every stepTrodden in vain till he regain the path. 

When we had come, where yet the tender dewStrove with the sun, and in a place, where freshThe wind breath'd o'er it, while it slowly dried;Both hands extended on the watery grassMy master plac'd, in graceful act and kind. Whence I of his intent before appriz'd, Stretch'd out to him my cheeks suffus'd with tears. There to my visage he anew restor'dThat hue, which the dun shades of hell conceal'd. 

Then on the solitary shore arriv'd, That never sailing on its waters sawMan, that could after measure back his course, He girt me in such manner as had pleas'dHim who instructed, and O, strange to tell!As he selected every humble plant, Wherever one was pluck'd, another thereResembling, straightway in its place arose. 

CANTO II

Now had the sun to that horizon reach'd, That covers, with the most exalted pointOf its meridian circle, Salem's walls, And night, that opposite to him her orbSounds, from the stream of Ganges issued forth, Holding the scales, that from her hands are dropp'dWhen she reigns highest: so that where I was, Aurora's white and vermeil-tinctur'd cheekTo orange turn'd as she in age increas'd. 

Meanwhile we linger'd by the water's brink, Like men, who, musing on their road, in thoughtJourney, while motionless the body rests. When lo! as near upon the hour of dawn, Through the thick vapours Mars with fiery beamGlares down in west, over the ocean floor;So seem'd, what once again I hope to view, A light so swiftly coming through the sea, No winged course might equal its career. From which when for a space I had withdrawnThine eyes, to make inquiry of my guide, Again I look'd and saw it grown in sizeAnd brightness: thou on either side appear'dSomething, but what I knew not of bright hue, And by degrees from underneath it cameAnother. My preceptor silent yetStood, while the brightness, that we first discern'd, Open'd the form of wings: then when he knewThe pilot, cried aloud, "Down, down; bend lowThy knees; behold God's angel: fold thy hands:Now shalt thou see true Ministers indeed. 

"Lo how all human means he sets at naught!So that nor oar he needs, nor other sailExcept his wings, between such distant shores. Lo how straight up to heaven he holds them rear'd, Winnowing the air with those eternal plumes, That not like mortal hairs fall off or change!"

As more and more toward us came, more brightAppear'd the bird of God, nor could the eyeEndure his splendor near: I mine bent down. He drove ashore in a small bark so swiftAnd light, that in its course no wave it drank. The heav'nly steersman at the prow was seen, Visibly written blessed in his looks. 

Within a hundred spirits and more there sat. "In Exitu Israel de Aegypto;"All with one voice together sang, with whatIn the remainder of that hymn is writ. Then soon as with the sign of holy crossHe bless'd them, they at once leap'd out on land, The swiftly as he came return'd. The crew, There left, appear'd astounded with the place, Gazing around as one who sees new sights. 

From every side the sun darted his beams, And with his arrowy radiance from mid heav'nHad chas'd the Capricorn, when that strange tribeLifting their eyes towards us: "If ye know, Declare what path will Lead us to the mount. "

Them Virgil answer'd. "Ye suppose perchanceUs well acquainted with this place: but here, We, as yourselves, are strangers. Not long erstWe came, before you but a little space, By other road so rough and hard, that nowThe' ascent will seem to us as play. " The spirits, Who from my breathing had perceiv'd I liv'd, Grew pale with wonder. As the multitudeFlock round a herald, sent with olive branch, To hear what news he brings, and in their hasteTread one another down, e'en so at sightOf me those happy spirits were fix'd, each oneForgetful of its errand, to depart, Where cleans'd from sin, it might be made all fair. 

Then one I saw darting before the restWith such fond ardour to embrace me, ITo do the like was mov'd. O shadows vainExcept in outward semblance! thrice my handsI clasp'd behind it, they as oft return'dEmpty into my breast again. SurpriseI needs must think was painted in my looks, For that the shadow smil'd and backward drew. To follow it I hasten'd, but with voiceOf sweetness it enjoin'd me to desist. Then who it was I knew, and pray'd of it, To talk with me, it would a little pause. It answered: "Thee as in my mortal frameI lov'd, so loos'd forth it I love thee still, And therefore pause; but why walkest thou here?"

"Not without purpose once more to return, Thou find'st me, my Casella, where I amJourneying this way;" I said, "but how of theeHath so much time been lost?" He answer'd straight:"No outrage hath been done to me, if heWho when and whom he chooses takes, me oftThis passage hath denied, since of just willHis will he makes. These three months past indeed, He, whose chose to enter, with free leaveHath taken; whence I wand'ring by the shoreWhere Tyber's wave grows salt, of him gain'd kindAdmittance, at that river's mouth, tow'rd whichHis wings are pointed, for there always throngAll such as not to Archeron descend. "

Then I: "If new laws have not quite destroy'dMemory and use of that sweet song of love, That while all my cares had power to 'swage;Please thee with it a little to consoleMy spirit, that incumber'd with its frame, Travelling so far, of pain is overcome. "

"Love that discourses in my thoughts. " He thenBegan in such soft accents, that withinThe sweetness thrills me yet. My gentle guideAnd all who came with him, so well were pleas'd, That seem'd naught else might in their thoughts have room. 

Fast fix'd in mute attention to his notesWe stood, when lo! that old man venerableExclaiming, "How is this, ye tardy spirits?What negligence detains you loit'ring here?Run to the mountain to cast off those scales, That from your eyes the sight of God conceal. "

As a wild flock of pigeons, to their foodCollected, blade or tares, without their prideAccustom'd, and in still and quiet sort, If aught alarm them, suddenly desertTheir meal, assail'd by more important care;So I that new-come troop beheld, the songDeserting, hasten to the mountain's side, As one who goes yet where he tends knows not. 

Nor with less hurried step did we depart. 

CANTO III

Them sudden flight had scatter'd over the plain, Turn'd tow'rds the mountain, whither reason's voiceDrives us; I to my faithful companyAdhering, left it not. For how of himDepriv'd, might I have sped, or who besideWould o'er the mountainous tract have led my stepsHe with the bitter pang of self-remorseSeem'd smitten. O clear conscience and uprightHow doth a little fling wound thee sore!

Soon as his feet desisted (slack'ning pace), From haste, that mars all decency of act, My mind, that in itself before was wrapt, Its thoughts expanded, as with joy restor'd:And full against the steep ascent I setMy face, where highest to heav'n its top o'erflows. 

The sun, that flar'd behind, with ruddy beamBefore my form was broken; for in meHis rays resistance met. I turn'd asideWith fear of being left, when I beheldOnly before myself the ground obscur'd. When thus my solace, turning him around, Bespake me kindly: "Why distrustest thou?Believ'st not I am with thee, thy sure guide?It now is evening there, where buried liesThe body, in which I cast a shade, remov'dTo Naples from Brundusium's wall. Nor thouMarvel, if before me no shadow fall, More than that in the sky elementOne ray obstructs not other. To endureTorments of heat and cold extreme, like framesThat virtue hath dispos'd, which how it worksWills not to us should be reveal'd. InsaneWho hopes, our reason may that space explore, Which holds three persons in one substance knit. Seek not the wherefore, race of human kind;Could ye have seen the whole, no need had beenFor Mary to bring forth. Moreover yeHave seen such men desiring fruitlessly;To whose desires repose would have been giv'n, That now but serve them for eternal grief. I speak of Plato, and the Stagyrite, And others many more. " And then he bentDownwards his forehead, and in troubled moodBroke off his speech. Meanwhile we had arriv'dFar as the mountain's foot, and there the rockFound of so steep ascent, that nimblest stepsTo climb it had been vain. The most remoteMost wild untrodden path, in all the tract'Twixt Lerice and Turbia were to thisA ladder easy' and open of access. 

"Who knows on which hand now the steep declines?"My master said and paus'd, "so that he mayAscend, who journeys without aid of wine?"And while with looks directed to the groundThe meaning of the pathway he explor'd, And I gaz'd upward round the stony height, Of spirits, that toward us mov'd their steps, Yet moving seem'd not, they so slow approach'd. 

I thus my guide address'd: "Upraise thine eyes, Lo that way some, of whom thou may'st obtainCounsel, if of thyself thou find'st it not!"

Straightway he look'd, and with free speech replied:"Let us tend thither: they but softly come. And thou be firm in hope, my son belov'd. "

Now was that people distant far in spaceA thousand paces behind ours, as muchAs at a throw the nervous arm could fling, When all drew backward on the messy cragsOf the steep bank, and firmly stood unmov'dAs one who walks in doubt might stand to look. 

"O spirits perfect! O already chosen!"Virgil to them began, "by that blest peace, Which, as I deem, is for you all prepar'd, Instruct us where the mountain low declines, So that attempt to mount it be not vain. For who knows most, him loss of time most grieves. "

As sheep, that step from forth their fold, by one, Or pairs, or three at once; meanwhile the restStand fearfully, bending the eye and noseTo ground, and what the foremost does, that doThe others, gath'ring round her, if she stops, Simple and quiet, nor the cause discern;So saw I moving to advance the first, Who of that fortunate crew were at the head, Of modest mien and graceful in their gait. When they before me had beheld the lightFrom my right side fall broken on the ground, So that the shadow reach'd the cave, they stopp'dAnd somewhat back retir'd: the same did all, Who follow'd, though unweeting of the cause. 

"Unask'd of you, yet freely I confess, This is a human body which ye see. That the sun's light is broken on the ground, Marvel not: but believe, that not withoutVirtue deriv'd from Heaven, we to climbOver this wall aspire. " So them bespakeMy master; and that virtuous tribe rejoin'd;"Turn, and before you there the entrance lies, "Making a signal to us with bent hands. 

Then of them one began. "Whoe'er thou art, Who journey'st thus this way, thy visage turn, Think if me elsewhere thou hast ever seen. "

I tow'rds him turn'd, and with fix'd eye beheld. Comely, and fair, and gentle of aspect, He seem'd, but on one brow a gash was mark'd. 

When humbly I disclaim'd to have beheldHim ever: "Now behold!" he said, and show'dHigh on his breast a wound: then smiling spake. 

"I am Manfredi, grandson to the QueenCostanza: whence I pray thee, when return'd, To my fair daughter go, the parent gladOf Aragonia and Sicilia's pride;And of the truth inform her, if of meAught else be told. When by two mortal blowsMy frame was shatter'd, I betook myselfWeeping to him, who of free will forgives. My sins were horrible; but so wide armsHath goodness infinite, that it receivesAll who turn to it. Had this text divineBeen of Cosenza's shepherd better scann'd, Who then by Clement on my hunt was set, Yet at the bridge's head my bones had lain, Near Benevento, by the heavy moleProtected; but the rain now drenches them, And the wind drives, out of the kingdom's bounds, Far as the stream of Verde, where, with lightsExtinguish'd, he remov'd them from their bed. Yet by their curse we are not so destroy'd, But that the eternal love may turn, while hopeRetains her verdant blossoms. True it is, That such one as in contumacy diesAgainst the holy church, though he repent, Must wander thirty-fold for all the timeIn his presumption past; if such decreeBe not by prayers of good men shorter madeLook therefore if thou canst advance my bliss;Revealing to my good Costanza, howThou hast beheld me, and beside the termsLaid on me of that interdict; for hereBy means of those below much profit comes. "

CANTO IV

When by sensations of delight or pain, That any of our faculties hath seiz'd, Entire the soul collects herself, it seemsShe is intent upon that power alone, And thus the error is disprov'd which holdsThe soul not singly lighted in the breast. And therefore when as aught is heard or seen, That firmly keeps the soul toward it turn'd, Time passes, and a man perceives it not. For that, whereby he hearken, is one power, Another that, which the whole spirit hash;This is as it were bound, while that is free. 

This found I true by proof, hearing that spiritAnd wond'ring; for full fifty steps aloftThe sun had measur'd unobserv'd of me, When we arriv'd where all with one accordThe spirits shouted, "Here is what ye ask. "

A larger aperture ofttimes is stopp'dWith forked stake of thorn by villager, When the ripe grape imbrowns, than was the path, By which my guide, and I behind him close, Ascended solitary, when that troopDeparting left us. On Sanleo's roadWho journeys, or to Noli low descends, Or mounts Bismantua's height, must use his feet;But here a man had need to fly, I meanWith the swift wing and plumes of high desire, Conducted by his aid, who gave me hope, And with light furnish'd to direct my way. 

We through the broken rock ascended, closePent on each side, while underneath the groundAsk'd help of hands and feet. When we arriv'dNear on the highest ridge of the steep bank, Where the plain level open'd I exclaim'd, "O master! say which way can we proceed?"

He answer'd, "Let no step of thine recede. Behind me gain the mountain, till to usSome practis'd guide appear. " That eminenceWas lofty that no eye might reach its point, And the side proudly rising, more than lineFrom the mid quadrant to the centre drawn. I wearied thus began: "Parent belov'd!Turn, and behold how I remain alone, If thou stay not. "--" My son!" He straight reply'd, "Thus far put forth thy strength;" and to a trackPointed, that, on this side projecting, roundCircles the hill. His words so spurr'd me on, That I behind him clamb'ring, forc'd myself, Till my feet press'd the circuit plain beneath. There both together seated, turn'd we roundTo eastward, whence was our ascent: and oftMany beside have with delight look'd back. 

First on the nether shores I turn'd my eyes, Then rais'd them to the sun, and wond'ring mark'dThat from the left it smote us. Soon perceiv'dThat Poet sage now at the car of lightAmaz'd I stood, where 'twixt us and the northIts course it enter'd. Whence he thus to me:"Were Leda's offspring now in companyOf that broad mirror, that high up and lowImparts his light beneath, thou might'st beholdThe ruddy zodiac nearer to the bearsWheel, if its ancient course it not forsook. How that may be if thou would'st think; withinPond'ring, imagine Sion with this mountPlac'd on the earth, so that to both be oneHorizon, and two hemispheres apart, Where lies the path that Phaeton ill knewTo guide his erring chariot: thou wilt seeHow of necessity by this on oneHe passes, while by that on the' other side, If with clear view shine intellect attend. "

"Of truth, kind teacher!" I exclaim'd, "so clearAught saw I never, as I now discernWhere seem'd my ken to fail, that the mid orbOf the supernal motion (which in termsOf art is called the Equator, and remainsEver between the sun and winter) for the causeThou hast assign'd, from hence toward the northDeparts, when those who in the Hebrew landInhabit, see it tow'rds the warmer part. But if it please thee, I would gladly know, How far we have to journey: for the hillMounts higher, than this sight of mine can mount. "

He thus to me: "Such is this steep ascent, That it is ever difficult at first, But, more a man proceeds, less evil grows. When pleasant it shall seem to thee, so muchThat upward going shall be easy to thee. As in a vessel to go down the tide, Then of this path thou wilt have reach'd the end. There hope to rest thee from thy toil. No moreI answer, and thus far for certain know. "As he his words had spoken, near to usA voice there sounded: "Yet ye first perchanceMay to repose you by constraint be led. "At sound thereof each turn'd, and on the leftA huge stone we beheld, of which nor INor he before was ware. Thither we drew, find there were some, who in the shady placeBehind the rock were standing, as a manThru' idleness might stand. Among them one, Who seem'd to me much wearied, sat him down, And with his arms did fold his knees about, Holding his face between them downward bent. 

"Sweet Sir!" I cry'd, "behold that man, who showsHimself more idle, than if lazinessWere sister to him. " Straight he turn'd to us, And, o'er the thigh lifting his face, observ'd, Then in these accents spake: "Up then, proceedThou valiant one. " Straight who it was I knew;Nor could the pain I felt (for want of breathStill somewhat urg'd me) hinder my approach. And when I came to him, he scarce his headUplifted, saying "Well hast thou discern'd, How from the left the sun his chariot leads. "

His lazy acts and broken words my lipsTo laughter somewhat mov'd; when I began:"Belacqua, now for thee I grieve no more. But tell, why thou art seated upright there?Waitest thou escort to conduct thee hence?Or blame I only shine accustom'd ways?"Then he: "My brother, of what use to mount, When to my suffering would not let me passThe bird of God, who at the portal sits?Behooves so long that heav'n first bear me roundWithout its limits, as in life it bore, Because I to the end repentant SighsDelay'd, if prayer do not aid me first, That riseth up from heart which lives in grace. What other kind avails, not heard in heaven?"'

Before me now the Poet up the mountAscending, cried: "Haste thee, for see the sunHas touch'd the point meridian, and the nightNow covers with her foot Marocco's shore. "

CANTO V

Now had I left those spirits, and pursuedThe steps of my Conductor, when beheldPointing the finger at me one exclaim'd:"See how it seems as if the light not shoneFrom the left hand of him beneath, and he, As living, seems to be led on. " Mine eyesI at that sound reverting, saw them gazeThrough wonder first at me, and then at meAnd the light broken underneath, by turns. "Why are thy thoughts thus riveted?" my guideExclaim'd, "that thou hast slack'd thy pace? or howImports it thee, what thing is whisper'd here?Come after me, and to their babblings leaveThe crowd. Be as a tower, that, firmly set, Shakes not its top for any blast that blows!He, in whose bosom thought on thought shoots out, Still of his aim is wide, in that the oneSicklies and wastes to nought the other's strength. "

What other could I answer save "I come?"I said it, somewhat with that colour ting'dWhich ofttimes pardon meriteth for man. 

Meanwhile traverse along the hill there came, A little way before us, some who sangThe "Miserere" in responsive Strains. When they perceiv'd that through my body IGave way not for the rays to pass, their songStraight to a long and hoarse exclaim they chang'd;And two of them, in guise of messengers, Ran on to meet us, and inquiring ask'd:"Of your condition we would gladly learn. "

To them my guide. "Ye may return, and bearTidings to them who sent you, that his frameIs real flesh. If, as I deem, to viewHis shade they paus'd, enough is answer'd them. Him let them honour, they may prize him well. "

Ne'er saw I fiery vapours with such speedCut through the serene air at fall of night, Nor August's clouds athwart the setting sun, That upward these did not in shorter spaceReturn; and, there arriving, with the restWheel back on us, as with loose rein a troop. 

"Many, " exclaim'd the bard, "are these, who throngAround us: to petition thee they come. Go therefore on, and listen as thou go'st. "

"O spirit! who go'st on to blessednessWith the same limbs, that clad thee at thy birth. "Shouting they came, "a little rest thy step. Look if thou any one amongst our tribeHast e'er beheld, that tidings of him thereThou mayst report. Ah, wherefore go'st thou on?Ah wherefore tarriest thou not? We allBy violence died, and to our latest hourWere sinners, but then warn'd by light from heav'n, So that, repenting and forgiving, weDid issue out of life at peace with God, Who with desire to see him fills our heart. "

Then I: "The visages of all I scanYet none of ye remember. But if aught, That I can do, may please you, gentle spirits!Speak; and I will perform it, by that peace, Which on the steps of guide so excellentFollowing from world to world intent I seek. "

In answer he began: "None here distrustsThy kindness, though not promis'd with an oath;So as the will fail not for want of power. Whence I, who sole before the others speak, Entreat thee, if thou ever see that land, Which lies between Romagna and the realmOf Charles, that of thy courtesy thou prayThose who inhabit Fano, that for meTheir adorations duly be put up, By which I may purge off my grievous sins. From thence I came. But the deep passages, Whence issued out the blood wherein I dwelt, Upon my bosom in Antenor's landWere made, where to be more secure I thought. The author of the deed was Este's prince, Who, more than right could warrant, with his wrathPursued me. Had I towards Mira fled, When overta'en at Oriaco, stillMight I have breath'd. But to the marsh I sped, And in the mire and rushes tangled thereFell, and beheld my life-blood float the plain. "

Then said another: "Ah! so may the wish, That takes thee o'er the mountain, be fulfill'd, As thou shalt graciously give aid to mine. Of Montefeltro I; Buonconte I:Giovanna nor none else have care for me, Sorrowing with these I therefore go. " I thus:"From Campaldino's field what force or chanceDrew thee, that ne'er thy sepulture was known?"

"Oh!" answer'd he, "at Casentino's footA stream there courseth, nam'd Archiano, sprungIn Apennine above the Hermit's seat. E'en where its name is cancel'd, there came I, Pierc'd in the heart, fleeing away on foot, And bloodying the plain. Here sight and speechFail'd me, and finishing with Mary's nameI fell, and tenantless my flesh remain'd. I will report the truth; which thou againTell to the living. Me God's angel took, Whilst he of hell exclaim'd: "O thou from heav'n!Say wherefore hast thou robb'd me? Thou of himTh' eternal portion bear'st with thee awayFor one poor tear that he deprives me of. But of the other, other rule I make. "

"Thou knowest how in the atmosphere collectsThat vapour dank, returning into water, Soon as it mounts where cold condenses it. That evil will, which in his intellectStill follows evil, came, and rais'd the windAnd smoky mist, by virtue of the powerGiven by his nature. Thence the valley, soonAs day was spent, he cover'd o'er with cloudFrom Pratomagno to the mountain range, And stretch'd the sky above, so that the airImpregnate chang'd to water. Fell the rain, And to the fosses came all that the landContain'd not; and, as mightiest streams are wont, To the great river with such headlong sweepRush'd, that nought stay'd its course. My stiffen'd frameLaid at his mouth the fell Archiano found, And dash'd it into Arno, from my breastLoos'ning the cross, that of myself I madeWhen overcome with pain. He hurl'd me on, Along the banks and bottom of his course;Then in his muddy spoils encircling wrapt. "

"Ah! when thou to the world shalt be return'd, And rested after thy long road, " so spakeNext the third spirit; "then remember me. I once was Pia. Sienna gave me life, Maremma took it from me. That he knows, Who me with jewell'd ring had first espous'd. "

CANTO VI

When from their game of dice men separate, He, who hath lost, remains in sadness fix'd, Revolving in his mind, what luckless throwsHe cast: but meanwhile all the companyGo with the other; one before him runs, And one behind his mantle twitches, oneFast by his side bids him remember him. He stops not; and each one, to whom his handIs stretch'd, well knows he bids him stand aside;And thus he from the press defends himself. E'en such was I in that close-crowding throng;And turning so my face around to all, And promising, I 'scap'd from it with pains. 

Here of Arezzo him I saw, who fellBy Ghino's cruel arm; and him beside, Who in his chase was swallow'd by the stream. Here Frederic Novello, with his handStretch'd forth, entreated; and of Pisa he, Who put the good Marzuco to such proofOf constancy. Count Orso I beheld;And from its frame a soul dismiss'd for spiteAnd envy, as it said, but for no crime:I speak of Peter de la Brosse; and here, While she yet lives, that Lady of BrabantLet her beware; lest for so false a deedShe herd with worse than these. When I was freedFrom all those spirits, who pray'd for others' prayersTo hasten on their state of blessedness;Straight I began: "O thou, my luminary!It seems expressly in thy text denied, That heaven's supreme decree can never bendTo supplication; yet with this designDo these entreat. Can then their hope be vain, Or is thy saying not to me reveal'd?"

He thus to me: "Both what I write is plain, And these deceiv'd not in their hope, if wellThy mind consider, that the sacred heightOf judgment doth not stoop, because love's flameIn a short moment all fulfils, which heWho sojourns here, in right should satisfy. Besides, when I this point concluded thus, By praying no defect could be supplied;Because the pray'r had none access to God. Yet in this deep suspicion rest thou notContented unless she assure thee so, Who betwixt truth and mind infuses light. I know not if thou take me right; I meanBeatrice. Her thou shalt behold above, Upon this mountain's crown, fair seat of joy. "

Then I: "Sir! let us mend our speed; for nowI tire not as before; and lo! the hillStretches its shadow far. " He answer'd thus:"Our progress with this day shall be as muchAs we may now dispatch; but otherwiseThan thou supposest is the truth. For thereThou canst not be, ere thou once more beholdHim back returning, who behind the steepIs now so hidden, that as erst his beamThou dost not break. But lo! a spirit thereStands solitary, and toward us looks:It will instruct us in the speediest way. "

We soon approach'd it. O thou Lombard spirit!How didst thou stand, in high abstracted mood, Scarce moving with slow dignity thine eyes!It spoke not aught, but let us onward pass, Eyeing us as a lion on his watch. But Virgil with entreaty mild advanc'd, Requesting it to show the best ascent. It answer to his question none return'd, But of our country and our kind of lifeDemanded. When my courteous guide began, "Mantua, " the solitary shadow quickRose towards us from the place in which it stood, And cry'd, "Mantuan! I am thy countrymanSordello. " Each the other then embrac'd. 

Ah slavish Italy! thou inn of grief, Vessel without a pilot in loud storm, Lady no longer of fair provinces, But brothel-house impure! this gentle spirit, Ev'n from the Pleasant sound of his dear landWas prompt to greet a fellow citizenWith such glad cheer; while now thy living onesIn thee abide not without war; and oneMalicious gnaws another, ay of thoseWhom the same wall and the same moat contains, Seek, wretched one! around thy sea-coasts wide;Then homeward to thy bosom turn, and markIf any part of the sweet peace enjoy. What boots it, that thy reins Justinian's handBefitted, if thy saddle be unpress'd?Nought doth he now but aggravate thy shame. Ah people! thou obedient still shouldst live, And in the saddle let thy Caesar sit, If well thou marked'st that which God commands. 

Look how that beast to felness hath relaps'dFrom having lost correction of the spur, Since to the bridle thou hast set thine hand, O German Albert! who abandon'st her, That is grown savage and unmanageable, When thou should'st clasp her flanks with forked heels. Just judgment from the stars fall on thy blood!And be it strange and manifest to all!Such as may strike thy successor with dread!For that thy sire and thou have suffer'd thus, Through greediness of yonder realms detain'd, The garden of the empire to run waste. Come see the Capulets and Montagues, The Philippeschi and Monaldi! manWho car'st for nought! those sunk in grief, and theseWith dire suspicion rack'd. Come, cruel one!Come and behold the' oppression of the nobles, And mark their injuries: and thou mayst see. What safety Santafiore can supply. Come and behold thy Rome, who calls on thee, Desolate widow! day and night with moans:"My Caesar, why dost thou desert my side?"Come and behold what love among thy people:And if no pity touches thee for us, Come and blush for thine own report. For me, If it be lawful, O Almighty Power, Who wast in earth for our sakes crucified!Are thy just eyes turn'd elsewhere? or is thisA preparation in the wond'rous depthOf thy sage counsel made, for some good end, Entirely from our reach of thought cut off?So are the' Italian cities all o'erthrong'dWith tyrants, and a great Marcellus madeOf every petty factious villager. 

My Florence! thou mayst well remain unmov'dAt this digression, which affects not thee:Thanks to thy people, who so wisely speed. Many have justice in their heart, that longWaiteth for counsel to direct the bow, Or ere it dart unto its aim: but shineHave it on their lip's edge. Many refuseTo bear the common burdens: readier thineAnswer uneall'd, and cry, "Behold I stoop!"

Make thyself glad, for thou hast reason now, Thou wealthy! thou at peace! thou wisdom-fraught!Facts best witness if I speak the truth. Athens and Lacedaemon, who of oldEnacted laws, for civil arts renown'd, Made little progress in improving lifeTow'rds thee, who usest such nice subtlety, That to the middle of November scarceReaches the thread thou in October weav'st. How many times, within thy memory, Customs, and laws, and coins, and officesHave been by thee renew'd, and people chang'd!

If thou remember'st well and can'st see clear, Thou wilt perceive thyself like a sick wretch, Who finds no rest upon her down, but oftShifting her side, short respite seeks from pain. 

CANTO VII

After their courteous greetings joyfullySev'n times exchang'd, Sordello backward drewExclaiming, "Who are ye?" "Before this mountBy spirits worthy of ascent to GodWas sought, my bones had by Octavius' careBeen buried. I am Virgil, for no sinDepriv'd of heav'n, except for lack of faith. "

So answer'd him in few my gentle guide. 

As one, who aught before him suddenlyBeholding, whence his wonder riseth, cries"It is yet is not, " wav'ring in belief;Such he appear'd; then downward bent his eyes, And drawing near with reverential step, Caught him, where of mean estate might claspHis lord. "Glory of Latium!" he exclaim'd, "In whom our tongue its utmost power display'd!Boast of my honor'd birth-place! what desertOf mine, what favour rather undeserv'd, Shows thee to me? If I to hear that voiceAm worthy, say if from below thou com'stAnd from what cloister's pale?"--"Through every orbOf that sad region, " he reply'd, "thus farAm I arriv'd, by heav'nly influence ledAnd with such aid I come. There is a placeThere underneath, not made by torments sad, But by dun shades alone; where mourning's voiceSounds not of anguish sharp, but breathes in sighs. 

"There I with little innocents abide, Who by death's fangs were bitten, ere exemptFrom human taint. There I with those abide, Who the three holy virtues put not on, But understood the rest, and without blameFollow'd them all. But if thou know'st and canst, Direct us, how we soonest may arrive, Where Purgatory its true beginning takes. "

He answer'd thus: "We have no certain placeAssign'd us: upwards I may go or round, Far as I can, I join thee for thy guide. But thou beholdest now how day declines:And upwards to proceed by night, our powerExcels: therefore it may be well to chooseA place of pleasant sojourn. To the rightSome spirits sit apart retir'd. If thouConsentest, I to these will lead thy steps:And thou wilt know them, not without delight. "

"How chances this?" was answer'd; "who so wish'dTo ascend by night, would he be thence debarr'dBy other, or through his own weakness fail?"

The good Sordello then, along the groundTrailing his finger, spoke: "Only this lineThou shalt not overpass, soon as the sunHath disappear'd; not that aught else impedesThy going upwards, save the shades of night. These with the wont of power perplex the will. With them thou haply mightst return beneath, Or to and fro around the mountain's sideWander, while day is in the horizon shut. "

My master straight, as wond'ring at his speech, Exclaim'd: "Then lead us quickly, where thou sayst, That, while we stay, we may enjoy delight. "

A little space we were remov'd from thence, When I perceiv'd the mountain hollow'd out. Ev'n as large valleys hollow'd out on earth, "That way, " the' escorting spirit cried, "we go, Where in a bosom the high bank recedes:And thou await renewal of the day. "

Betwixt the steep and plain a crooked pathLed us traverse into the ridge's side, Where more than half the sloping edge expires. Refulgent gold, and silver thrice refin'd, And scarlet grain and ceruse, Indian woodOf lucid dye serene, fresh emeraldsBut newly broken, by the herbs and flowersPlac'd in that fair recess, in color allHad been surpass'd, as great surpasses less. Nor nature only there lavish'd her hues, But of the sweetness of a thousand smellsA rare and undistinguish'd fragrance made. 

"Salve Regina, " on the grass and flowersHere chanting I beheld those spirits sitWho not beyond the valley could be seen. 

"Before the west'ring sun sink to his bed, "Began the Mantuan, who our steps had turn'd, "'Mid those desires not that I lead ye on. For from this eminence ye shall discernBetter the acts and visages of all, Than in the nether vale among them mix'd. He, who sits high above the rest, and seemsTo have neglected that he should have done, And to the others' song moves not his lip, The Emperor Rodolph call, who might have heal'dThe wounds whereof fair Italy hath died, So that by others she revives but slowly, He, who with kindly visage comforts him, Sway'd in that country, where the water springs, That Moldaw's river to the Elbe, and ElbeRolls to the ocean: Ottocar his name:Who in his swaddling clothes was of more worthThan Winceslaus his son, a bearded man, Pamper'd with rank luxuriousness and ease. And that one with the nose depress, who closeIn counsel seems with him of gentle look, Flying expir'd, with'ring the lily's flower. Look there how he doth knock against his breast!The other ye behold, who for his cheekMakes of one hand a couch, with frequent sighs. They are the father and the father-in-lawOf Gallia's bane: his vicious life they knowAnd foul; thence comes the grief that rends them thus. 

"He, so robust of limb, who measure keepsIn song, with him of feature prominent, With ev'ry virtue bore his girdle brac'd. And if that stripling who behinds him sits, King after him had liv'd, his virtue thenFrom vessel to like vessel had been pour'd;Which may not of the other heirs be said. By James and Frederick his realms are held;Neither the better heritage obtains. Rarely into the branches of the treeDoth human worth mount up; and so ordainsHe who bestows it, that as his free giftIt may be call'd. To Charles my words applyNo less than to his brother in the song;Which Pouille and Provence now with grief confess. So much that plant degenerates from its seed, As more than Beatrice and MargaretCostanza still boasts of her valorous spouse. 

"Behold the king of simple life and plain, Harry of England, sitting there alone:He through his branches better issue spreads. 

"That one, who on the ground beneath the restSits lowest, yet his gaze directs aloft, Us William, that brave Marquis, for whose causeThe deed of Alexandria and his warMakes Conferrat and Canavese weep. "

CANTO VIII

Now was the hour that wakens fond desireIn men at sea, and melts their thoughtful heart, Who in the morn have bid sweet friends farewell, And pilgrim newly on his road with loveThrills, if he hear the vesper bell from far, That seems to mourn for the expiring day:When I, no longer taking heed to hearBegan, with wonder, from those spirits to markOne risen from its seat, which with its handAudience implor'd. Both palms it join'd and rais'd, Fixing its steadfast gaze towards the east, As telling God, "I care for naught beside. "

"Te Lucis Ante, " so devoutly thenCame from its lip, and in so soft a strain, That all my sense in ravishment was lost. And the rest after, softly and devout, Follow'd through all the hymn, with upward gazeDirected to the bright supernal wheels. 

Here, reader! for the truth makes thine eyes keen:For of so subtle texture is this veil, That thou with ease mayst pass it through unmark'd. 

I saw that gentle band silently nextLook up, as if in expectation held, Pale and in lowly guise; and from on highI saw forth issuing descend beneathTwo angels with two flame-illumin'd swords, Broken and mutilated at their points. Green as the tender leaves but newly born, Their vesture was, the which by wings as greenBeaten, they drew behind them, fann'd in air. A little over us one took his stand, The other lighted on the' Opposing hill, So that the troop were in the midst contain'd. 

Well I descried the whiteness on their heads;But in their visages the dazzled eyeWas lost, as faculty that by too muchIs overpower'd. "From Mary's bosom bothAre come, " exclaim'd Sordello, "as a guardOver the vale, ganst him, who hither tends, The serpent. " Whence, not knowing by which pathHe came, I turn'd me round, and closely press'd, All frozen, to my leader's trusted side. 

Sordello paus'd not: "To the valley now(For it is time) let us descend; and holdConverse with those great shadows: haply muchTheir sight may please ye. " Only three steps downMethinks I measur'd, ere I was beneath, And noted one who look'd as with desireTo know me. Time was now that air arrow dim;Yet not so dim, that 'twixt his eyes and mineIt clear'd not up what was conceal'd before. Mutually tow'rds each other we advanc'd. Nino, thou courteous judge! what joy I felt, When I perceiv'd thou wert not with the bad!

No salutation kind on either partWas left unsaid. He then inquir'd: "How longSince thou arrived'st at the mountain's foot, Over the distant waves?"--"O!" answer'd I, "Through the sad seats of woe this morn I came, And still in my first life, thus journeying on, The other strive to gain. " Soon as they heardMy words, he and Sordello backward drew, As suddenly amaz'd. To Virgil one, The other to a spirit turn'd, who nearWas seated, crying: "Conrad! up with speed:Come, see what of his grace high God hath will'd. "Then turning round to me: "By that rare markOf honour which thou ow'st to him, who hidesSo deeply his first cause, it hath no ford, When thou shalt be beyond the vast of waves. Tell my Giovanna, that for me she callThere, where reply to innocence is made. Her mother, I believe, loves me no more;Since she has chang'd the white and wimpled folds, Which she is doom'd once more with grief to wish. By her it easily may be perceiv'd, How long in women lasts the flame of love, If sight and touch do not relume it oft. For her so fair a burial will not makeThe viper which calls Milan to the field, As had been made by shrill Gallura's bird. "

He spoke, and in his visage took the stampOf that right seal, which with due temperatureGlows in the bosom. My insatiate eyesMeanwhile to heav'n had travel'd, even thereWhere the bright stars are slowest, as a wheelNearest the axle; when my guide inquir'd:"What there aloft, my son, has caught thy gaze?"

I answer'd: "The three torches, with which hereThe pole is all on fire. " He then to me:"The four resplendent stars, thou saw'st this mornAre there beneath, and these ris'n in their stead. "

While yet he spoke. Sordello to himselfDrew him, and cry'd: "Lo there our enemy!"And with his hand pointed that way to look. 

Along the side, where barrier none aroseAround the little vale, a serpent lay, Such haply as gave Eve the bitter food. Between the grass and flowers, the evil snakeCame on, reverting oft his lifted head;And, as a beast that smoothes its polish'd coat, Licking his hack. I saw not, nor can tell, How those celestial falcons from their seatMov'd, but in motion each one well descried, Hearing the air cut by their verdant plumes. The serpent fled; and to their stations backThe angels up return'd with equal flight. 

The Spirit (who to Nino, when he call'd, Had come), from viewing me with fixed ken, Through all that conflict, loosen'd not his sight. 

"So may the lamp, which leads thee up on high, Find, in thy destin'd lot, of wax so much, As may suffice thee to the enamel's height. "It thus began: "If any certain newsOf Valdimagra and the neighbour partThou know'st, tell me, who once was mighty thereThey call'd me Conrad Malaspina, notThat old one, but from him I sprang. The loveI bore my people is now here refin'd. "

"In your dominions, " I answer'd, "ne'er was I. But through all Europe where do those men dwell, To whom their glory is not manifest?The fame, that honours your illustrious house, Proclaims the nobles and proclaims the land;So that he knows it who was never there. I swear to you, so may my upward routeProsper! your honour'd nation not impairsThe value of her coffer and her sword. Nature and use give her such privilege, That while the world is twisted from his courseBy a bad head, she only walks aright, And has the evil way in scorn. " He then:"Now pass thee on: sev'n times the tired sunRevisits not the couch, which with four feetThe forked Aries covers, ere that kindOpinion shall be nail'd into thy brainWith stronger nails than other's speech can drive, If the sure course of judgment be not stay'd. "

CANTO IX

Now the fair consort of Tithonus old, Arisen from her mate's beloved arms, Look'd palely o'er the eastern cliff: her brow, Lucent with jewels, glitter'd, set in signOf that chill animal, who with his trainSmites fearful nations: and where then we were, Two steps of her ascent the night had past, And now the third was closing up its wing, When I, who had so much of Adam with me, Sank down upon the grass, o'ercome with sleep, There where all five were seated. In that hour, When near the dawn the swallow her sad lay, Rememb'ring haply ancient grief, renews, And with our minds more wand'rers from the flesh, And less by thought restrain'd are, as 't were, fullOf holy divination in their dreams, Then in a vision did I seem to viewA golden-feather'd eagle in the sky, With open wings, and hov'ring for descent, And I was in that place, methought, from whenceYoung Ganymede, from his associates 'reft, Was snatch'd aloft to the high consistory. "Perhaps, " thought I within me, "here aloneHe strikes his quarry, and elsewhere disdainsTo pounce upon the prey. " Therewith, it seem'd, A little wheeling in his airy tourTerrible as the lightning rush'd he down, And snatch'd me upward even to the fire. 

There both, I thought, the eagle and myselfDid burn; and so intense th' imagin'd flames, That needs my sleep was broken off. As erstAchilles shook himself, and round him roll'dHis waken'd eyeballs wond'ring where he was, Whenas his mother had from Chiron fledTo Scyros, with him sleeping in her arms;E'en thus I shook me, soon as from my faceThe slumber parted, turning deadly pale, Like one ice-struck with dread. Solo at my sideMy comfort stood: and the bright sun was nowMore than two hours aloft: and to the seaMy looks were turn'd. "Fear not, " my master cried, "Assur'd we are at happy point. Thy strengthShrink not, but rise dilated. Thou art comeTo Purgatory now. Lo! there the cliffThat circling bounds it! Lo! the entrance there, Where it doth seem disparted! re the dawnUsher'd the daylight, when thy wearied soulSlept in thee, o'er the flowery vale beneathA lady came, and thus bespake me: "IAm Lucia. Suffer me to take this man, Who slumbers. Easier so his way shall speed. "Sordello and the other gentle shapesTarrying, she bare thee up: and, as day shone, This summit reach'd: and I pursued her steps. Here did she place thee. First her lovely eyesThat open entrance show'd me; then at onceShe vanish'd with thy sleep. Like one, whose doubtsAre chas'd by certainty, and terror turn'dTo comfort on discovery of the truth, Such was the change in me: and as my guideBeheld me fearless, up along the cliffHe mov'd, and I behind him, towards the height. 

Reader! thou markest how my theme doth rise, Nor wonder therefore, if more artfullyI prop the structure! nearer now we drew, Arriv'd' whence in that part, where first a breachAs of a wall appear'd, I could descryA portal, and three steps beneath, that ledFor inlet there, of different colour each, And one who watch'd, but spake not yet a word. As more and more mine eye did stretch its view, I mark'd him seated on the highest step, In visage such, as past my power to bear. 

Grasp'd in his hand a naked sword, glanc'd backThe rays so toward me, that I oft in vainMy sight directed. "Speak from whence ye stand:"He cried: "What would ye? Where is your escort?Take heed your coming upward harm ye not. "

"A heavenly dame, not skilless of these things, "Replied the' instructor, "told us, even now, "Pass that way: here the gate is. " --"And may sheBefriending prosper your ascent, " resum'dThe courteous keeper of the gate: "Come thenBefore our steps. " We straightway thither came. 

The lowest stair was marble white so smoothAnd polish'd, that therein my mirror'd formDistinct I saw. The next of hue more darkThan sablest grain, a rough and singed block, Crack'd lengthwise and across. The third, that layMassy above, seem'd porphyry, that flam'dRed as the life-blood spouting from a vein. On this God's angel either foot sustain'd, Upon the threshold seated, which appear'dA rock of diamond. Up the trinal stepsMy leader cheerily drew me. "Ask, " said he, "With humble heart, that he unbar the bolt. "

Piously at his holy feet devolv'dI cast me, praying him for pity's sakeThat he would open to me: but first fellThrice on my bosom prostrate. Seven timesThe letter, that denotes the inward stain, He on my forehead with the blunted pointOf his drawn sword inscrib'd. And "Look, " he cried, "When enter'd, that thou wash these scars away. "

Ashes, or earth ta'en dry out of the ground, Were of one colour with the robe he wore. From underneath that vestment forth he drewTwo keys of metal twain: the one was gold, Its fellow silver. With the pallid first, And next the burnish'd, he so ply'd the gate, As to content me well. "Whenever oneFaileth of these, that in the keyhole straightIt turn not, to this alley then expectAccess in vain. " Such were the words he spake. "One is more precious: but the other needsSkill and sagacity, large share of each, Ere its good task to disengage the knotBe worthily perform'd. From Peter theseI hold, of him instructed, that I errRather in opening than in keeping fast;So but the suppliant at my feet implore. "

Then of that hallow'd gate he thrust the door, Exclaiming, "Enter, but this warning hear:He forth again departs who looks behind. "

As in the hinges of that sacred wardThe swivels turn'd, sonorous metal strong, Harsh was the grating; nor so surlilyRoar'd the Tarpeian, when by force bereftOf good Metellus, thenceforth from his lossTo leanness doom'd. Attentively I turn'd, List'ning the thunder, that first issued forth;And "We praise thee, O God, " methought I heardIn accents blended with sweet melody. The strains came o'er mine ear, e'en as the soundOf choral voices, that in solemn chantWith organ mingle, and, now high and clear, Come swelling, now float indistinct away. 

CANTO X

When we had passed the threshold of the gate(Which the soul's ill affection doth disuse, Making the crooked seem the straighter path), I heard its closing sound. Had mine eyes turn'd, For that offence what plea might have avail'd?

We mounted up the riven rock, that woundOn either side alternate, as the waveFlies and advances. "Here some little artBehooves us, " said my leader, "that our stepsObserve the varying flexure of the path. "

Thus we so slowly sped, that with cleft orbThe moon once more o'erhangs her wat'ry couch, Ere we that strait have threaded. But when freeWe came and open, where the mount aboveOne solid mass retires, I spent, with toil, And both, uncertain of the way, we stood, Upon a plain more lonesome, than the roadsThat traverse desert wilds. From whence the brinkBorders upon vacuity, to footOf the steep bank, that rises still, the spaceHad measur'd thrice the stature of a man:And, distant as mine eye could wing its flight, To leftward now and now to right dispatch'd, That cornice equal in extent appear'd. 

Not yet our feet had on that summit mov'd, When I discover'd that the bank around, Whose proud uprising all ascent denied, Was marble white, and so exactly wroughtWith quaintest sculpture, that not there aloneHad Polycletus, but e'en nature's selfBeen sham'd. The angel who came down to earthWith tidings of the peace so many yearsWept for in vain, that op'd the heavenly gatesFrom their long interdict, before us seem'd, In a sweet act, so sculptur'd to the life, He look'd no silent image. One had swornHe had said, "Hail!" for she was imag'd there, By whom the key did open to God's love, And in her act as sensibly impressThat word, "Behold the handmaid of the Lord, "As figure seal'd on wax. "Fix not thy mindOn one place only, " said the guide belov'd, Who had me near him on that part where liesThe heart of man. My sight forthwith I turn'dAnd mark'd, behind the virgin mother's form, Upon that side, where he, that mov'd me, stood, Another story graven on the rock. 

I passed athwart the bard, and drew me near, That it might stand more aptly for my view. There in the self-same marble were engrav'dThe cart and kine, drawing the sacred ark, That from unbidden office awes mankind. Before it came much people; and the wholeParted in seven quires. One sense cried, "Nay, "Another, "Yes, they sing. " Like doubt aroseBetwixt the eye and smell, from the curl'd fumeOf incense breathing up the well-wrought toil. Preceding the blest vessel, onward cameWith light dance leaping, girt in humble guise, Sweet Israel's harper: in that hap he seem'dLess and yet more than kingly. Opposite, At a great palace, from the lattice forthLook'd Michol, like a lady full of scornAnd sorrow. To behold the tablet next, Which at the hack of Michol whitely shone, I mov'd me. There was storied on the rockThe' exalted glory of the Roman prince, Whose mighty worth mov'd Gregory to earnHis mighty conquest, Trajan th' Emperor. A widow at his bridle stood, attir'dIn tears and mourning. Round about them troop'dFull throng of knights, and overhead in goldThe eagles floated, struggling with the wind. 

The wretch appear'd amid all these to say:"Grant vengeance, sire! for, woe beshrew this heartMy son is murder'd. " He replying seem'd;

"Wait now till I return. " And she, as oneMade hasty by her grief; "O sire, if thouDost not return?"--"Where I am, who then is, May right thee. "--"What to thee is other's good, If thou neglect thy own?"--"Now comfort thee, "At length he answers. "It beseemeth wellMy duty be perform'd, ere I move hence:So justice wills; and pity bids me stay. "

He, whose ken nothing new surveys, produc'dThat visible speaking, new to us and strangeThe like not found on earth. Fondly I gaz'dUpon those patterns of meek humbleness, Shapes yet more precious for their artist's sake, When "Lo, " the poet whisper'd, "where this way(But slack their pace), a multitude advance. These to the lofty steps shall guide us on. "

Mine eyes, though bent on view of novel sightsTheir lov'd allurement, were not slow to turn. 

Reader! would not that amaz'd thou missOf thy good purpose, hearing how just GodDecrees our debts be cancel'd. Ponder notThe form of suff'ring. Think on what succeeds, Think that at worst beyond the mighty doomIt cannot pass. "Instructor, " I began, "What I see hither tending, bears no traceOf human semblance, nor of aught besideThat my foil'd sight can guess. " He answering thus:"So courb'd to earth, beneath their heavy teemsOf torment stoop they, that mine eye at firstStruggled as thine. But look intently thither, An disentangle with thy lab'ring view, What underneath those stones approacheth: now, E'en now, mayst thou discern the pangs of each. "

Christians and proud! poor and wretched ones!That feeble in the mind's eye, lean your trustUpon unstaid perverseness! now ye notThat we are worms, yet made at last to formThe winged insect, imp'd with angel plumesThat to heaven's justice unobstructed soars?Why buoy ye up aloft your unfleg'd souls?Abortive then and shapeless ye remain, Like the untimely embryon of a worm!

As, to support incumbent floor or roof, For corbel is a figure sometimes seen, That crumples up its knees unto its breast, With the feign'd posture stirring ruth unfeign'dIn the beholder's fancy; so I sawThese fashion'd, when I noted well their guise. 

Each, as his back was laden, came indeedOr more or less contract; but it appear'dAs he, who show'd most patience in his look, Wailing exclaim'd: "I can endure no more. "

CANTO XI

"O thou Almighty Father, who dost makeThe heavens thy dwelling, not in bounds confin'd, But that with love intenser there thou view'stThy primal effluence, hallow'd be thy name:Join each created being to extolThy might, for worthy humblest thanks and praiseIs thy blest Spirit. May thy kingdom's peaceCome unto us; for we, unless it come, With all our striving thither tend in vain. As of their will the angels unto theeTender meet sacrifice, circling thy throneWith loud hosannas, so of theirs be doneBy saintly men on earth. Grant us this dayOur daily manna, without which he roamsThrough this rough desert retrograde, who mostToils to advance his steps. As we to eachPardon the evil done us, pardon thouBenign, and of our merit take no count. 'Gainst the old adversary prove thou notOur virtue easily subdu'd; but freeFrom his incitements and defeat his wiles. This last petition, dearest Lord! is madeNot for ourselves, since that were needless now, But for their sakes who after us remain. "

Thus for themselves and us good speed imploring, Those spirits went beneath a weight like thatWe sometimes feel in dreams, all, sore beset, But with unequal anguish, wearied all, Round the first circuit, purging as they go, The world's gross darkness off: In our behalfIf there vows still be offer'd, what can hereFor them be vow'd and done by such, whose willsHave root of goodness in them? Well beseemsThat we should help them wash away the stainsThey carried hence, that so made pure and light, They may spring upward to the starry spheres. 

"Ah! so may mercy-temper'd justice ridYour burdens speedily, that ye have powerTo stretch your wing, which e'en to your desireShall lift you, as ye show us on which handToward the ladder leads the shortest way. And if there be more passages than one, Instruct us of that easiest to ascend;For this man who comes with me, and bears yetThe charge of fleshly raiment Adam left him, Despite his better will but slowly mounts. "From whom the answer came unto these words, Which my guide spake, appear'd not; but 'twas said:

"Along the bank to rightward come with us, And ye shall find a pass that mocks not toilOf living man to climb: and were it notThat I am hinder'd by the rock, wherewithThis arrogant neck is tam'd, whence needs I stoopMy visage to the ground, him, who yet lives, Whose name thou speak'st not him I fain would view. To mark if e'er I knew himnd to craveHis pity for the fardel that I bear. I was of Latiun, of a Tuscan hornA mighty one: Aldobranlesco's nameMy sire's, I know not if ye e'er have heard. My old blood and forefathers' gallant deedsMade me so haughty, that I clean forgotThe common mother, and to such excess, Wax'd in my scorn of all men, that I fell, Fell therefore; by what fate Sienna's sons, Each child in Campagnatico, can tell. I am Omberto; not me only prideHath injur'd, but my kindred all involv'dIn mischief with her. Here my lot ordainsUnder this weight to groan, till I appeaseGod's angry justice, since I did it notAmongst the living, here amongst the dead. "

List'ning I bent my visage down: and one(Not he who spake) twisted beneath the weightThat urg'd him, saw me, knew me straight, and call'd, Holding his eyes With difficulty fix'dIntent upon me, stooping as I wentCompanion of their way. "O!" I exclaim'd, "Art thou not Oderigi, art not thouAgobbio's glory, glory of that artWhich they of Paris call the limmer's skill?"

"Brother!" said he, "with tints that gayer smile, Bolognian Franco's pencil lines the leaves. His all the honour now; mine borrow'd light. In truth I had not been thus courteous to him, The whilst I liv'd, through eagerness of zealFor that pre-eminence my heart was bent on. Here of such pride the forfeiture is paid. Nor were I even here; if, able stillTo sin, I had not turn'd me unto God. O powers of man! how vain your glory, nipp'dE'en in its height of verdure, if an ageLess bright succeed not! imbue thoughtTo lord it over painting's field; and nowThe cry is Giotto's, and his name eclips'd. Thus hath one Guido from the other snatch'dThe letter'd prize: and he perhaps is born, Who shall drive either from their nest. The noiseOf worldly fame is but a blast of wind, That blows from divers points, and shifts its nameShifting the point it blows from. Shalt thou moreLive in the mouths of mankind, if thy fleshPart shrivel'd from thee, than if thou hadst died, Before the coral and the pap were left, Or ere some thousand years have passed? and thatIs, to eternity compar'd, a space, Briefer than is the twinkling of an eyeTo the heaven's slowest orb. He there who treadsSo leisurely before me, far and wideThrough Tuscany resounded once; and nowIs in Sienna scarce with whispers nam'd:There was he sov'reign, when destruction caughtThe madd'ning rage of Florence, in that dayProud as she now is loathsome. Your renownIs as the herb, whose hue doth come and go, And his might withers it, by whom it sprangCrude from the lap of earth. " I thus to him:"True are thy sayings: to my heart they breatheThe kindly spirit of meekness, and allayWhat tumours rankle there. But who is heOf whom thou spak'st but now?"--"This, " he replied, "Is Provenzano. He is here, becauseHe reach'd, with grasp presumptuous, at the swayOf all Sienna. Thus he still hath gone, Thus goeth never-resting, since he died. Such is th' acquittance render'd back of him, Who, beyond measure, dar'd on earth. " I then:"If soul that to the verge of life delaysRepentance, linger in that lower space, Nor hither mount, unless good prayers befriend, How chanc'd admittance was vouchsaf'd to him?"

"When at his glory's topmost height, " said he, "Respect of dignity all cast aside, Freely He fix'd him on Sienna's plain, A suitor to redeem his suff'ring friend, Who languish'd in the prison-house of Charles, Nor for his sake refus'd through every veinTo tremble. More I will not say; and dark, I know, my words are, but thy neighbours soonShall help thee to a comment on the text. This is the work, that from these limits freed him. "

CANTO XII

With equal pace as oxen in the yoke, I with that laden spirit journey'd onLong as the mild instructor suffer'd me;But when he bade me quit him, and proceed(For "here, " said he, "behooves with sail and oarsEach man, as best he may, push on his bark"), Upright, as one dispos'd for speed, I rais'dMy body, still in thought submissive bow'd. 

I now my leader's track not loth pursued;And each had shown how light we far'd alongWhen thus he warn'd me: "Bend thine eyesight down:For thou to ease the way shall find it goodTo ruminate the bed beneath thy feet. "

As in memorial of the buried, drawnUpon earth-level tombs, the sculptur'd formOf what was once, appears (at sight whereofTears often stream forth by remembrance wak'd, Whose sacred stings the piteous only feel), So saw I there, but with more curious skillOf portraiture o'erwrought, whate'er of spaceFrom forth the mountain stretches. On one partHim I beheld, above all creatures erstCreated noblest, light'ning fall from heaven:On th' other side with bolt celestial pierc'dBriareus: cumb'ring earth he lay through dintOf mortal ice-stroke. The Thymbraean godWith Mars, I saw, and Pallas, round their sire, Arm'd still, and gazing on the giant's limbsStrewn o'er th' ethereal field. Nimrod I saw:At foot of the stupendous work he stood, As if bewilder'd, looking on the crowdLeagued in his proud attempt on Sennaar's plain. 

O Niobe! in what a trance of woeThee I beheld, upon that highway drawn, Sev'n sons on either side thee slain! Saul!How ghastly didst thou look! on thine own swordExpiring in Gilboa, from that hourNe'er visited with rain from heav'n or dew!

O fond Arachne! thee I also sawHalf spider now in anguish crawling upTh' unfinish'd web thou weaved'st to thy bane!

O Rehoboam! here thy shape doth seemLouring no more defiance! but fear-smoteWith none to chase him in his chariot whirl'd. 

Was shown beside upon the solid floorHow dear Alcmaeon forc'd his mother rateThat ornament in evil hour receiv'd:How in the temple on Sennacherib fellHis sons, and how a corpse they left him there. Was shown the scath and cruel mangling madeBy Tomyris on Cyrus, when she cried:"Blood thou didst thirst for, take thy fill of blood!"Was shown how routed in the battle fledTh' Assyrians, Holofernes slain, and e'enThe relics of the carnage. Troy I mark'dIn ashes and in caverns. Oh! how fall'n, How abject, Ilion, was thy semblance there!

What master of the pencil or the styleHad trac'd the shades and lines, that might have madeThe subtlest workman wonder? Dead the dead, The living seem'd alive; with clearer viewHis eye beheld not who beheld the truth, Than mine what I did tread on, while I wentLow bending. Now swell out; and with stiff necksPass on, ye sons of Eve! veil not your looks, Lest they descry the evil of your path!

I noted not (so busied was my thought)How much we now had circled of the mount, And of his course yet more the sun had spent, When he, who with still wakeful caution went, Admonish'd: "Raise thou up thy head: for knowTime is not now for slow suspense. BeholdThat way an angel hasting towards us! Lo!Where duly the sixth handmaid doth returnFrom service on the day. Wear thou in lookAnd gesture seemly grace of reverent awe, That gladly he may forward us aloft. Consider that this day ne'er dawns again. "

Time's loss he had so often warn'd me 'gainst, I could not miss the scope at which he aim'd. 

The goodly shape approach'd us, snowy whiteIn vesture, and with visage casting streamsOf tremulous lustre like the matin star. His arms he open'd, then his wings; and spake:"Onward: the steps, behold! are near; and nowTh' ascent is without difficulty gain'd. "

A scanty few are they, who when they hearSuch tidings, hasten. O ye race of menThough born to soar, why suffer ye a windSo slight to baffle ye? He led us onWhere the rock parted; here against my frontDid beat his wings, then promis'd I should fareIn safety on my way. As to ascendThat steep, upon whose brow the chapel stands(O'er Rubaconte, looking lordly downOn the well-guided city, ) up the rightTh' impetuous rise is broken by the stepsCarv'd in that old and simple age, when stillThe registry and label rested safe;Thus is th' acclivity reliev'd, which herePrecipitous from the other circuit falls:But on each hand the tall cliff presses close. 

As ent'ring there we turn'd, voices, in strainIneffable, sang: "Blessed are the poorIn spirit. " Ah how far unlike to theseThe straits of hell; here songs to usher us, There shrieks of woe! We climb the holy stairs:And lighter to myself by far I seem'dThan on the plain before, whence thus I spake:"Say, master, of what heavy thing have IBeen lighten'd, that scarce aught the sense of toilAffects me journeying?" He in few replied:"When sin's broad characters, that yet remainUpon thy temples, though well nigh effac'd, Shall be, as one is, all clean razed out, Then shall thy feet by heartiness of willBe so o'ercome, they not alone shall feelNo sense of labour, but delight much moreShall wait them urg'd along their upward way. "

Then like to one, upon whose head is plac'dSomewhat he deems not of but from the becksOf others as they pass him by; his handLends therefore help to' assure him, searches, finds, And well performs such office as the eyeWants power to execute: so stretching forthThe fingers of my right hand, did I findSix only of the letters, which his swordWho bare the keys had trac'd upon my brow. The leader, as he mark'd mine action, smil'd. 

CANTO XIII

We reach'd the summit of the scale, and stoodUpon the second buttress of that mountWhich healeth him who climbs. A cornice there, Like to the former, girdles round the hill;Save that its arch with sweep less ample bends. 

Shadow nor image there is seen; all smoothThe rampart and the path, reflecting noughtBut the rock's sullen hue. "If here we waitFor some to question, " said the bard, "I fearOur choice may haply meet too long delay. "

Then fixedly upon the sun his eyesHe fastn'd, made his right the central pointFrom whence to move, and turn'd the left aside. "O pleasant light, my confidence and hope, Conduct us thou, " he cried, "on this new way, Where now I venture, leading to the bournWe seek. The universal world to theeOwes warmth and lustre. If no other causeForbid, thy beams should ever be our guide. "

Far, as is measur'd for a mile on earth, In brief space had we journey'd; such prompt willImpell'd; and towards us flying, now were heardSpirits invisible, who courteouslyUnto love's table bade the welcome guest. The voice, that firstlew by, call'd forth aloud, "They have no wine;" so on behind us past, Those sounds reiterating, nor yet lostIn the faint distance, when another cameCrying, "I am Orestes, " and alikeWing'd its fleet way. "Oh father!" I exclaim'd, "What tongues are these?" and as I question'd, lo!A third exclaiming, "Love ye those have wrong'd you. "

"This circuit, " said my teacher, "knots the scourgeFor envy, and the cords are therefore drawnBy charity's correcting hand. The curbIs of a harsher sound, as thou shalt hear(If I deem rightly), ere thou reach the pass, Where pardon sets them free. But fix thine eyesIntently through the air, and thou shalt seeA multitude before thee seated, eachAlong the shelving grot. " Then more than erstI op'd my eyes, before me view'd, and sawShadows with garments dark as was the rock;And when we pass'd a little forth, I heardA crying, "Blessed Mary! pray for us, Michael and Peter! all ye saintly host!"

I do not think there walks on earth this dayMan so remorseless, that he hath not yearn'dWith pity at the sight that next I saw. Mine eyes a load of sorrow teemed, when nowI stood so near them, that their semblancesCame clearly to my view. Of sackcloth vileTheir cov'ring seem'd; and on his shoulder oneDid stay another, leaning, and all lean'dAgainst the cliff. E'en thus the blind and poor, Near the confessionals, to crave an alms, Stand, each his head upon his fellow's sunk, So most to stir compassion, not by soundOf words alone, but that, which moves not less, The sight of mis'ry. And as never beamOf noonday visiteth the eyeless man, E'en so was heav'n a niggard unto theseOf his fair light; for, through the orbs of all, A thread of wire, impiercing, knits them up, As for the taming of a haggard hawk. 

It were a wrong, methought, to pass and lookOn others, yet myself the while unseen. To my sage counsel therefore did I turn. He knew the meaning of the mute appeal, Nor waited for my questioning, but said:"Speak; and be brief, be subtle in thy words. "

On that part of the cornice, whence no rimEngarlands its steep fall, did Virgil come;On the' other side me were the spirits, their cheeksBathing devout with penitential tears, That through the dread impalement forc'd a way. 

I turn'd me to them, and "O shades!" said I, "Assur'd that to your eyes unveil'd shall shineThe lofty light, sole object of your wish, So may heaven's grace clear whatsoe'er of foamFloats turbid on the conscience, that thenceforthThe stream of mind roll limpid from its source, As ye declare (for so shall ye impartA boon I dearly prize) if any soulOf Latium dwell among ye; and perchanceThat soul may profit, if I learn so much. "

"My brother, we are each one citizensOf one true city. Any thou wouldst say, Who lived a stranger in Italia's land. "

So heard I answering, as appeal'd, a voiceThat onward came some space from whence I stood. 

A spirit I noted, in whose look was mark'dExpectance. Ask ye how? The chin was rais'dAs in one reft of sight. "Spirit, " said I, "Who for thy rise are tutoring (if thou beThat which didst answer to me, ) or by placeOr name, disclose thyself, that I may know thee. "

"I was, " it answer'd, "of Sienna: hereI cleanse away with these the evil life, Soliciting with tears that He, who is, Vouchsafe him to us. Though Sapia nam'dIn sapience I excell'd not, gladder farOf others' hurt, than of the good befell me. That thou mayst own I now deceive thee not, Hear, if my folly were not as I speak it. When now my years slop'd waning down the arch, It so bechanc'd, my fellow citizensNear Colle met their enemies in the field, And I pray'd God to grant what He had will'd. There were they vanquish'd, and betook themselvesUnto the bitter passages of flight. I mark'd the hunt, and waxing out of boundsIn gladness, lifted up my shameless brow, And like the merlin cheated by a gleam, Cried, "It is over. Heav'n! fear thee not. "Upon my verge of life I wish'd for peaceWith God; nor repentance had suppliedWhat I did lack of duty, were it notThe hermit Piero, touch'd with charity, In his devout orisons thought on me. "But who art thou that question'st of our state, Who go'st to my belief, with lids unclos'd, And breathest in thy talk?"--"Mine eyes, " said I, "May yet be here ta'en from me; but not long;For they have not offended grievouslyWith envious glances. But the woe beneathUrges my soul with more exceeding dread. That nether load already weighs me down. "

She thus: "Who then amongst us here aloftHath brought thee, if thou weenest to return?"

"He, " answer'd I, "who standeth mute beside me. I live: of me ask therefore, chosen spirit, If thou desire I yonder yet should moveFor thee my mortal feet. "--"Oh!" she replied, "This is so strange a thing, it is great signThat God doth love thee. Therefore with thy prayerSometime assist me: and by that I crave, Which most thou covetest, that if thy feetE'er tread on Tuscan soil, thou save my fameAmongst my kindred. Them shalt thou beholdWith that vain multitude, who set their hopeOn Telamone's haven, there to failConfounded, more shall when the fancied streamThey sought of Dian call'd: but they who leadTheir navies, more than ruin'd hopes shall mourn. "

CANTO XIV

"Say who is he around our mountain winds, Or ever death has prun'd his wing for flight, That opes his eyes and covers them at will?"

"I know not who he is, but know thus muchHe comes not singly. Do thou ask of him, For thou art nearer to him, and take heedAccost him gently, so that he may speak. "

Thus on the right two Spirits bending eachToward the other, talk'd of me, then bothAddressing me, their faces backward lean'd, And thus the one began: "O soul, who yetPent in the body, tendest towards the sky!For charity, we pray thee' comfort us, Recounting whence thou com'st, and who thou art:For thou dost make us at the favour shown theeMarvel, as at a thing that ne'er hath been. "

"There stretches through the midst of Tuscany, "I straight began: "a brooklet, whose well-headSprings up in Falterona, with his raceNot satisfied, when he some hundred milesHath measur'd. From his banks bring, I this frame. To tell you who I am were words misspent:For yet my name scarce sounds on rumour's lip. "

"If well I do incorp'rate with my thoughtThe meaning of thy speech, " said he, who firstAddrest me, "thou dost speak of Arno's wave. "

To whom the other: "Why hath he conceal'dThe title of that river, as a manDoth of some horrible thing?" The spirit, whoThereof was question'd, did acquit him thus:"I know not: but 'tis fitting well the nameShould perish of that vale; for from the sourceWhere teems so plenteously the Alpine steepMaim'd of Pelorus, (that doth scarcely passBeyond that limit, ) even to the pointWhereunto ocean is restor'd, what heavenDrains from th' exhaustless store for all earth's streams, Throughout the space is virtue worried down, As 'twere a snake, by all, for mortal foe, Or through disastrous influence on the place, Or else distortion of misguided wills, That custom goads to evil: whence in those, The dwellers in that miserable vale, Nature is so transform'd, it seems as theyHad shar'd of Circe's feeding. 'Midst brute swine, Worthier of acorns than of other foodCreated for man's use, he shapeth firstHis obscure way; then, sloping onward, findsCurs, snarlers more in spite than power, from whomHe turns with scorn aside: still journeying down, By how much more the curst and luckless fossSwells out to largeness, e'en so much it findsDogs turning into wolves. Descending stillThrough yet more hollow eddies, next he meetsA race of foxes, so replete with craft, They do not fear that skill can master it. Nor will I cease because my words are heardBy other ears than thine. It shall be wellFor this man, if he keep in memoryWhat from no erring Spirit I reveal. Lo! behold thy grandson, that becomesA hunter of those wolves, upon the shoreOf the fierce stream, and cows them all with dread:Their flesh yet living sets he up to sale, Then like an aged beast to slaughter dooms. Many of life he reaves, himself of worthAnd goodly estimation. Smear'd with goreMark how he issues from the rueful wood, Leaving such havoc, that in thousand yearsIt spreads not to prime lustihood again. "

As one, who tidings hears of woe to come, Changes his looks perturb'd, from whate'er partThe peril grasp him, so beheld I changeThat spirit, who had turn'd to listen, struckWith sadness, soon as he had caught the word. 

His visage and the other's speech did raiseDesire in me to know the names of both, whereof with meek entreaty I inquir'd. 

The shade, who late addrest me, thus resum'd:"Thy wish imports that I vouchsafe to doFor thy sake what thou wilt not do for mine. But since God's will is that so largely shineHis grace in thee, I will be liberal too. Guido of Duca know then that I am. Envy so parch'd my blood, that had I seenA fellow man made joyous, thou hadst mark'dA livid paleness overspread my cheek. Such harvest reap I of the seed I sow'd. O man, why place thy heart where there doth needExclusion of participants in good?This is Rinieri's spirit, this the boastAnd honour of the house of Calboli, Where of his worth no heritage remains. Nor his the only blood, that hath been stript('twixt Po, the mount, the Reno, and the shore, )Of all that truth or fancy asks for bliss;But in those limits such a growth has sprungOf rank and venom'd roots, as long would mockSlow culture's toil. Where is good LiziohereManardi, Traversalo, and Carpigna?O bastard slips of old Romagna's line!When in Bologna the low artisan, And in Faenza yon Bernardin sprouts, A gentle cyon from ignoble stem. Wonder not, Tuscan, if thou see me weep, When I recall to mind those once lov'd names, Guido of Prata, and of Azzo himThat dwelt with you; Tignoso and his troop, With Traversaro's house and Anastagio's, (Each race disherited) and beside these, The ladies and the knights, the toils and ease, That witch'd us into love and courtesy;Where now such malice reigns in recreant hearts. O Brettinoro! wherefore tarriest still, Since forth of thee thy family hath gone, And many, hating evil, join'd their steps?Well doeth he, that bids his lineage cease, Bagnacavallo; Castracaro ill, And Conio worse, who care to propagateA race of Counties from such blood as theirs. Well shall ye also do, Pagani, thenWhen from amongst you tries your demon child. Not so, howe'er, that henceforth there remainTrue proof of what ye were. O Hugolin!Thou sprung of Fantolini's line! thy nameIs safe, since none is look'd for after theeTo cloud its lustre, warping from thy stock. But, Tuscan, go thy ways; for now I takeFar more delight in weeping than in words. Such pity for your sakes hath wrung my heart. "

We knew those gentle spirits at parting heardOur steps. Their silence therefore of our wayAssur'd us. Soon as we had quitted them, Advancing onward, lo! a voice that seem'dLike vollied light'ning, when it rives the air, Met us, and shouted, "Whosoever findsWill slay me, " then fled from us, as the boltLanc'd sudden from a downward-rushing cloud. When it had giv'n short truce unto our hearing, Behold the other with a crash as loudAs the quick-following thunder: "Mark in meAglauros turn'd to rock. " I at the soundRetreating drew more closely to my guide. 

Now in mute stillness rested all the air:And thus he spake: "There was the galling bit. But your old enemy so baits his hook, He drags you eager to him. Hence nor curbAvails you, nor reclaiming call. Heav'n callsAnd round about you wheeling courts your gazeWith everlasting beauties. Yet your eyeTurns with fond doting still upon the earth. Therefore He smites you who discerneth all. "

CANTO XV

As much as 'twixt the third hour's close and dawn, Appeareth of heav'n's sphere, that ever whirlsAs restless as an infant in his play, So much appear'd remaining to the sunOf his slope journey towards the western goal. 

Evening was there, and here the noon of night;and full upon our forehead smote the beams. For round the mountain, circling, so our pathHad led us, that toward the sun-set nowDirect we journey'd: when I felt a weightOf more exceeding splendour, than before, Press on my front. The cause unknown, amazePossess'd me, and both hands against my browLifting, I interpos'd them, as a screen, That of its gorgeous superflux of lightClipp'd the diminish'd orb. As when the ray, Striking On water or the surface clearOf mirror, leaps unto the opposite part, Ascending at a glance, e'en as it fell, (And so much differs from the stone, that fallsThrough equal space, as practice skill hath shown);Thus with refracted light before me seemedThe ground there smitten; whence in sudden hasteMy sight recoil'd. "What is this, sire belov'd!'Gainst which I strive to shield the sight in vain?"Cried I, "and which towards us moving seems?"

"Marvel not, if the family of heav'n, "He answer'd, "yet with dazzling radiance dimThy sense it is a messenger who comes, Inviting man's ascent. Such sights ere long, Not grievous, shall impart to thee delight, As thy perception is by nature wroughtUp to their pitch. " The blessed angel, soonAs we had reach'd him, hail'd us with glad voice:"Here enter on a ladder far less steepThan ye have yet encounter'd. " We forthwithAscending, heard behind us chanted sweet, "Blessed the merciful, " and "happy thou!That conquer'st. " Lonely each, my guide and IPursued our upward way; and as we went, Some profit from his words I hop'd to win, And thus of him inquiring, fram'd my speech:

"What meant Romagna's spirit, when he spakeOf bliss exclusive with no partner shar'd?"

He straight replied: "No wonder, since he knows, What sorrow waits on his own worst defect, If he chide others, that they less may mourn. Because ye point your wishes at a mark, Where, by communion of possessors, partIs lessen'd, envy bloweth up the sighs of men. No fear of that might touch ye, if the loveOf higher sphere exalted your desire. For there, by how much more they call it ours, So much propriety of each in goodIncreases more, and heighten'd charityWraps that fair cloister in a brighter flame. "

"Now lack I satisfaction more, " said I, "Than if thou hadst been silent at the first, And doubt more gathers on my lab'ring thought. How can it chance, that good distributed, The many, that possess it, makes more rich, Than if 't were shar'd by few?" He answering thus:"Thy mind, reverting still to things of earth, Strikes darkness from true light. The highest goodUnlimited, ineffable, doth so speedTo love, as beam to lucid body darts, Giving as much of ardour as it finds. The sempiternal effluence streams abroadSpreading, wherever charity extends. So that the more aspirants to that blissAre multiplied, more good is there to love, And more is lov'd; as mirrors, that reflect, Each unto other, propagated light. If these my words avail not to allayThy thirsting, Beatrice thou shalt see, Who of this want, and of all else thou hast, Shall rid thee to the full. Provide but thouThat from thy temples may be soon eras'd, E'en as the two already, those five scars, That when they pain thee worst, then kindliest heal, "

"Thou, " I had said, "content'st me, " when I sawThe other round was gain'd, and wond'ring eyesDid keep me mute. There suddenly I seem'dBy an ecstatic vision wrapt away;And in a temple saw, methought, a crowdOf many persons; and at th' entrance stoodA dame, whose sweet demeanour did expressA mother's love, who said, "Child! why hast thouDealt with us thus? Behold thy sire and ISorrowing have sought thee;" and so held her peace, And straight the vision fled. A female nextAppear'd before me, down whose visage cours'dThose waters, that grief forces out from oneBy deep resentment stung, who seem'd to say:"If thou, Pisistratus, be lord indeedOver this city, nam'd with such debateOf adverse gods, and whence each science sparkles, Avenge thee of those arms, whose bold embraceHath clasp'd our daughter; "and to fuel, meseem'd, Benign and meek, with visage undisturb'd, Her sovran spake: "How shall we those requite, Who wish us evil, if we thus condemnThe man that loves us?" After that I sawA multitude, in fury burning, slayWith stones a stripling youth, and shout amain"Destroy, destroy:" and him I saw, who bow'dHeavy with death unto the ground, yet madeHis eyes, unfolded upward, gates to heav'n, Praying forgiveness of th' Almighty Sire, Amidst that cruel conflict, on his foes, With looks, that With compassion to their aim. 

Soon as my spirit, from her airy flightReturning, sought again the things, whose truthDepends not on her shaping, I observ'dHow she had rov'd to no unreal scenes

Meanwhile the leader, who might see I mov'd, As one, who struggles to shake off his sleep, Exclaim'd: "What ails thee, that thou canst not holdThy footing firm, but more than half a leagueHast travel'd with clos'd eyes and tott'ring gait, Like to a man by wine or sleep o'ercharg'd?"

"Beloved father! so thou deign, " said I, "To listen, I will tell thee what appear'dBefore me, when so fail'd my sinking steps. "

He thus: "Not if thy Countenance were mask'dWith hundred vizards, could a thought of thineHow small soe'er, elude me. What thou saw'stWas shown, that freely thou mightst ope thy heartTo the waters of peace, that flow diffus'dFrom their eternal fountain. I not ask'd, What ails theeor such cause as he doth, whoLooks only with that eye which sees no more, When spiritless the body lies; but ask'd, To give fresh vigour to thy foot. Such goadsThe slow and loit'ring need; that they be foundNot wanting, when their hour of watch returns. "

So on we journey'd through the evening skyGazing intent, far onward, as our eyesWith level view could stretch against the brightVespertine ray: and lo! by slow degreesGath'ring, a fog made tow'rds us, dark as night. There was no room for 'scaping; and that mistBereft us, both of sight and the pure air. 

CANTO XVI

Hell's dunnest gloom, or night unlustrous, dark, Of every planes 'reft, and pall'd in clouds, Did never spread before the sight a veilIn thickness like that fog, nor to the senseSo palpable and gross. Ent'ring its shade, Mine eye endured not with unclosed lids;Which marking, near me drew the faithful guide, Offering me his shoulder for a stay. 

As the blind man behind his leader walks, Lest he should err, or stumble unawaresOn what might harm him, or perhaps destroy, I journey'd through that bitter air and foul, Still list'ning to my escort's warning voice, "Look that from me thou part not. " Straight I heardVoices, and each one seem'd to pray for peace, And for compassion, to the Lamb of GodThat taketh sins away. Their prelude stillWas "Agnus Dei, " and through all the choir, One voice, one measure ran, that perfect seem'dThe concord of their song. "Are these I hearSpirits, O master?" I exclaim'd; and he:"Thou aim'st aright: these loose the bonds of wrath. "

"Now who art thou, that through our smoke dost cleave?And speak'st of us, as thou thyself e'en yetDividest time by calends?" So one voiceBespake me; whence my master said: "Reply;And ask, if upward hence the passage lead. "

"O being! who dost make thee pure, to standBeautiful once more in thy Maker's sight!Along with me: and thou shalt hear and wonder. "Thus I, whereto the spirit answering spake:

"Long as 't is lawful for me, shall my stepsFollow on thine; and since the cloudy smokeForbids the seeing, hearing in its steadShall keep us join'd. " I then forthwith began"Yet in my mortal swathing, I ascendTo higher regions, and am hither comeThrough the fearful agony of hell. And, if so largely God hath doled his grace, That, clean beside all modern precedent, He wills me to behold his kingly state, From me conceal not who thou wast, ere deathHad loos'd thee; but instruct me: and instructIf rightly to the pass I tend; thy wordsThe way directing as a safe escort. "

"I was of Lombardy, and Marco call'd:Not inexperienc'd of the world, that worthI still affected, from which all have turn'dThe nerveless bow aside. Thy course tends rightUnto the summit:" and, replying thus, He added, "I beseech thee pray for me, When thou shalt come aloft. " And I to him:"Accept my faith for pledge I will performWhat thou requirest. Yet one doubt remains, That wrings me sorely, if I solve it not, Singly before it urg'd me, doubled nowBy thine opinion, when I couple thatWith one elsewhere declar'd, each strength'ning other. The world indeed is even so forlornOf all good as thou speak'st it and so swarmsWith every evil. Yet, beseech thee, pointThe cause out to me, that myself may see, And unto others show it: for in heavenOne places it, and one on earth below. "

Then heaving forth a deep and audible sigh, "Brother!" he thus began, "the world is blind;And thou in truth com'st from it. Ye, who live, Do so each cause refer to heav'n above, E'en as its motion of necessityDrew with it all that moves. If this were so, Free choice in you were none; nor justice wouldThere should be joy for virtue, woe for ill. Your movements have their primal bent from heaven;Not all; yet said I all; what then ensues?Light have ye still to follow evil or good, And of the will free power, which, if it standFirm and unwearied in Heav'n's first assay, Conquers at last, so it be cherish'd well, Triumphant over all. To mightier force, To better nature subject, ye abideFree, not constrain'd by that, which forms in youThe reasoning mind uninfluenc'd of the stars. If then the present race of mankind err, Seek in yourselves the cause, and find it there. Herein thou shalt confess me no false spy. 

"Forth from his plastic hand, who charm'd beholdsHer image ere she yet exist, the soulComes like a babe, that wantons sportivelyWeeping and laughing in its wayward moods, As artless and as ignorant of aught, Save that her Maker being one who dwellsWith gladness ever, willingly she turnsTo whate'er yields her joy. Of some slight goodThe flavour soon she tastes; and, snar'd by that, With fondness she pursues it, if no guideRecall, no rein direct her wand'ring course. Hence it behov'd, the law should be a curb;A sovereign hence behov'd, whose piercing viewMight mark at least the fortress and main towerOf the true city. Laws indeed there are:But who is he observes them? None; not he, Who goes before, the shepherd of the flock, Who chews the cud but doth not cleave the hoof. Therefore the multitude, who see their guideStrike at the very good they covet most, Feed there and look no further. Thus the causeIs not corrupted nature in yourselves, But ill-conducting, that hath turn'd the worldTo evil. Rome, that turn'd it unto good, Was wont to boast two suns, whose several beamsCast light on either way, the world's and God's. One since hath quench'd the other; and the swordIs grafted on the crook; and so conjoin'dEach must perforce decline to worse, unaw'dBy fear of other. If thou doubt me, markThe blade: each herb is judg'd of by its seed. That land, through which Adice and the PoTheir waters roll, was once the residenceOf courtesy and velour, ere the day, That frown'd on Frederick; now secure may passThose limits, whosoe'er hath left, for shame, To talk with good men, or come near their haunts. Three aged ones are still found there, in whomThe old time chides the new: these deem it longEre God restore them to a better world:The good Gherardo, of Palazzo heConrad, and Guido of Castello, nam'dIn Gallic phrase more fitly the plain Lombard. On this at last conclude. The church of Rome, Mixing two governments that ill assort, Hath miss'd her footing, fall'n into the mire, And there herself and burden much defil'd. "

"O Marco!" I replied, shine argumentsConvince me: and the cause I now discernWhy of the heritage no portion cameTo Levi's offspring. But resolve me thisWho that Gherardo is, that as thou saystIs left a sample of the perish'd race, And for rebuke to this untoward age?"

"Either thy words, " said he, "deceive; or elseAre meant to try me; that thou, speaking Tuscan, Appear'st not to have heard of good Gherado;The sole addition that, by which I know him;Unless I borrow'd from his daughter GaiaAnother name to grace him. God be with you. I bear you company no more. BeholdThe dawn with white ray glimm'ring through the mist. I must away--the angel comes--ere heAppear. " He said, and would not hear me more. 

CANTO XVII

Call to remembrance, reader, if thou e'erHast, on a mountain top, been ta'en by cloud, Through which thou saw'st no better, than the moleDoth through opacous membrane; then, whene'erThe wat'ry vapours dense began to meltInto thin air, how faintly the sun's sphereSeem'd wading through them; so thy nimble thoughtMay image, how at first I re-beheldThe sun, that bedward now his couch o'erhung. 

Thus with my leader's feet still equaling paceFrom forth that cloud I came, when now expir'dThe parting beams from off the nether shores. 

O quick and forgetive power! that sometimes dostSo rob us of ourselves, we take no markThough round about us thousand trumpets clang!What moves thee, if the senses stir not? LightKindled in heav'n, spontaneous, self-inform'd, Or likelier gliding down with swift illapseBy will divine. Portray'd before me cameThe traces of her dire impiety, Whose form was chang'd into the bird, that mostDelights itself in song: and here my mindWas inwardly so wrapt, it gave no placeTo aught that ask'd admittance from without. 

Next shower'd into my fantasy a shapeAs of one crucified, whose visage spakeFell rancour, malice deep, wherein he died;And round him Ahasuerus the great king, Esther his bride, and Mordecai the just, Blameless in word and deed. As of itselfThat unsubstantial coinage of the brainBurst, like a bubble, Which the water failsThat fed it; in my vision straight uproseA damsel weeping loud, and cried, "O queen!O mother! wherefore has intemperate ireDriv'n thee to loath thy being? Not to loseLavinia, desp'rate thou hast slain thyself. Now hast thou lost me. I am she, whose tearsMourn, ere I fall, a mother's timeless end. "

E'en as a sleep breaks off, if suddenlyNew radiance strike upon the closed lids, The broken slumber quivering ere it dies;Thus from before me sunk that imageryVanishing, soon as on my face there struckThe light, outshining far our earthly beam. As round I turn'd me to survey what placeI had arriv'd at, "Here ye mount, " exclaim'dA voice, that other purpose left me none, Save will so eager to behold who spake, I could not choose but gaze. As 'fore the sun, That weighs our vision down, and veils his formIn light transcendent, thus my virtue fail'dUnequal. "This is Spirit from above, Who marshals us our upward way, unsought;And in his own light shrouds him. As a manDoth for himself, so now is done for us. For whoso waits imploring, yet sees needOf his prompt aidance, sets himself prepar'dFor blunt denial, ere the suit be made. Refuse we not to lend a ready footAt such inviting: haste we to ascend, Before it darken: for we may not then, Till morn again return. " So spake my guide;And to one ladder both address'd our steps;And the first stair approaching, I perceiv'dNear me as 'twere the waving of a wing, That fann'd my face and whisper'd: "Blessed theyThe peacemakers: they know not evil wrath. "

Now to such height above our heads were rais'dThe last beams, follow'd close by hooded night, That many a star on all sides through the gloomShone out. "Why partest from me, O my strength?"So with myself I commun'd; for I feltMy o'ertoil'd sinews slacken. We had reach'dThe summit, and were fix'd like to a barkArriv'd at land. And waiting a short space, If aught should meet mine ear in that new round, Then to my guide I turn'd, and said: "Lov'd sire!Declare what guilt is on this circle purg'd. If our feet rest, no need thy speech should pause. "

He thus to me: "The love of good, whate'erWanted of just proportion, here fulfils. Here plies afresh the oar, that loiter'd ill. But that thou mayst yet clearlier understand, Give ear unto my words, and thou shalt cullSome fruit may please thee well, from this delay. 

"Creator, nor created being, ne'er, My son, " he thus began, "was without love, Or natural, or the free spirit's growth. Thou hast not that to learn. The natural stillIs without error; but the other swerves, If on ill object bent, or through excessOf vigour, or defect. While e'er it seeksThe primal blessings, or with measure dueTh' inferior, no delight, that flows from it, Partakes of ill. But let it warp to evil, Or with more ardour than behooves, or less. Pursue the good, the thing created thenWorks 'gainst its Maker. Hence thou must inferThat love is germin of each virtue in ye, And of each act no less, that merits pain. Now since it may not be, but love intendThe welfare mainly of the thing it loves, All from self-hatred are secure; and sinceNo being can be thought t' exist apartAnd independent of the first, a barOf equal force restrains from hating that. 

"Grant the distinction just; and it remainsThe' evil must be another's, which is lov'd. Three ways such love is gender'd in your clay. There is who hopes (his neighbour's worth deprest, )Preeminence himself, and coverts henceFor his own greatness that another fall. There is who so much fears the loss of power, Fame, favour, glory (should his fellow mountAbove him), and so sickens at the thought, He loves their opposite: and there is he, Whom wrong or insult seems to gall and shameThat he doth thirst for vengeance, and such needsMust doat on other's evil. Here beneathThis threefold love is mourn'd. Of th' other sortBe now instructed, that which follows goodBut with disorder'd and irregular course. 

"All indistinctly apprehend a blissOn which the soul may rest, the hearts of allYearn after it, and to that wished bournAll therefore strive to tend. If ye beholdOr seek it with a love remiss and lax, This cornice after just repenting laysIts penal torment on ye. Other goodThere is, where man finds not his happiness:It is not true fruition, not that blestEssence, of every good the branch and root. The love too lavishly bestow'd on this, Along three circles over us, is mourn'd. Account of that division tripartiteExpect not, fitter for thine own research. "

CANTO XVIII

The teacher ended, and his high discourseConcluding, earnest in my looks inquir'dIf I appear'd content; and I, whom stillUnsated thirst to hear him urg'd, was mute, Mute outwardly, yet inwardly I said:"Perchance my too much questioning offends"But he, true father, mark'd the secret wishBy diffidence restrain'd, and speaking, gaveMe boldness thus to speak: 'Master, my SightGathers so lively virtue from thy beams, That all, thy words convey, distinct is seen. Wherefore I pray thee, father, whom this heartHolds dearest! thou wouldst deign by proof t' unfoldThat love, from which as from their source thou bring'stAll good deeds and their opposite. '" He then:"To what I now disclose be thy clear kenDirected, and thou plainly shalt beholdHow much those blind have err'd, who make themselvesThe guides of men. The soul, created aptTo love, moves versatile which way soe'erAught pleasing prompts her, soon as she is wak'dBy pleasure into act. Of substance trueYour apprehension forms its counterfeit, And in you the ideal shape presentingAttracts the soul's regard. If she, thus drawn, incline toward it, love is that inclining, And a new nature knit by pleasure in ye. Then as the fire points up, and mounting seeksHis birth-place and his lasting seat, e'en thusEnters the captive soul into desire, Which is a spiritual motion, that ne'er restsBefore enjoyment of the thing it loves. Enough to show thee, how the truth from thoseIs hidden, who aver all love a thingPraise-worthy in itself: although perhapsIts substance seem still good. Yet if the waxBe good, it follows not th' impression must. ""What love is, " I return'd, "thy words, O guide!And my own docile mind, reveal. Yet thenceNew doubts have sprung. For from without if loveBe offer'd to us, and the spirit knowsNo other footing, tend she right or wrong, Is no desert of hers. " He answering thus:"What reason here discovers I have powerTo show thee: that which lies beyond, expectFrom Beatrice, faith not reason's task. Spirit, substantial form, with matter join'dNot in confusion mix'd, hath in itselfSpecific virtue of that union born, Which is not felt except it work, nor prov'dBut through effect, as vegetable lifeBy the green leaf. From whence his intellectDeduced its primal notices of things, Man therefore knows not, or his appetitesTheir first affections; such in you, as zealIn bees to gather honey; at the first, Volition, meriting nor blame nor praise. But o'er each lower faculty supreme, That as she list are summon'd to her bar, Ye have that virtue in you, whose just voiceUttereth counsel, and whose word should keepThe threshold of assent. Here is the source, Whence cause of merit in you is deriv'd, E'en as the affections good or ill she takes, Or severs, winnow'd as the chaff. Those menWho reas'ning went to depth profoundest, mark'dThat innate freedom, and were thence induc'dTo leave their moral teaching to the world. Grant then, that from necessity ariseAll love that glows within you; to dismissOr harbour it, the pow'r is in yourselves. Remember, Beatrice, in her style, Denominates free choice by eminenceThe noble virtue, if in talk with theeShe touch upon that theme. " The moon, well nighTo midnight hour belated, made the starsAppear to wink and fade; and her broad diskSeem'd like a crag on fire, as up the vaultThat course she journey'd, which the sun then warms, When they of Rome behold him at his set. Betwixt Sardinia and the Corsic isle. And now the weight, that hung upon my thought, Was lighten'd by the aid of that clear spirit, Who raiseth Andes above Mantua's name. I therefore, when my questions had obtain'dSolution plain and ample, stood as oneMusing in dreary slumber; but not longSlumber'd; for suddenly a multitude, The steep already turning, from behind, Rush'd on. With fury and like random rout, As echoing on their shores at midnight heardIsmenus and Asopus, for his ThebesIf Bacchus' help were needed; so came theseTumultuous, curving each his rapid step, By eagerness impell'd of holy love. 

Soon they o'ertook us; with such swiftness mov'dThe mighty crowd. Two spirits at their headCried weeping; "Blessed Mary sought with hasteThe hilly region. Caesar to subdueIlerda, darted in Marseilles his sting, And flew to Spain. "--"Oh tarry not: away;"The others shouted; "let not time be lostThrough slackness of affection. Hearty zealTo serve reanimates celestial grace. "

"O ye, in whom intenser fervencyHaply supplies, where lukewarm erst ye fail'd, Slow or neglectful, to absolve your partOf good and virtuous, this man, who yet lives, (Credit my tale, though strange) desires t' ascend, So morning rise to light us. Therefore sayWhich hand leads nearest to the rifted rock?"

So spake my guide, to whom a shade return'd:"Come after us, and thou shalt find the cleft. We may not linger: such resistless willSpeeds our unwearied course. Vouchsafe us thenThy pardon, if our duty seem to theeDiscourteous rudeness. In Verona IWas abbot of San Zeno, when the handOf Barbarossa grasp'd Imperial sway, That name, ne'er utter'd without tears in Milan. And there is he, hath one foot in his grave, Who for that monastery ere long shall weep, Ruing his power misus'd: for that his son, Of body ill compact, and worse in mind, And born in evil, he hath set in placeOf its true pastor. " Whether more he spake, Or here was mute, I know not: he had spedE'en now so far beyond us. Yet thus muchI heard, and in rememb'rance treasur'd it. 

He then, who never fail'd me at my need, Cried, "Hither turn. Lo! two with sharp remorseChiding their sin!" In rear of all the troopThese shouted: "First they died, to whom the seaOpen'd, or ever Jordan saw his heirs:And they, who with Aeneas to the endEndur'd not suffering, for their portion choseLife without glory. " Soon as they had fledPast reach of sight, new thought within me roseBy others follow'd fast, and each unlikeIts fellow: till led on from thought to thought, And pleasur'd with the fleeting train, mine eyeWas clos'd, and meditation chang'd to dream. 

CANTO XIX

It was the hour, when of diurnal heatNo reliques chafe the cold beams of the moon, O'erpower'd by earth, or planetary swayOf Saturn; and the geomancer seesHis Greater Fortune up the east ascend, Where gray dawn checkers first the shadowy cone;When 'fore me in my dream a woman's shapeThere came, with lips that stammer'd, eyes aslant, Distorted feet, hands maim'd, and colour pale. 

I look'd upon her; and as sunshine cheersLimbs numb'd by nightly cold, e'en thus my lookUnloos'd her tongue, next in brief space her formDecrepit rais'd erect, and faded faceWith love's own hue illum'd. Recov'ring speechShe forthwith warbling such a strain began, That I, how loth soe'er, could scarce have heldAttention from the song. "I, " thus she sang, "I am the Siren, she, whom marinersOn the wide sea are wilder'd when they hear:Such fulness of delight the list'ner feels. I from his course Ulysses by my layEnchanted drew. Whoe'er frequents me onceParts seldom; so I charm him, and his heartContented knows no void. " Or ere her mouthWas clos'd, to shame her at her side appear'dA dame of semblance holy. With stern voiceShe utter'd; "Say, O Virgil, who is this?"Which hearing, he approach'd, with eyes still bentToward that goodly presence: th' other seiz'd her, And, her robes tearing, open'd her before, And show'd the belly to me, whence a smell, Exhaling loathsome, wak'd me. Round I turn'dMine eyes, and thus the teacher: "At the leastThree times my voice hath call'd thee. Rise, begone. Let us the opening find where thou mayst pass. "

I straightway rose. Now day, pour'd down from high, Fill'd all the circuits of the sacred mount;And, as we journey'd, on our shoulder smoteThe early ray. I follow'd, stooping lowMy forehead, as a man, o'ercharg'd with thought, Who bends him to the likeness of an arch, That midway spans the flood; when thus I heard, "Come, enter here, " in tone so soft and mild, As never met the ear on mortal strand. 

With swan-like wings dispread and pointing up, Who thus had spoken marshal'd us along, Where each side of the solid masonryThe sloping, walls retir'd; then mov'd his plumes, And fanning us, affirm'd that those, who mourn, Are blessed, for that comfort shall be theirs. 

"What aileth thee, that still thou look'st to earth?"Began my leader; while th' angelic shapeA little over us his station took. 

"New vision, " I replied, "hath rais'd in meSurmisings strange and anxious doubts, whereonMy soul intent allows no other thoughtOr room or entrance. "--"Hast thou seen, " said he, "That old enchantress, her, whose wiles aloneThe spirits o'er us weep for? Hast thou seenHow man may free him of her bonds? Enough. Let thy heels spurn the earth, and thy rais'd kenFix on the lure, which heav'n's eternal KingWhirls in the rolling spheres. " As on his feetThe falcon first looks down, then to the skyTurns, and forth stretches eager for the food, That woos him thither; so the call I heard, So onward, far as the dividing rockGave way, I journey'd, till the plain was reach'd. 

On the fifth circle when I stood at large, A race appear'd before me, on the groundAll downward lying prone and weeping sore. "My soul hath cleaved to the dust, " I heardWith sighs so deep, they well nigh choak'd the words. "O ye elect of God, whose penal woesBoth hope and justice mitigate, directTow'rds the steep rising our uncertain way. "

"If ye approach secure from this our doom, Prostration--and would urge your course with speed, See that ye still to rightward keep the brink. "

So them the bard besought; and such the words, Beyond us some short space, in answer came. 

I noted what remain'd yet hidden from them:Thence to my liege's eyes mine eyes I bent, And he, forthwith interpreting their suit, Beckon'd his glad assent. Free then to act, As pleas'd me, I drew near, and took my standO`er that shade, whose words I late had mark'd. And, "Spirit!" I said, "in whom repentant tearsMature that blessed hour, when thou with GodShalt find acceptance, for a while suspendFor me that mightier care. Say who thou wast, Why thus ye grovel on your bellies prone, And if in aught ye wish my service there, Whence living I am come. " He answering spake"The cause why Heav'n our back toward his copeReverses, shalt thou know: but me know firstThe successor of Peter, and the nameAnd title of my lineage from that stream, That' twixt Chiaveri and Siestri drawsHis limpid waters through the lowly glen. A month and little more by proof I learnt, With what a weight that robe of sov'reigntyUpon his shoulder rests, who from the mireWould guard it: that each other fardel seemsBut feathers in the balance. Late, alas!Was my conversion: but when I becameRome's pastor, I discern'd at once the dreamAnd cozenage of life, saw that the heartRested not there, and yet no prouder heightLur'd on the climber: wherefore, of that lifeNo more enamour'd, in my bosom loveOf purer being kindled. For till thenI was a soul in misery, alienateFrom God, and covetous of all earthly things;Now, as thou seest, here punish'd for my doting. Such cleansing from the taint of avariceDo spirits converted need. This mount inflictsNo direr penalty. E'en as our eyesFasten'd below, nor e'er to loftier climeWere lifted, thus hath justice level'd usHere on the earth. As avarice quench'd our loveOf good, without which is no working, thusHere justice holds us prison'd, hand and footChain'd down and bound, while heaven's just Lord shall please. So long to tarry motionless outstretch'd. "

My knees I stoop'd, and would have spoke; but he, Ere my beginning, by his ear perceiv'dI did him reverence; and "What cause, " said he, "Hath bow'd thee thus!"--"Compunction, " I rejoin'd. "And inward awe of your high dignity. "

"Up, " he exclaim'd, "brother! upon thy feetArise: err not: thy fellow servant I, (Thine and all others') of one Sovran Power. If thou hast ever mark'd those holy soundsOf gospel truth, 'nor shall be given ill marriage, 'Thou mayst discern the reasons of my speech. Go thy ways now; and linger here no more. Thy tarrying is a let unto the tears, With which I hasten that whereof thou spak'st. I have on earth a kinswoman; her nameAlagia, worthy in herself, so illExample of our house corrupt her not:And she is all remaineth of me there. "

CANTO XX

Ill strives the will, 'gainst will more wise that strivesHis pleasure therefore to mine own preferr'd, I drew the sponge yet thirsty from the wave. 

Onward I mov'd: he also onward mov'd, Who led me, coasting still, wherever placeAlong the rock was vacant, as a manWalks near the battlements on narrow wall. For those on th' other part, who drop by dropWring out their all-infecting malady, Too closely press the verge. Accurst be thou!Inveterate wolf! whose gorge ingluts more prey, Than every beast beside, yet is not fill'd!So bottomless thy maw!--Ye spheres of heaven!To whom there are, as seems, who attributeAll change in mortal state, when is the dayOf his appearing, for whom fate reservesTo chase her hence?--With wary steps and slowWe pass'd; and I attentive to the shades, Whom piteously I heard lament and wail;

And, 'midst the wailing, one before us heardCry out "O blessed Virgin!" as a dameIn the sharp pangs of childbed; and "How poorThou wast, " it added, "witness that low roofWhere thou didst lay thy sacred burden down. O good Fabricius! thou didst virtue chooseWith poverty, before great wealth with vice. "

The words so pleas'd me, that desire to knowThe spirit, from whose lip they seem'd to come, Did draw me onward. Yet it spake the giftOf Nicholas, which on the maidens heBounteous bestow'd, to save their youthful primeUnblemish'd. "Spirit! who dost speak of deedsSo worthy, tell me who thou was, " I said, "And why thou dost with single voice renewMemorial of such praise. That boon vouchsaf'dHaply shall meet reward; if I returnTo finish the Short pilgrimage of life, Still speeding to its close on restless wing. "

"I, " answer'd he, "will tell thee, not for hell, Which thence I look for; but that in thyselfGrace so exceeding shines, before thy timeOf mortal dissolution. I was rootOf that ill plant, whose shade such poison shedsO'er all the Christian land, that seldom thenceGood fruit is gather'd. Vengeance soon should come, Had Ghent and Douay, Lille and Bruges power;And vengeance I of heav'n's great Judge implore. Hugh Capet was I high: from me descendThe Philips and the Louis, of whom FranceNewly is govern'd; born of one, who ply'dThe slaughterer's trade at Paris. When the raceOf ancient kings had vanish'd (all save oneWrapt up in sable weeds) within my gripeI found the reins of empire, and such powersOf new acquirement, with full store of friends, That soon the widow'd circlet of the crownWas girt upon the temples of my son, He, from whose bones th' anointed race begins. Till the great dower of Provence had remov'dThe stains, that yet obscur'd our lowly blood, Its sway indeed was narrow, but howe'erIt wrought no evil: there, with force and lies, Began its rapine; after, for amends, Poitou it seiz'd, Navarre and Gascony. To Italy came Charles, and for amendsYoung Conradine an innocent victim slew, And sent th' angelic teacher back to heav'n, Still for amends. I see the time at hand, That forth from France invites another CharlesTo make himself and kindred better known. Unarm'd he issues, saving with that lance, Which the arch-traitor tilted with; and thatHe carries with so home a thrust, as rivesThe bowels of poor Florence. No increaseOf territory hence, but sin and shameShall be his guerdon, and so much the moreAs he more lightly deems of such foul wrong. I see the other, who a prisoner lateHad steps on shore, exposing to the martHis daughter, whom he bargains for, as doThe Corsairs for their slaves. O avarice!What canst thou more, who hast subdued our bloodSo wholly to thyself, they feel no careOf their own flesh? To hide with direr guiltPast ill and future, lo! the flower-de-luceEnters Alagna! in his Vicar ChristHimself a captive, and his mockeryActed again! Lo! to his holy lipThe vinegar and gall once more applied!And he 'twixt living robbers doom'd to bleed!Lo! the new Pilate, of whose crueltySuch violence cannot fill the measure up, With no degree to sanction, pushes onInto the temple his yet eager sails!

"O sovran Master! when shall I rejoiceTo see the vengeance, which thy wrath well-pleas'dIn secret silence broods?--While daylight lasts, So long what thou didst hear of her, sole spouseOf the Great Spirit, and on which thou turn'dstTo me for comment, is the general themeOf all our prayers: but when it darkens, thenA different strain we utter, then recordPygmalion, whom his gluttonous thirst of goldMade traitor, robber, parricide: the woesOf Midas, which his greedy wish ensued, Mark'd for derision to all future times:And the fond Achan, how he stole the prey, That yet he seems by Joshua's ire pursued. Sapphira with her husband next, we blame;And praise the forefeet, that with furious rampSpurn'd Heliodorus. All the mountain roundRings with the infamy of Thracia's king, Who slew his Phrygian charge: and last a shoutAscends: "Declare, O Crassus! for thou know'st, The flavour of thy gold. " The voice of eachNow high now low, as each his impulse prompts, Is led through many a pitch, acute or grave. Therefore, not singly, I erewhile rehears'dThat blessedness we tell of in the day:But near me none beside his accent rais'd. "

From him we now had parted, and essay'dWith utmost efforts to surmount the way, When I did feel, as nodding to its fall, The mountain tremble; whence an icy chillSeiz'd on me, as on one to death convey'd. So shook not Delos, when Latona thereCouch'd to bring forth the twin-born eyes of heaven. 

Forthwith from every side a shout aroseSo vehement, that suddenly my guideDrew near, and cried: "Doubt not, while I conduct thee. ""Glory!" all shouted (such the sounds mine earGather'd from those, who near me swell'd the sounds)"Glory in the highest be to God. " We stoodImmovably suspended, like to those, The shepherds, who first heard in Bethlehem's fieldThat song: till ceas'd the trembling, and the songWas ended: then our hallow'd path resum'd, Eying the prostrate shadows, who renew'dTheir custom'd mourning. Never in my breastDid ignorance so struggle with desireOf knowledge, if my memory do not err, As in that moment; nor through haste dar'd ITo question, nor myself could aught discern, So on I far'd in thoughtfulness and dread. 

CANTO XXI

The natural thirst, ne'er quench'd but from the well, Whereof the woman of Samaria crav'd, Excited: haste along the cumber'd path, After my guide, impell'd; and pity mov'dMy bosom for the 'vengeful deed, though just. When lo! even as Luke relates, that ChristAppear'd unto the two upon their way, New-risen from his vaulted grave; to usA shade appear'd, and after us approach'd, Contemplating the crowd beneath its feet. We were not ware of it; so first it spake, Saying, "God give you peace, my brethren!" thenSudden we turn'd: and Virgil such salute, As fitted that kind greeting, gave, and cried:"Peace in the blessed council be thy lotAwarded by that righteous court, which meTo everlasting banishment exiles!"

"How!" he exclaim'd, nor from his speed meanwhileDesisting, "If that ye be spirits, whom GodVouchsafes not room above, who up the heightHas been thus far your guide?" To whom the bard:"If thou observe the tokens, which this manTrac'd by the finger of the angel bears, 'Tis plain that in the kingdom of the justHe needs must share. But sithence she, whose wheelSpins day and night, for him not yet had drawnThat yarn, which, on the fatal distaff pil'd, Clotho apportions to each wight that breathes, His soul, that sister is to mine and thine, Not of herself could mount, for not like oursHer ken: whence I, from forth the ample gulfOf hell was ta'en, to lead him, and will leadFar as my lore avails. But, if thou know, Instruct us for what cause, the mount erewhileThus shook and trembled: wherefore all at onceSeem'd shouting, even from his wave-wash'd foot. "

That questioning so tallied with my wish, The thirst did feel abatement of its edgeE'en from expectance. He forthwith replied, "In its devotion nought irregularThis mount can witness, or by punctual ruleUnsanction'd; here from every change exempt. Other than that, which heaven in itselfDoth of itself receive, no influenceCan reach us. Tempest none, shower, hail or snow, Hoar frost or dewy moistness, higher fallsThan that brief scale of threefold steps: thick cloudsNor scudding rack are ever seen: swift glanceNe'er lightens, nor Thaumantian Iris gleams, That yonder often shift on each side heav'n. Vapour adust doth never mount aboveThe highest of the trinal stairs, whereonPeter's vicegerent stands. Lower perchance, With various motion rock'd, trembles the soil:But here, through wind in earth's deep hollow pent, I know not how, yet never trembled: thenTrembles, when any spirit feels itselfSo purified, that it may rise, or moveFor rising, and such loud acclaim ensues. Purification by the will aloneIs prov'd, that free to change societySeizes the soul rejoicing in her will. Desire of bliss is present from the first;But strong propension hinders, to that wishBy the just ordinance of heav'n oppos'd;Propension now as eager to fulfilTh' allotted torment, as erewhile to sin. And I who in this punishment had lainFive hundred years and more, but now have feltFree wish for happier clime. Therefore thou felt'stThe mountain tremble, and the spirits devoutHeard'st, over all his limits, utter praiseTo that liege Lord, whom I entreat their joyTo hasten. " Thus he spake: and since the draughtIs grateful ever as the thirst is keen, No words may speak my fullness of content. 

"Now, " said the instructor sage, "I see the netThat takes ye here, and how the toils are loos'd, Why rocks the mountain and why ye rejoice. Vouchsafe, that from thy lips I next may learn, Who on the earth thou wast, and wherefore hereSo many an age wert prostrate. "--"In that time, When the good Titus, with Heav'n's King to help, Aveng'd those piteous gashes, whence the bloodBy Judas sold did issue, with the nameMost lasting and most honour'd there was IAbundantly renown'd, " the shade reply'd, "Not yet with faith endued. So passing sweetMy vocal Spirit, from Tolosa, RomeTo herself drew me, where I meritedA myrtle garland to inwreathe my brow. Statius they name me still. Of Thebes I sang, And next of great Achilles: but i' th' wayFell with the second burthen. Of my flameThose sparkles were the seeds, which I deriv'dFrom the bright fountain of celestial fireThat feeds unnumber'd lamps, the song I meanWhich sounds Aeneas' wand'rings: that the breastI hung at, that the nurse, from whom my veinsDrank inspiration: whose authorityWas ever sacred with me. To have liv'dCoeval with the Mantuan, I would bideThe revolution of another sunBeyond my stated years in banishment. "

The Mantuan, when he heard him, turn'd to me, And holding silence: by his countenanceEnjoin'd me silence but the power which wills, Bears not supreme control: laughter and tearsFollow so closely on the passion prompts them, They wait not for the motions of the willIn natures most sincere. I did but smile, As one who winks; and thereupon the shadeBroke off, and peer'd into mine eyes, where bestOur looks interpret. "So to good eventMayst thou conduct such great emprize, " he cried, "Say, why across thy visage beam'd, but now, The lightning of a smile!" On either partNow am I straiten'd; one conjures me speak, Th' other to silence binds me: whence a sighI utter, and the sigh is heard. "Speak on;"The teacher cried; "and do not fear to speak, But tell him what so earnestly he asks. "Whereon I thus: "Perchance, O ancient spirit!Thou marvel'st at my smiling. There is roomFor yet more wonder. He who guides my kenOn high, he is that Mantuan, led by whomThou didst presume of men and gods to sing. If other cause thou deem'dst for which I smil'd, Leave it as not the true one; and believeThose words, thou spak'st of him, indeed the cause. "

Now down he bent t' embrace my teacher's feet;But he forbade him: "Brother! do it not:Thou art a shadow, and behold'st a shade. "He rising answer'd thus: "Now hast thou prov'dThe force and ardour of the love I bear thee, When I forget we are but things of air, And as a substance treat an empty shade. "

CANTO XXII

Now we had left the angel, who had turn'dTo the sixth circle our ascending step, One gash from off my forehead raz'd: while they, Whose wishes tend to justice, shouted forth:"Blessed!" and ended with, "I thirst:" and I, More nimble than along the other straits, So journey'd, that, without the sense of toil, I follow'd upward the swift-footed shades;When Virgil thus began: "Let its pure flameFrom virtue flow, and love can never failTo warm another's bosom' so the lightShine manifestly forth. Hence from that hour, When 'mongst us in the purlieus of the deep, Came down the spirit of Aquinum's hard, Who told of thine affection, my good willHath been for thee of quality as strongAs ever link'd itself to one not seen. Therefore these stairs will now seem short to me. But tell me: and if too secure I looseThe rein with a friend's license, as a friendForgive me, and speak now as with a friend:How chanc'd it covetous desire could findPlace in that bosom, 'midst such ample storeOf wisdom, as thy zeal had treasur'd there?"

First somewhat mov'd to laughter by his words, Statius replied: "Each syllable of thineIs a dear pledge of love. Things oft appearThat minister false matters to our doubts, When their true causes are remov'd from sight. Thy question doth assure me, thou believ'stI was on earth a covetous man, perhapsBecause thou found'st me in that circle plac'd. Know then I was too wide of avarice:And e'en for that excess, thousands of moonsHave wax'd and wan'd upon my sufferings. And were it not that I with heedful careNoted where thou exclaim'st as if in ireWith human nature, 'Why, thou cursed thirstOf gold! dost not with juster measure guideThe appetite of mortals?' I had metThe fierce encounter of the voluble rock. Then was I ware that with too ample wingThe hands may haste to lavishment, and turn'd, As from my other evil, so from thisIn penitence. How many from their graveShall with shorn locks arise, who living, ayeAnd at life's last extreme, of this offence, Through ignorance, did not repent. And know, The fault which lies direct from any sinIn level opposition, here With thatWastes its green rankness on one common heap. Therefore if I have been with those, who wailTheir avarice, to cleanse me, through reverseOf their transgression, such hath been my lot. "

To whom the sovran of the pastoral song:"While thou didst sing that cruel warfare wag'dBy the twin sorrow of Jocasta's womb, From thy discourse with Clio there, it seemsAs faith had not been shine: without the whichGood deeds suffice not. And if so, what sunRose on thee, or what candle pierc'd the darkThat thou didst after see to hoist the sail, And follow, where the fisherman had led?"

He answering thus: "By thee conducted first, I enter'd the Parnassian grots, and quaff'dOf the clear spring; illumin'd first by theeOpen'd mine eyes to God. Thou didst, as one, Who, journeying through the darkness, hears a lightBehind, that profits not himself, but makesHis followers wise, when thou exclaimedst, 'Lo!A renovated world! Justice return'd!Times of primeval innocence restor'd!And a new race descended from above!'Poet and Christian both to thee I owed. That thou mayst mark more clearly what I trace, My hand shall stretch forth to inform the linesWith livelier colouring. Soon o'er all the world, By messengers from heav'n, the true beliefTeem'd now prolific, and that word of thineAccordant, to the new instructors chim'd. Induc'd by which agreement, I was wontResort to them; and soon their sanctitySo won upon me, that, Domitian's ragePursuing them, I mix'd my tears with theirs, And, while on earth I stay'd, still succour'd them;And their most righteous customs made me scornAll sects besides. Before I led the GreeksIn tuneful fiction, to the streams of Thebes, I was baptiz'd; but secretly, through fear, Remain'd a Christian, and conform'd long timeTo Pagan rites. Five centuries and more, T for that lukewarmness was fain to paceRound the fourth circle. Thou then, who hast rais'dThe covering, which did hide such blessing from me, Whilst much of this ascent is yet to climb, Say, if thou know, where our old Terence bides, Caecilius, Plautus, Varro: if condemn'dThey dwell, and in what province of the deep. ""These, " said my guide, "with Persius and myself, And others many more, are with that Greek, Of mortals, the most cherish'd by the Nine, In the first ward of darkness. There ofttimesWe of that mount hold converse, on whose topFor aye our nurses live. We have the bardOf Pella, and the Teian, Agatho, Simonides, and many a Grecian elseIngarlanded with laurel. Of thy trainAntigone is there, Deiphile, Argia, and as sorrowful as erstIsmene, and who show'd Langia's wave:Deidamia with her sisters there, And blind Tiresias' daughter, and the brideSea-born of Peleus. " Either poet nowWas silent, and no longer by th' ascentOr the steep walls obstructed, round them castInquiring eyes. Four handmaids of the dayHad finish'd now their office, and the fifthWas at the chariot-beam, directing stillIts balmy point aloof, when thus my guide:"Methinks, it well behooves us to the brinkBend the right shoulder' circuiting the mount, As we have ever us'd. " So custom thereWas usher to the road, the which we choseLess doubtful, as that worthy shade complied. 

They on before me went; I sole pursued, List'ning their speech, that to my thoughts convey'dMysterious lessons of sweet poesy. But soon they ceas'd; for midway of the roadA tree we found, with goodly fruitage hung, And pleasant to the smell: and as a firUpward from bough to bough less ample spreads, So downward this less ample spread, that none. Methinks, aloft may climb. Upon the side, That clos'd our path, a liquid crystal fellFrom the steep rock, and through the sprays aboveStream'd showering. With associate step the bardsDrew near the plant; and from amidst the leavesA voice was heard: "Ye shall be chary of me;"And after added: "Mary took more thoughtFor joy and honour of the nuptial feast, Than for herself who answers now for you. The women of old Rome were satisfiedWith water for their beverage. Daniel fedOn pulse, and wisdom gain'd. The primal ageWas beautiful as gold; and hunger thenMade acorns tasteful, thirst each rivuletRun nectar. Honey and locusts were the food, Whereon the Baptist in the wildernessFed, and that eminence of glory reach'dAnd greatness, which the' Evangelist records. "

CANTO XXIII

On the green leaf mine eyes were fix'd, like hisWho throws away his days in idle chaseOf the diminutive, when thus I heardThe more than father warn me: "Son! our timeAsks thriftier using. Linger not: away. "

Thereat my face and steps at once I turn'dToward the sages, by whose converse cheer'dI journey'd on, and felt no toil: and lo!A sound of weeping and a song: "My lips, O Lord!" and these so mingled, it gave birthTo pleasure and to pain. "O Sire, belov'd!Say what is this I hear?" Thus I inquir'd. 

"Spirits, " said he, "who as they go, perchance, Their debt of duty pay. " As on their roadThe thoughtful pilgrims, overtaking someNot known unto them, turn to them, and look, But stay not; thus, approaching from behindWith speedier motion, eyed us, as they pass'd, A crowd of spirits, silent and devout. The eyes of each were dark and hollow: paleTheir visage, and so lean withal, the bonesStood staring thro' the skin. I do not thinkThus dry and meagre Erisicthon show'd, When pinc'ed by sharp-set famine to the quick. 

"Lo!" to myself I mus'd, "the race, who lostJerusalem, when Mary with dire beakPrey'd on her child. " The sockets seem'd as rings, From which the gems were drops. Who reads the nameOf man upon his forehead, there the MHad trac'd most plainly. Who would deem, that scentOf water and an apple, could have prov'dPowerful to generate such pining want, Not knowing how it wrought? While now I stoodWond'ring what thus could waste them (for the causeOf their gaunt hollowness and scaly rindAppear'd not) lo! a spirit turn'd his eyesIn their deep-sunken cell, and fasten'd thenOn me, then cried with vehemence aloud:"What grace is this vouchsaf'd me?" By his looksI ne'er had recogniz'd him: but the voiceBrought to my knowledge what his cheer conceal'd. Remembrance of his alter'd lineamentsWas kindled from that spark; and I agniz'dThe visage of Forese. "Ah! respectThis wan and leprous wither'd skin, " thus heSuppliant implor'd, "this macerated flesh. Speak to me truly of thyself. And whoAre those twain spirits, that escort thee there?Be it not said thou Scorn'st to talk with me. "

"That face of thine, " I answer'd him, "which deadI once bewail'd, disposes me not lessFor weeping, when I see It thus transform'd. Say then, by Heav'n, what blasts ye thus? The whilstI wonder, ask not Speech from me: unaptIs he to speak, whom other will employs. "

He thus: "The water and tee plant we pass'd, Virtue possesses, by th' eternal willInfus'd, the which so pines me. Every spirit, Whose song bewails his gluttony indulg'dToo grossly, here in hunger and in thirstIs purified. The odour, which the fruit, And spray, that showers upon the verdure, breathe, Inflames us with desire to feed and drink. Nor once alone encompassing our routeWe come to add fresh fuel to the pain:Pain, said Iolace rather: for that willTo the tree leads us, by which Christ was ledTo call Elias, joyful when he paidOur ransom from his vein. " I answering thus:"Forese! from that day, in which the worldFor better life thou changedst, not five yearsHave circled. If the power of sinning moreWere first concluded in thee, ere thou knew'stThat kindly grief, which re-espouses usTo God, how hither art thou come so soon?I thought to find thee lower, there, where timeIs recompense for time. " He straight replied:"To drink up the sweet wormwood of afflictionI have been brought thus early by the tearsStream'd down my Nella's cheeks. Her prayers devout, Her sighs have drawn me from the coast, where oftExpectance lingers, and have set me freeFrom th' other circles. In the sight of GodSo much the dearer is my widow priz'd, She whom I lov'd so fondly, as she ranksMore singly eminent for virtuous deeds. The tract most barb'rous of Sardinia's isle, Hath dames more chaste and modester by farThan that wherein I left her. O sweet brother!What wouldst thou have me say? A time to comeStands full within my view, to which this hourShall not be counted of an ancient date, When from the pulpit shall be loudly warn'dTh' unblushing dames of Florence, lest they bareUnkerchief'd bosoms to the common gaze. What savage women hath the world e'er seen, What Saracens, for whom there needed scourgeOf spiritual or other discipline, To force them walk with cov'ring on their limbs!But did they see, the shameless ones, that Heav'nWafts on swift wing toward them, while I speak, Their mouths were op'd for howling: they shall tasteOf Borrow (unless foresight cheat me here)Or ere the cheek of him be cloth'd with downWho is now rock'd with lullaby asleep. Ah! now, my brother, hide thyself no more, Thou seest how not I alone but allGaze, where thou veil'st the intercepted sun. "

Whence I replied: "If thou recall to mindWhat we were once together, even yetRemembrance of those days may grieve thee sore. That I forsook that life, was due to himWho there precedes me, some few evenings past, When she was round, who shines with sister lampTo his, that glisters yonder, " and I show'dThe sun. "Tis he, who through profoundest nightOf he true dead has brought me, with this fleshAs true, that follows. From that gloom the aidOf his sure comfort drew me on to climb, And climbing wind along this mountain-steep, Which rectifies in you whate'er the worldMade crooked and deprav'd I have his word, That he will bear me company as farAs till I come where Beatrice dwells:But there must leave me. Virgil is that spirit, Who thus hath promis'd, " and I pointed to him;"The other is that shade, for whom so lateYour realm, as he arose, exulting shookThrough every pendent cliff and rocky bound. "

CANTO XXIV

Our journey was not slacken'd by our talk, Nor yet our talk by journeying. Still we spake, And urg'd our travel stoutly, like a shipWhen the wind sits astern. The shadowy forms, That seem'd things dead and dead again, drew inAt their deep-delved orbs rare wonder of me, Perceiving I had life; and I my wordsContinued, and thus spake; "He journeys upPerhaps more tardily then else he would, For others' sake. But tell me, if thou know'st, Where is Piccarda? Tell me, if I seeAny of mark, among this multitude, Who eye me thus. "--"My sister (she for whom, 'Twixt beautiful and good I cannot sayWhich name was fitter ) wears e'en now her crown, And triumphs in Olympus. " Saying this, He added: "Since spare diet hath so wornOur semblance out, 't is lawful here to nameEach one. This, " and his finger then he rais'd, "Is Buonaggiuna, --Buonaggiuna, heOf Lucca: and that face beyond him, pierc'dUnto a leaner fineness than the rest, Had keeping of the church: he was of Tours, And purges by wan abstinence awayBolsena's eels and cups of muscadel. "

He show'd me many others, one by one, And all, as they were nam'd, seem'd well content;For no dark gesture I discern'd in any. I saw through hunger Ubaldino grindHis teeth on emptiness; and Boniface, That wav'd the crozier o'er a num'rous flock. I saw the Marquis, who tad time erewhileTo swill at Forli with less drought, yet soWas one ne'er sated. I howe'er, like him, That gazing 'midst a crowd, singles out one, So singled him of Lucca; for methoughtWas none amongst them took such note of me. Somewhat I heard him whisper of Gentucca:The sound was indistinct, and murmur'd there, Where justice, that so strips them, fix'd her sting. 

"Spirit!" said I, "it seems as thou wouldst fainSpeak with me. Let me hear thee. Mutual wishTo converse prompts, which let us both indulge. "

He, answ'ring, straight began: "Woman is born, Whose brow no wimple shades yet, that shall makeMy city please thee, blame it as they may. Go then with this forewarning. If aught falseMy whisper too implied, th' event shall tellBut say, if of a truth I see the manOf that new lay th' inventor, which beginsWith 'Ladies, ye that con the lore of love'. "

To whom I thus: "Count of me but as oneWho am the scribe of love; that, when he breathes, Take up my pen, and, as he dictates, write. "

"Brother!" said he, "the hind'rance which once heldThe notary with Guittone and myself, Short of that new and sweeter style I hear, Is now disclos'd. I see how ye your plumesStretch, as th' inditer guides them; which, no question, Ours did not. He that seeks a grace beyond, Sees not the distance parts one style from other. "And, as contented, here he held his peace. 

Like as the bird, that winter near the Nile, In squared regiment direct their course, Then stretch themselves in file for speedier flight;Thus all the tribe of spirits, as they turn'dTheir visage, faster deaf, nimble alikeThrough leanness and desire. And as a man, Tir'd With the motion of a trotting steed, Slacks pace, and stays behind his company, Till his o'erbreathed lungs keep temperate time;E'en so Forese let that holy crewProceed, behind them lingering at my side, And saying: "When shall I again behold thee?"

"How long my life may last, " said I, "I know not;This know, how soon soever I return, My wishes will before me have arriv'd. Sithence the place, where I am set to live, Is, day by day, more scoop'd of all its good, And dismal ruin seems to threaten it. "

"Go now, " he cried: "lo! he, whose guilt is most, Passes before my vision, dragg'd at heelsOf an infuriate beast. Toward the vale, Where guilt hath no redemption, on it speeds, Each step increasing swiftness on the last;Until a blow it strikes, that leaveth himA corse most vilely shatter'd. No long spaceThose wheels have yet to roll" (therewith his eyesLook'd up to heav'n) "ere thou shalt plainly seeThat which my words may not more plainly tell. I quit thee: time is precious here: I loseToo much, thus measuring my pace with shine. "

As from a troop of well-rank'd chivalryOne knight, more enterprising than the rest, Pricks forth at gallop, eager to displayHis prowess in the first encounter prov'dSo parted he from us with lengthen'd strides, And left me on the way with those twain spirits, Who were such mighty marshals of the world. 

When he beyond us had so fled mine eyesNo nearer reach'd him, than my thought his words, The branches of another fruit, thick hung, And blooming fresh, appear'd. E'en as our stepsTurn'd thither, not far off it rose to view. Beneath it were a multitude, that rais'dTheir hands, and shouted forth I know not WhatUnto the boughs; like greedy and fond brats, That beg, and answer none obtain from him, Of whom they beg; but more to draw them on, He at arm's length the object of their wishAbove them holds aloft, and hides it not. 

At length, as undeceiv'd they went their way:And we approach the tree, who vows and tearsSue to in vain, the mighty tree. "Pass on, And come not near. Stands higher up the wood, Whereof Eve tasted, and from it was ta'en'this plant. " Such sounds from midst the thickets came. Whence I, with either bard, close to the sideThat rose, pass'd forth beyond. "Remember, " nextWe heard, "those noblest creatures of the clouds, How they their twofold bosoms overgorg'dOppos'd in fight to Theseus: call to mindThe Hebrews, how effeminate they stoop'dTo ease their thirst; whence Gideon's ranks were thinn'd, As he to Midian march'd adown the hills. "

Thus near one border coasting, still we heardThe sins of gluttony, with woe erewhileReguerdon'd. Then along the lonely path, Once more at large, full thousand paces onWe travel'd, each contemplative and mute. 

"Why pensive journey thus ye three alone?"Thus suddenly a voice exclaim'd: whereatI shook, as doth a scar'd and paltry beast;Then rais'd my head to look from whence it came. 

Was ne'er, in furnace, glass, or metal seenSo bright and glowing red, as was the shapeI now beheld. "If ye desire to mount, "He cried, "here must ye turn. This way he goes, Who goes in quest of peace. " His countenanceHad dazzled me; and to my guides I fac'dBackward, like one who walks, as sound directs. 

As when, to harbinger the dawn, springs upOn freshen'd wing the air of May, and breathesOf fragrance, all impregn'd with herb and flowers, E'en such a wind I felt upon my frontBlow gently, and the moving of a wingPerceiv'd, that moving shed ambrosial smell;And then a voice: "Blessed are they, whom graceDoth so illume, that appetite in themExhaleth no inordinate desire, Still hung'ring as the rule of temperance wills. "

CANTO XXV

It was an hour, when he who climbs, had needTo walk uncrippled: for the sun had nowTo Taurus the meridian circle left, And to the Scorpion left the night. As oneThat makes no pause, but presses on his road, Whate'er betide him, if some urgent needImpel: so enter'd we upon our way, One before other; for, but singly, noneThat steep and narrow scale admits to climb. 

E'en as the young stork lifteth up his wingThrough wish to fly, yet ventures not to quitThe nest, and drops it; so in me desireOf questioning my guide arose, and fell, Arriving even to the act, that marksA man prepar'd for speech. Him all our hasteRestrain'd not, but thus spake the sire belov'd:Fear not to speed the shaft, that on thy lipStands trembling for its flight. Encourag'd thusI straight began: "How there can leanness come, Where is no want of nourishment to feed?"

"If thou, " he answer'd, "hadst remember'd thee, How Meleager with the wasting brandWasted alike, by equal fires consum'd, This would not trouble thee: and hadst thou thought, How in the mirror your reflected formWith mimic motion vibrates, what now seemsHard, had appear'd no harder than the pulpOf summer fruit mature. But that thy willIn certainty may find its full repose, Lo Statius here! on him I call, and prayThat he would now be healer of thy wound. "

"If in thy presence I unfold to himThe secrets of heaven's vengeance, let me pleadThine own injunction, to exculpate me. "So Statius answer'd, and forthwith began:"Attend my words, O son, and in thy mindReceive them: so shall they be light to clearThe doubt thou offer'st. Blood, concocted well, Which by the thirsty veins is ne'er imbib'd, And rests as food superfluous, to be ta'enFrom the replenish'd table, in the heartDerives effectual virtue, that informsThe several human limbs, as being that, Which passes through the veins itself to make them. Yet more concocted it descends, where shameForbids to mention: and from thence distilsIn natural vessel on another's blood. Then each unite together, one dispos'dT' endure, to act the other, through meet frameOf its recipient mould: that being reach'd, It 'gins to work, coagulating first;Then vivifies what its own substance caus'dTo bear. With animation now indued, The active virtue (differing from a plantNo further, than that this is on the wayAnd at its limit that) continues yetTo operate, that now it moves, and feels, As sea sponge clinging to the rock: and thereAssumes th' organic powers its seed convey'd. 'This is the period, son! at which the virtue, That from the generating heart proceeds, Is pliant and expansive; for each limbIs in the heart by forgeful nature plann'd. How babe of animal becomes, remainsFor thy consid'ring. At this point, more wise, Than thou hast err'd, making the soul disjoin'dFrom passive intellect, because he sawNo organ for the latter's use assign'd. 

"Open thy bosom to the truth that comes. Know soon as in the embryo, to the brain, Articulation is complete, then turnsThe primal Mover with a smile of joyOn such great work of nature, and imbreathesNew spirit replete with virtue, that what hereActive it finds, to its own substance draws, And forms an individual soul, that lives, And feels, and bends reflective on itself. And that thou less mayst marvel at the word, Mark the sun's heat, how that to wine doth change, Mix'd with the moisture filter'd through the vine. 

"When Lachesis hath spun the thread, the soulTakes with her both the human and divine, Memory, intelligence, and will, in actFar keener than before, the other powersInactive all and mute. No pause allow'd, In wond'rous sort self-moving, to one strandOf those, where the departed roam, she falls, Here learns her destin'd path. Soon as the placeReceives her, round the plastic virtue beams, Distinct as in the living limbs before:And as the air, when saturate with showers, The casual beam refracting, decks itselfWith many a hue; so here the ambient airWeareth that form, which influence of the soulImprints on it; and like the flame, that whereThe fire moves, thither follows, so henceforthThe new form on the spirit follows still:Hence hath it semblance, and is shadow call'd, With each sense even to the sight endued:Hence speech is ours, hence laughter, tears, and sighsWhich thou mayst oft have witness'd on the mountTh' obedient shadow fails not to presentWhatever varying passion moves within us. And this the cause of what thou marvel'st at. "

Now the last flexure of our way we reach'd, And to the right hand turning, other careAwaits us. Here the rocky precipiceHurls forth redundant flames, and from the rimA blast upblown, with forcible rebuffDriveth them back, sequester'd from its bound. 

Behoov'd us, one by one, along the side, That border'd on the void, to pass; and IFear'd on one hand the fire, on th' other fear'dHeadlong to fall: when thus th' instructor warn'd:"Strict rein must in this place direct the eyes. A little swerving and the way is lost. "

Then from the bosom of the burning mass, "O God of mercy!" heard I sung; and feltNo less desire to turn. And when I sawSpirits along the flame proceeding, IBetween their footsteps and mine own was fainTo share by turns my view. At the hymn's closeThey shouted loud, "I do not know a man;"Then in low voice again took up the strain, Which once more ended, "To the wood, " they cried, "Ran Dian, and drave forth Callisto, stungWith Cytherea's poison:" then return'dUnto their song; then marry a pair extoll'd, Who liv'd in virtue chastely, and the bandsOf wedded love. Nor from that task, I ween, Surcease they; whilesoe'er the scorching fireEnclasps them. Of such skill appliance needsTo medicine the wound, that healeth last. 

CANTO XXVI

While singly thus along the rim we walk'd, Oft the good master warn'd me: "Look thou well. Avail it that I caution thee. " The sunNow all the western clime irradiate chang'dFrom azure tinct to white; and, as I pass'd, My passing shadow made the umber'd flameBurn ruddier. At so strange a sight I mark'dThat many a spirit marvel'd on his way. 

This bred occasion first to speak of me, "He seems, " said they, "no insubstantial frame:"Then to obtain what certainty they might, Stretch'd towards me, careful not to overpassThe burning pale. "O thou, who followestThe others, haply not more slow than they, But mov'd by rev'rence, answer me, who burnIn thirst and fire: nor I alone, but theseAll for thine answer do more thirst, than dothIndian or Aethiop for the cooling stream. Tell us, how is it that thou mak'st thyselfA wall against the sun, as thou not yetInto th' inextricable toils of deathHadst enter'd?" Thus spake one, and I had straightDeclar'd me, if attention had not turn'dTo new appearance. Meeting these, there came, Midway the burning path, a crowd, on whomEarnestly gazing, from each part I viewThe shadows all press forward, sev'rallyEach snatch a hasty kiss, and then away. E'en so the emmets, 'mid their dusky troops, Peer closely one at other, to spy outTheir mutual road perchance, and how they thrive. 

That friendly greeting parted, ere dispatchOf the first onward step, from either tribeLoud clamour rises: those, who newly come, Shout "Sodom and Gomorrah!" these, "The cowPasiphae enter'd, that the beast she woo'dMight rush unto her luxury. " Then as cranes, That part towards the Riphaean mountains fly, Part towards the Lybic sands, these to avoidThe ice, and those the sun; so hasteth offOne crowd, advances th' other; and resumeTheir first song weeping, and their several shout. 

Again drew near my side the very same, Who had erewhile besought me, and their looksMark'd eagerness to listen. I, who twiceTheir will had noted, spake: "O spirits secure, Whene'er the time may be, of peaceful end!My limbs, nor crude, nor in mature old age, Have I left yonder: here they bear me, fedWith blood, and sinew-strung. That I no moreMay live in blindness, hence I tend aloft. There is a dame on high, who wind for usThis grace, by which my mortal through your realmI bear. But may your utmost wish soon meetSuch full fruition, that the orb of heaven, Fullest of love, and of most ample space, Receive you, as ye tell (upon my pageHenceforth to stand recorded) who ye are, And what this multitude, that at your backsHave past behind us. " As one, mountain-bred, Rugged and clownish, if some city's wallsHe chance to enter, round him stares agape, Confounded and struck dumb; e'en such appear'dEach spirit. But when rid of that amaze, (Not long the inmate of a noble heart)He, who before had question'd, thus resum'd:"O blessed, who, for death preparing, tak'stExperience of our limits, in thy bark!Their crime, who not with us proceed, was that, For which, as he did triumph, Caesar heardThe snout of 'queen, ' to taunt him. Hence their cryOf 'Sodom, ' as they parted, to rebukeThemselves, and aid the burning by their shame. Our sinning was Hermaphrodite: but we, Because the law of human kind we broke, Following like beasts our vile concupiscence, Hence parting from them, to our own disgraceRecord the name of her, by whom the beastIn bestial tire was acted. Now our deedsThou know'st, and how we sinn'd. If thou by nameWouldst haply know us, time permits not nowTo tell so much, nor can I. Of myselfLearn what thou wishest. Guinicelli I, Who having truly sorrow'd ere my last, Already cleanse me. " With such pious joy, As the two sons upon their mother gaz'dFrom sad Lycurgus rescu'd, such my joy(Save that I more represt it) when I heardFrom his own lips the name of him pronounc'd, Who was a father to me, and to thoseMy betters, who have ever us'd the sweetAnd pleasant rhymes of love. So nought I heardNor spake, but long time thoughtfully I went, Gazing on him; and, only for the fire, Approach'd not nearer. When my eyes were fedBy looking on him, with such solemn pledge, As forces credence, I devoted meUnto his service wholly. In replyHe thus bespake me: "What from thee I hearIs grav'd so deeply on my mind, the wavesOf Lethe shall not wash it off, nor makeA whit less lively. But as now thy oathHas seal'd the truth, declare what cause impelsThat love, which both thy looks and speech bewray. "

"Those dulcet lays, " I answer'd, "which, as longAs of our tongue the beauty does not fade, Shall make us love the very ink that trac'd them. "

"Brother!" he cried, and pointed at a shadeBefore him, "there is one, whose mother speechDoth owe to him a fairer ornament. He in love ditties and the tales of proseWithout a rival stands, and lets the foolsTalk on, who think the songster of LimogesO'ertops him. Rumour and the popular voiceThey look to more than truth, and so confirmOpinion, ere by art or reason taught. Thus many of the elder time cried upGuittone, giving him the prize, till truthBy strength of numbers vanquish'd. If thou ownSo ample privilege, as to have gain'dFree entrance to the cloister, whereof ChristIs Abbot of the college, say to himOne paternoster for me, far as needsFor dwellers in this world, where power to sinNo longer tempts us. " Haply to make wayFor one, that follow'd next, when that was said, He vanish'd through the fire, as through the waveA fish, that glances diving to the deep. 

I, to the spirit he had shown me, drewA little onward, and besought his name, For which my heart, I said, kept gracious room. He frankly thus began: "Thy courtesySo wins on me, I have nor power nor willTo hide me. I am Arnault; and with songs, Sorely lamenting for my folly past, Thorough this ford of fire I wade, and seeThe day, I hope for, smiling in my view. I pray ye by the worth that guides ye upUnto the summit of the scale, in timeRemember ye my suff'rings. " With such wordsHe disappear'd in the refining flame. 

CANTO XXVII

Now was the sun so station'd, as when firstHis early radiance quivers on the heights, Where stream'd his Maker's blood, while Libra hangsAbove Hesperian Ebro, and new firesMeridian flash on Ganges' yellow tide. 

So day was sinking, when the' angel of GodAppear'd before us. Joy was in his mien. Forth of the flame he stood upon the brink, And with a voice, whose lively clearness farSurpass'd our human, "Blessed are the pureIn heart, " he Sang: then near him as we came, "Go ye not further, holy spirits!" he cried, "Ere the fire pierce you: enter in; and listAttentive to the song ye hear from thence. "

I, when I heard his saying, was as oneLaid in the grave. My hands together clasp'd, And upward stretching, on the fire I look'd, And busy fancy conjur'd up the formsErewhile beheld alive consum'd in flames. 

Th' escorting spirits turn'd with gentle looksToward me, and the Mantuan spake: "My son, Here torment thou mayst feel, but canst not death. Remember thee, remember thee, if ISafe e'en on Geryon brought thee: now I comeMore near to God, wilt thou not trust me now?Of this be sure: though in its womb that flameA thousand years contain'd thee, from thy headNo hair should perish. If thou doubt my truth, Approach, and with thy hands thy vesture's hemStretch forth, and for thyself confirm belief. Lay now all fear, O lay all fear aside. Turn hither, and come onward undismay'd. "I still, though conscience urg'd' no step advanc'd. 

When still he saw me fix'd and obstinate, Somewhat disturb'd he cried: "Mark now, my son, From Beatrice thou art by this wallDivided. " As at Thisbe's name the eyeOf Pyramus was open'd (when life ebb'dFast from his veins), and took one parting glance, While vermeil dyed the mulberry; thus I turn'dTo my sage guide, relenting, when I heardThe name, that springs forever in my breast. 

He shook his forehead; and, "How long, " he said, "Linger we now?" then smil'd, as one would smileUpon a child, that eyes the fruit and yields. Into the fire before me then he walk'd;And Statius, who erewhile no little spaceHad parted us, he pray'd to come behind. 

I would have cast me into molten glassTo cool me, when I enter'd; so intenseRag'd the conflagrant mass. The sire belov'd, To comfort me, as he proceeded, stillOf Beatrice talk'd. "Her eyes, " saith he, "E'en now I seem to view. " From the other sideA voice, that sang, did guide us, and the voiceFollowing, with heedful ear, we issued forth, There where the path led upward. "Come, " we heard, "Come, blessed of my Father. " Such the sounds, That hail'd us from within a light, which shoneSo radiant, I could not endure the view. "The sun, " it added, "hastes: and evening comes. Delay not: ere the western sky is hungWith blackness, strive ye for the pass. " Our wayUpright within the rock arose, and fac'dSuch part of heav'n, that from before my stepsThe beams were shrouded of the sinking sun. 

Nor many stairs were overpass, when nowBy fading of the shadow we perceiv'dThe sun behind us couch'd: and ere one faceOf darkness o'er its measureless expanseInvolv'd th' horizon, and the night her lotHeld individual, each of us had madeA stair his pallet: not that will, but power, Had fail'd us, by the nature of that mountForbidden further travel. As the goats, That late have skipp'd and wanton'd rapidlyUpon the craggy cliffs, ere they had ta'enTheir supper on the herb, now silent lieAnd ruminate beneath the umbrage brown, While noonday rages; and the goatherd leansUpon his staff, and leaning watches them:And as the swain, that lodges out all nightIn quiet by his flock, lest beast of preyDisperse them; even so all three abode, I as a goat and as the shepherds they, Close pent on either side by shelving rock. 

A little glimpse of sky was seen above;Yet by that little I beheld the starsIn magnitude and rustle shining forthWith more than wonted glory. As I lay, Gazing on them, and in that fit of musing, Sleep overcame me, sleep, that bringeth oftTidings of future hap. About the hour, As I believe, when Venus from the eastFirst lighten'd on the mountain, she whose orbSeems always glowing with the fire of love, A lady young and beautiful, I dream'd, Was passing o'er a lea; and, as she came, Methought I saw her ever and anonBending to cull the flowers; and thus she sang:"Know ye, whoever of my name would ask, That I am Leah: for my brow to weaveA garland, these fair hands unwearied ply. To please me at the crystal mirror, hereI deck me. But my sister Rachel, sheBefore her glass abides the livelong day, Her radiant eyes beholding, charm'd no less, Than I with this delightful task. Her joyIn contemplation, as in labour mine. "

And now as glimm'ring dawn appear'd, that breaksMore welcome to the pilgrim still, as heSojourns less distant on his homeward way, Darkness from all sides fled, and with it fledMy slumber; whence I rose and saw my guideAlready risen. "That delicious fruit, Which through so many a branch the zealous careOf mortals roams in quest of, shall this dayAppease thy hunger. " Such the words I heardFrom Virgil's lip; and never greeting heardSo pleasant as the sounds. Within me straightDesire so grew upon desire to mount, Thenceforward at each step I felt the wingsIncreasing for my flight. When we had runO'er all the ladder to its topmost round, As there we stood, on me the Mantuan fix'dHis eyes, and thus he spake: "Both fires, my son, The temporal and eternal, thou hast seen, And art arriv'd, where of itself my kenNo further reaches. I with skill and artThus far have drawn thee. Now thy pleasure takeFor guide. Thou hast o'ercome the steeper way, O'ercome the straighter. Lo! the sun, that dartsHis beam upon thy forehead! lo! the herb, The arboreta and flowers, which of itselfThis land pours forth profuse! Will those bright eyesWith gladness come, which, weeping, made me hasteTo succour thee, thou mayst or seat thee down, Or wander where thou wilt. Expect no moreSanction of warning voice or sign from me, Free of thy own arbitrement to choose, Discreet, judicious. To distrust thy senseWere henceforth error. I invest thee thenWith crown and mitre, sovereign o'er thyself. "

CANTO XXVIII

Through that celestial forest, whose thick shadeWith lively greenness the new-springing dayAttemper'd, eager now to roam, and searchIts limits round, forthwith I left the bank, Along the champain leisurely my wayPursuing, o'er the ground, that on all sidesDelicious odour breath'd. A pleasant air, That intermitted never, never veer'd, Smote on my temples, gently, as a windOf softest influence: at which the sprays, Obedient all, lean'd trembling to that partWhere first the holy mountain casts his shade, Yet were not so disorder'd, but that stillUpon their top the feather'd quiristersApplied their wonted art, and with full joyWelcom'd those hours of prime, and warbled shrillAmid the leaves, that to their jocund laysinept tenor; even as from branch to branch, Along the piney forests on the shoreOf Chiassi, rolls the gath'ring melody, When Eolus hath from his cavern loos'dThe dripping south. Already had my steps, Though slow, so far into that ancient woodTransported me, I could not ken the placeWhere I had enter'd, when behold! my pathWas bounded by a rill, which to the leftWith little rippling waters bent the grass, That issued from its brink. On earth no waveHow clean soe'er, that would not seem to haveSome mixture in itself, compar'd with this, Transpicuous, clear; yet darkly on it roll'd, Darkly beneath perpetual gloom, which ne'erAdmits or sun or moon light there to shine. 

My feet advanc'd not; but my wond'ring eyesPass'd onward, o'er the streamlet, to surveyThe tender May-bloom, flush'd through many a hue, In prodigal variety: and there, As object, rising suddenly to view, That from our bosom every thought besideWith the rare marvel chases, I beheldA lady all alone, who, singing, went, And culling flower from flower, wherewith her wayWas all o'er painted. "Lady beautiful!Thou, who (if looks, that use to speak the heart, Are worthy of our trust), with love's own beamDost warm thee, " thus to her my speech I fram'd:"Ah! please thee hither towards the streamlet bendThy steps so near, that I may list thy song. Beholding thee and this fair place, methinks, I call to mind where wander'd and how look'dProserpine, in that season, when her childThe mother lost, and she the bloomy spring. "

As when a lady, turning in the dance, Doth foot it featly, and advances scarceOne step before the other to the ground;Over the yellow and vermilion flowersThus turn'd she at my suit, most maiden-like, Valing her sober eyes, and came so near, That I distinctly caught the dulcet sound. Arriving where the limped waters nowLav'd the green sward, her eyes she deign'd to raise, That shot such splendour on me, as I weenNe'er glanced from Cytherea's, when her sonHad sped his keenest weapon to her heart. Upon the opposite bank she stood and smil'dthrough her graceful fingers shifted stillThe intermingling dyes, which without seedThat lofty land unbosoms. By the streamThree paces only were we sunder'd: yetThe Hellespont, where Xerxes pass'd it o'er, (A curb for ever to the pride of man)Was by Leander not more hateful heldFor floating, with inhospitable wave'Twixt Sestus and Abydos, than by meThat flood, because it gave no passage thence. 

"Strangers ye come, and haply in this place, That cradled human nature in its birth, Wond'ring, ye not without suspicion viewMy smiles: but that sweet strain of psalmody, 'Thou, Lord! hast made me glad, ' will give ye light, Which may uncloud your minds. And thou, who stand'stThe foremost, and didst make thy suit to me, Say if aught else thou wish to hear: for ICame prompt to answer every doubt of thine. "

She spake; and I replied: "I know not howTo reconcile this wave and rustling soundOf forest leaves, with what I late have heardOf opposite report. " She answering thus:"I will unfold the cause, whence that proceeds, Which makes thee wonder; and so purge the cloudThat hath enwraps thee. The First Good, whose joyIs only in himself, created manFor happiness, and gave this goodly place, His pledge and earnest of eternal peace. Favour'd thus highly, through his own defectHe fell, and here made short sojourn; he fell, And, for the bitterness of sorrow, chang'dLaughter unblam'd and ever-new delight. That vapours none, exhal'd from earth beneath, Or from the waters (which, wherever heatAttracts them, follow), might ascend thus farTo vex man's peaceful state, this mountain roseSo high toward the heav'n, nor fears the rageOf elements contending, from that partExempted, where the gate his limit bars. Because the circumambient air throughoutWith its first impulse circles still, unlessAught interpose to cheek or thwart its course;Upon the summit, which on every sideTo visitation of th' impassive airIs open, doth that motion strike, and makesBeneath its sway th' umbrageous wood resound:And in the shaken plant such power resides, That it impregnates with its efficacyThe voyaging breeze, upon whose subtle plumeThat wafted flies abroad; and th' other landReceiving (as 't is worthy in itself, Or in the clime, that warms it), doth conceive, And from its womb produces many a treeOf various virtue. This when thou hast heard, The marvel ceases, if in yonder earthSome plant without apparent seed be foundTo fix its fibrous stem. And further learn, That with prolific foison of all seeds, This holy plain is fill'd, and in itselfBears fruit that ne'er was pluck'd on other soil. 

"The water, thou behold'st, springs not from vein, As stream, that intermittently repairsAnd spends his pulse of life, but issues forthFrom fountain, solid, undecaying, sure;And by the will omnific, full supplyFeeds whatsoe'er On either side it pours;On this devolv'd with power to take awayRemembrance of offence, on that to bringRemembrance back of every good deed done. From whence its name of Lethe on this part;On th' other Eunoe: both of which must firstBe tasted ere it work; the last exceedingAll flavours else. Albeit thy thirst may nowBe well contented, if I here break off, No more revealing: yet a corollaryI freely give beside: nor deem my wordsLess grateful to thee, if they somewhat passThe stretch of promise. They, whose verse of yoreThe golden age recorded and its bliss, On the Parnassian mountain, of this placePerhaps had dream'd. Here was man guiltless, herePerpetual spring and every fruit, and thisThe far-fam'd nectar. " Turning to the bards, When she had ceas'd, I noted in their looksA smile at her conclusion; then my faceAgain directed to the lovely dame. 

CANTO XXIX

Singing, as if enamour'd, she resum'dAnd clos'd the song, with "Blessed they whose sinsAre cover'd. " Like the wood-nymphs then, that tripp'dSingly across the sylvan shadows, oneEager to view and one to 'scape the sun, So mov'd she on, against the current, upThe verdant rivage. I, her mincing stepObserving, with as tardy step pursued. 

Between us not an hundred paces trod, The bank, on each side bending equally, Gave me to face the orient. Nor our wayFar onward brought us, when to me at onceShe turn'd, and cried: "My brother! look and hearken. "And lo! a sudden lustre ran acrossThrough the great forest on all parts, so brightI doubted whether lightning were abroad;But that expiring ever in the spleen, That doth unfold it, and this during stillAnd waxing still in splendor, made me questionWhat it might be: and a sweet melodyRan through the luminous air. Then did I chideWith warrantable zeal the hardihoodOf our first parent, for that there were earthStood in obedience to the heav'ns, she only, Woman, the creature of an hour, endur'd notRestraint of any veil: which had she borneDevoutly, joys, ineffable as these, Had from the first, and long time since, been mine. 

While through that wilderness of primy sweetsThat never fade, suspense I walk'd, and yetExpectant of beatitude more high, Before us, like a blazing fire, the airUnder the green boughs glow'd; and, for a song, Distinct the sound of melody was heard. 

O ye thrice holy virgins! for your sakesIf e'er I suffer'd hunger, cold and watching, Occasion calls on me to crave your bounty. Now through my breast let Helicon his streamPour copious; and Urania with her choirArise to aid me: while the verse unfoldsThings that do almost mock the grasp of thought. 

Onward a space, what seem'd seven trees of gold, The intervening distance to mine eyeFalsely presented; but when I was comeSo near them, that no lineament was lostOf those, with which a doubtful object, seenRemotely, plays on the misdeeming sense, Then did the faculty, that ministersDiscourse to reason, these for tapers of goldDistinguish, and it th' singing trace the sound"Hosanna. " Above, their beauteous garnitureFlam'd with more ample lustre, than the moonThrough cloudless sky at midnight in her full. 

I turn'd me full of wonder to my guide;And he did answer with a countenanceCharg'd with no less amazement: whence my viewReverted to those lofty things, which cameSo slowly moving towards us, that the brideWould have outstript them on her bridal day. 

The lady called aloud: "Why thus yet burnsAffection in thee for these living, lights, And dost not look on that which follows them?"

I straightway mark'd a tribe behind them walk, As if attendant on their leaders, cloth'dWith raiment of such whiteness, as on earthWas never. On my left, the wat'ry gleamBorrow'd, and gave me back, when there I look'd. As in a mirror, my left side portray'd. 

When I had chosen on the river's edgeSuch station, that the distance of the streamAlone did separate me; there I stay'dMy steps for clearer prospect, and beheldThe flames go onward, leaving, as they went, The air behind them painted as with trailOf liveliest pencils! so distinct were mark'dAll those sev'n listed colours, whence the sunMaketh his bow, and Cynthia her zone. These streaming gonfalons did flow beyondMy vision; and ten paces, as I guess, Parted the outermost. Beneath a skySo beautiful, came foul and-twenty elders, By two and two, with flower-de-luces crown'd. 

All sang one song: "Blessed be thou amongThe daughters of Adam! and thy lovelinessBlessed for ever!" After that the flowers, And the fresh herblets, on the opposite brink, Were free from that elected race; as lightIn heav'n doth second light, came after themFour animals, each crown'd with verdurous leaf. With six wings each was plum'd, the plumage fullOf eyes, and th' eyes of Argus would be such, Were they endued with life. Reader, more rhymesWill not waste in shadowing forth their form:For other need no straitens, that in thisI may not give my bounty room. But readEzekiel; for he paints them, from the northHow he beheld them come by Chebar's flood, In whirlwind, cloud and fire; and even suchAs thou shalt find them character'd by him, Here were they; save as to the pennons; there, From him departing, John accords with me. 

The space, surrounded by the four, enclos'dA car triumphal: on two wheels it cameDrawn at a Gryphon's neck; and he aboveStretch'd either wing uplifted, 'tween the midstAnd the three listed hues, on each side three;So that the wings did cleave or injure none;And out of sight they rose. The members, farAs he was bird, were golden; white the restWith vermeil intervein'd. So beautifulA car in Rome ne'er grac'd Augustus pomp, Or Africanus': e'en the sun's itselfWere poor to this, that chariot of the sunErroneous, which in blazing ruin fellAt Tellus' pray'r devout, by the just doomMysterious of all-seeing Jove. Three nymphsat the right wheel, came circling in smooth dance;The one so ruddy, that her form had scarceBeen known within a furnace of clear flame:The next did look, as if the flesh and bonesWere emerald: snow new-fallen seem'd the third. 

Now seem'd the white to lead, the ruddy now;And from her song who led, the others tookTheir treasure, swift or slow. At th' other wheel, A band quaternion, each in purple clad, Advanc'd with festal step, as of them oneThe rest conducted, one, upon whose frontThree eyes were seen. In rear of all this group, Two old men I beheld, dissimilarIn raiment, but in port and gesture like, Solid and mainly grave; of whom the oneDid show himself some favour'd counsellorOf the great Coan, him, whom nature madeTo serve the costliest creature of her tribe. His fellow mark'd an opposite intent, Bearing a sword, whose glitterance and keen edge, E'en as I view'd it with the flood between, Appall'd me. Next four others I beheld, Of humble seeming: and, behind them all, One single old man, sleeping, as he came, With a shrewd visage. And these seven, eachLike the first troop were habited, but woreNo braid of lilies on their temples wreath'd. Rather with roses and each vermeil flower, A sight, but little distant, might have sworn, That they were all on fire above their brow. 

Whenas the car was o'er against me, straight. Was heard a thund'ring, at whose voice it seem'dThe chosen multitude were stay'd; for there, With the first ensigns, made they solemn halt. 

CANTO XXX

Soon as the polar light, which never knowsSetting nor rising, nor the shadowy veilOf other cloud than sin, fair ornamentOf the first heav'n, to duty each one thereSafely convoying, as that lower dothThe steersman to his port, stood firmly fix'd;Forthwith the saintly tribe, who in the vanBetween the Gryphon and its radiance came, Did turn them to the car, as to their rest:And one, as if commission'd from above, In holy chant thrice shorted forth aloud:"Come, spouse, from Libanus!" and all the restTook up the song--At the last audit soThe blest shall rise, from forth his cavern eachUplifting lightly his new-vested flesh, As, on the sacred litter, at the voiceAuthoritative of that elder, sprangA hundred ministers and messengersOf life eternal. "Blessed thou! who com'st!"And, "O, " they cried, "from full hands scatter yeUnwith'ring lilies;" and, so saying, castFlowers over head and round them on all sides. 

I have beheld, ere now, at break of day, The eastern clime all roseate, and the skyOppos'd, one deep and beautiful serene, And the sun's face so shaded, and with mistsAttemper'd at lids rising, that the eyeLong while endur'd the sight: thus in a cloudOf flowers, that from those hands angelic rose, And down, within and outside of the car, Fell showering, in white veil with olive wreath'd, A virgin in my view appear'd, beneathGreen mantle, rob'd in hue of living flame:

And o'er my Spirit, that in former daysWithin her presence had abode so long, No shudd'ring terror crept. Mine eyes no moreHad knowledge of her; yet there mov'd from herA hidden virtue, at whose touch awak'd, The power of ancient love was strong within me. 

No sooner on my vision streaming, smoteThe heav'nly influence, which years past, and e'enIn childhood, thrill'd me, than towards Virgil ITurn'd me to leftward, panting, like a babe, That flees for refuge to his mother's breast, If aught have terrified or work'd him woe:And would have cried: "There is no dram of blood, That doth not quiver in me. The old flameThrows out clear tokens of reviving fire:"But Virgil had bereav'd us of himself, Virgil, my best-lov'd father; Virgil, heTo whom I gave me up for safety: nor, All, our prime mother lost, avail'd to saveMy undew'd cheeks from blur of soiling tears. 

"Dante, weep not, that Virgil leaves thee: nay, Weep thou not yet: behooves thee feel the edgeOf other sword, and thou shalt weep for that. "

As to the prow or stern, some admiralPaces the deck, inspiriting his crew, When 'mid the sail-yards all hands ply aloof;Thus on the left side of the car I saw, (Turning me at the sound of mine own name, Which here I am compell'd to register)The virgin station'd, who before appearedVeil'd in that festive shower angelical. 

Towards me, across the stream, she bent her eyes;Though from her brow the veil descending, boundWith foliage of Minerva, suffer'd notThat I beheld her clearly; then with actFull royal, still insulting o'er her thrall, Added, as one, who speaking keepeth backThe bitterest saying, to conclude the speech:"Observe me well. I am, in sooth, I amBeatrice. What! and hast thou deign'd at lastApproach the mountainnewest not, O man!Thy happiness is whole?" Down fell mine eyesOn the clear fount, but there, myself espying, Recoil'd, and sought the greensward: such a weightOf shame was on my forehead. With a mienOf that stern majesty, which doth surroundmother's presence to her awe-struck child, She look'd; a flavour of such bitternessWas mingled in her pity. There her wordsBrake off, and suddenly the angels sang:"In thee, O gracious Lord, my hope hath been:"But went no farther than, "Thou Lord, hast setMy feet in ample room. " As snow, that liesAmidst the living rafters on the backOf Italy congeal'd when drifted highAnd closely pil'd by rough Sclavonian blasts, Breathe but the land whereon no shadow falls, And straightway melting it distils away, Like a fire-wasted taper: thus was I, Without a sigh or tear, or ever theseDid sing, that with the chiming of heav'n's sphere, Still in their warbling chime: but when the strainOf dulcet symphony, express'd for meTheir soft compassion, more than could the words"Virgin, why so consum'st him?" then the ice, Congeal'd about my bosom, turn'd itselfTo spirit and water, and with anguish forthGush'd through the lips and eyelids from the heart. 

Upon the chariot's right edge still she stood, Immovable, and thus address'd her wordsTo those bright semblances with pity touch'd:"Ye in th' eternal day your vigils keep, So that nor night nor slumber, with close stealth, Conveys from you a single step in allThe goings on of life: thence with more heedI shape mine answer, for his ear intended, Who there stands weeping, that the sorrow nowMay equal the transgression. Not aloneThrough operation of the mighty orbs, That mark each seed to some predestin'd aim, As with aspect or fortunate or illThe constellations meet, but through benignLargess of heav'nly graces, which rain downFrom such a height, as mocks our vision, this manWas in the freshness of his being, such, So gifted virtually, that in himAll better habits wond'rously had thriv'd. The more of kindly strength is in the soil, So much doth evil seed and lack of cultureMar it the more, and make it run to wildness. These looks sometime upheld him; for I show'dMy youthful eyes, and led him by their lightIn upright walking. Soon as I had reach'dThe threshold of my second age, and chang'dMy mortal for immortal, then he left me, And gave himself to others. When from fleshTo spirit I had risen, and increaseOf beauty and of virtue circled me, I was less dear to him, and valued less. His steps were turn'd into deceitful ways, Following false images of good, that makeNo promise perfect. Nor avail'd me aughtTo sue for inspirations, with the which, I, both in dreams of night, and otherwise, Did call him back; of them so little reck'd him, Such depth he fell, that all device was shortOf his preserving, save that he should viewThe children of perdition. To this endI visited the purlieus of the dead:And one, who hath conducted him thus high, Receiv'd my supplications urg'd with weeping. It were a breaking of God's high decree, If Lethe should be past, and such food tastedWithout the cost of some repentant tear. "

CANTO XXXI

"O Thou!" her words she thus without delayResuming, turn'd their point on me, to whomThey but with lateral edge seem'd harsh before, "Say thou, who stand'st beyond the holy stream, If this be true. A charge so grievous needsThine own avowal. " On my facultySuch strange amazement hung, the voice expir'dImperfect, ere its organs gave it birth. 

A little space refraining, then she spake:"What dost thou muse on? Answer me. The waveOn thy remembrances of evil yetHath done no injury. " A mingled senseOf fear and of confusion, from my lipsDid such a "Yea" produce, as needed helpOf vision to interpret. As when breaksIn act to be discharg'd, a cross-bow bentBeyond its pitch, both nerve and bow o'erstretch'd, The flagging weapon feebly hits the mark;Thus, tears and sighs forth gushing, did I burstBeneath the heavy load, and thus my voiceWas slacken'd on its way. She straight began:"When my desire invited thee to loveThe good, which sets a bound to our aspirings, What bar of thwarting foss or linked chainDid meet thee, that thou so should'st quit the hopeOf further progress, or what bait of easeOr promise of allurement led thee onElsewhere, that thou elsewhere should'st rather wait?"

A bitter sigh I drew, then scarce found voiceTo answer, hardly to these sounds my lipsGave utterance, wailing: "Thy fair looks withdrawn, Things present, with deceitful pleasures, turn'dMy steps aside. " She answering spake: "Hadst thouBeen silent, or denied what thou avow'st, Thou hadst not hid thy sin the more: such eyeObserves it. But whene'er the sinner's cheekBreaks forth into the precious-streaming tearsOf self-accusing, in our court the wheelOf justice doth run counter to the edge. Howe'er that thou may'st profit by thy shameFor errors past, and that henceforth more strengthMay arm thee, when thou hear'st the Siren-voice, Lay thou aside the motive to this grief, And lend attentive ear, while I unfoldHow opposite a way my buried fleshShould have impell'd thee. Never didst thou spyIn art or nature aught so passing sweet, As were the limbs, that in their beauteous frameEnclos'd me, and are scatter'd now in dust. If sweetest thing thus fail'd thee with my death, What, afterward, of mortal should thy wishHave tempted? When thou first hadst felt the dartOf perishable things, in my departingFor better realms, thy wing thou should'st have prun'dTo follow me, and never stoop'd againTo 'bide a second blow for a slight girl, Or other gaud as transient and as vain. The new and inexperienc'd bird awaits, Twice it may be, or thrice, the fowler's aim;But in the sight of one, whose plumes are full, In vain the net is spread, the arrow wing'd. "

I stood, as children silent and asham'dStand, list'ning, with their eyes upon the earth, Acknowledging their fault and self-condemn'd. And she resum'd: "If, but to hear thus pains thee, Raise thou thy beard, and lo! what sight shall do!"

With less reluctance yields a sturdy holm, Rent from its fibers by a blast, that blowsFrom off the pole, or from Iarbas' land, Than I at her behest my visage rais'd:And thus the face denoting by the beard, I mark'd the secret sting her words convey'd. 

No sooner lifted I mine aspect up, Than downward sunk that vision I beheldOf goodly creatures vanish; and mine eyesYet unassur'd and wavering, bent their lightOn Beatrice. Towards the animal, Who joins two natures in one form, she turn'd, And, even under shadow of her veil, And parted by the verdant rill, that flow'dBetween, in loveliness appear'd as muchHer former self surpassing, as on earthAll others she surpass'd. Remorseful goadsShot sudden through me. Each thing else, the moreIts love had late beguil'd me, now the moreI Was loathsome. On my heart so keenly smoteThe bitter consciousness, that on the groundO'erpower'd I fell: and what my state was then, She knows who was the cause. When now my strengthFlow'd back, returning outward from the heart, The lady, whom alone I first had seen, I found above me. "Loose me not, " she cried:"Loose not thy hold;" and lo! had dragg'd me highAs to my neck into the stream, while she, Still as she drew me after, swept along, Swift as a shuttle, bounding o'er the wave. 

The blessed shore approaching then was heardSo sweetly, "Tu asperges me, " that IMay not remember, much less tell the sound. The beauteous dame, her arms expanding, clasp'dMy temples, and immerg'd me, where 't was fitThe wave should drench me: and thence raising up, Within the fourfold dance of lovely nymphsPresented me so lav'd, and with their armThey each did cover me. "Here are we nymphs, And in the heav'n are stars. Or ever earthWas visited of Beatrice, weAppointed for her handmaids, tended on her. We to her eyes will lead thee; but the lightOf gladness that is in them, well to scan, Those yonder three, of deeper ken than ours, Thy sight shall quicken. " Thus began their song;And then they led me to the Gryphon's breast, While, turn'd toward us, Beatrice stood. "Spare not thy vision. We have stationed theeBefore the emeralds, whence love erewhileHath drawn his weapons on thee. " As they spake, A thousand fervent wishes rivetedMine eyes upon her beaming eyes, that stoodStill fix'd toward the Gryphon motionless. As the sun strikes a mirror, even thusWithin those orbs the twofold being, shone, For ever varying, in one figure nowReflected, now in other. Reader! museHow wond'rous in my sight it seem'd to markA thing, albeit steadfast in itself, Yet in its imag'd semblance mutable. 

Full of amaze, and joyous, while my soulFed on the viand, whereof still desireGrows with satiety, the other threeWith gesture, that declar'd a loftier line, Advanc'd: to their own carol on they cameDancing in festive ring angelical. 

"Turn, Beatrice!" was their song: "O turnThy saintly sight on this thy faithful one, Who to behold thee many a wearisome paceHath measur'd. Gracious at our pray'r vouchsafeUnveil to him thy cheeks: that he may markThy second beauty, now conceal'd. " O splendour!O sacred light eternal! who is heSo pale with musing in Pierian shades, Or with that fount so lavishly imbued, Whose spirit should not fail him in th' essayTo represent thee such as thou didst seem, When under cope of the still-chiming heavenThou gav'st to open air thy charms reveal'd. 

CANTO XXXII

Mine eyes with such an eager coveting, Were bent to rid them of their ten years' thirst, No other sense was waking: and e'en theyWere fenc'd on either side from heed of aught;So tangled in its custom'd toils that smileOf saintly brightness drew me to itself, When forcibly toward the left my sightThe sacred virgins turn'd; for from their lipsI heard the warning sounds: "Too fix'd a gaze!"

Awhile my vision labor'd; as when lateUpon the' o'erstrained eyes the sun hath smote:But soon to lesser object, as the viewWas now recover'd (lesser in respectTo that excess of sensible, whence lateI had perforce been sunder'd) on their rightI mark'd that glorious army wheel, and turn, Against the sun and sev'nfold lights, their front. As when, their bucklers for protection rais'd, A well-rang'd troop, with portly banners curl'd, Wheel circling, ere the whole can change their ground:E'en thus the goodly regiment of heav'nProceeding, all did pass us, ere the carHad slop'd his beam. Attendant at the wheelsThe damsels turn'd; and on the Gryphon mov'dThe sacred burden, with a pace so smooth, No feather on him trembled. The fair dameWho through the wave had drawn me, companiedBy Statius and myself, pursued the wheel, Whose orbit, rolling, mark'd a lesser arch. 

Through the high wood, now void (the more her blame, Who by the serpent was beguil'd) I pastWith step in cadence to the harmonyAngelic. Onward had we mov'd, as farPerchance as arrow at three several flightsFull wing'd had sped, when from her station downDescended Beatrice. With one voiceAll murmur'd "Adam, " circling next a plantDespoil'd of flowers and leaf on every bough. Its tresses, spreading more as more they rose, Were such, as 'midst their forest wilds for heightThe Indians might have gaz'd at. "Blessed thou!Gryphon, whose beak hath never pluck'd that treePleasant to taste: for hence the appetiteWas warp'd to evil. " Round the stately trunkThus shouted forth the rest, to whom return'dThe animal twice-gender'd: "Yea: for soThe generation of the just are sav'd. "And turning to the chariot-pole, to footHe drew it of the widow'd branch, and boundThere left unto the stock whereon it grew. 

As when large floods of radiance from aboveStream, with that radiance mingled, which ascendsNext after setting of the scaly sign, Our plants then burgeon, and each wears anewHis wonted colours, ere the sun have yok'dBeneath another star his flamy steeds;Thus putting forth a hue, more faint than rose, And deeper than the violet, was renew'dThe plant, erewhile in all its branches bare. 

Unearthly was the hymn, which then arose. I understood it not, nor to the endEndur'd the harmony. Had I the skillTo pencil forth, how clos'd th' unpitying eyesSlumb'ring, when Syrinx warbled, (eyes that paidSo dearly for their watching, ) then like painter, That with a model paints, I might designThe manner of my falling into sleep. But feign who will the slumber cunningly;I pass it by to when I wak'd, and tellHow suddenly a flash of splendour rentThe curtain of my sleep, and one cries out:"Arise, what dost thou?" As the chosen three, On Tabor's mount, admitted to beholdThe blossoming of that fair tree, whose fruitIs coveted of angels, and doth makePerpetual feast in heaven, to themselvesReturning at the word, whence deeper sleepsWere broken, that they their tribe diminish'd saw, Both Moses and Elias gone, and chang'dThe stole their master wore: thus to myselfReturning, over me beheld I standThe piteous one, who cross the stream had broughtMy steps. "And where, " all doubting, I exclaim'd, "Is Beatrice?"--"See her, " she replied, "Beneath the fresh leaf seated on its root. Behold th' associate choir that circles her. The others, with a melody more sweetAnd more profound, journeying to higher realms, Upon the Gryphon tend. " If there her wordsWere clos'd, I know not; but mine eyes had nowTa'en view of her, by whom all other thoughtsWere barr'd admittance. On the very groundAlone she sat, as she had there been leftA guard upon the wain, which I beheldBound to the twyform beast. The seven nymphsDid make themselves a cloister round about her, And in their hands upheld those lights secureFrom blast septentrion and the gusty south. 

"A little while thou shalt be forester here:And citizen shalt be forever with me, Of that true Rome, wherein Christ dwells a RomanTo profit the misguided world, keep nowThine eyes upon the car; and what thou seest, Take heed thou write, returning to that place. "

Thus Beatrice: at whose feet inclin'dDevout, at her behest, my thought and eyes, I, as she bade, directed. Never fire, With so swift motion, forth a stormy cloudLeap'd downward from the welkin's farthest bound, As I beheld the bird of Jove descendingPounce on the tree, and, as he rush'd, the rind, Disparting crush beneath him, buds much moreAnd leaflets. On the car with all his mightHe struck, whence, staggering like a ship, it reel'd, At random driv'n, to starboard now, o'ercome, And now to larboard, by the vaulting waves. 

Next springing up into the chariot's wombA fox I saw, with hunger seeming pin'dOf all good food. But, for his ugly sinsThe saintly maid rebuking him, awayScamp'ring he turn'd, fast as his hide-bound corpseWould bear him. Next, from whence before he came, I saw the eagle dart into the hullO' th' car, and leave it with his feathers lin'd;And then a voice, like that which issues forthFrom heart with sorrow riv'd, did issue forthFrom heav'n, and, "O poor bark of mine!" it cried, "How badly art thou freighted!" Then, it seem'd, That the earth open'd between either wheel, And I beheld a dragon issue thence, That through the chariot fix'd his forked train;And like a wasp that draggeth back the sting, So drawing forth his baleful train, he dragg'dPart of the bottom forth, and went his wayExulting. What remain'd, as lively turfWith green herb, so did clothe itself with plumes, Which haply had with purpose chaste and kindBeen offer'd; and therewith were cloth'd the wheels, Both one and other, and the beam, so quicklyA sigh were not breath'd sooner. Thus transform'd, The holy structure, through its several parts, Did put forth heads, three on the beam, and oneOn every side; the first like oxen horn'd, But with a single horn upon their frontThe four. Like monster sight hath never seen. O'er it methought there sat, secure as rockOn mountain's lofty top, a shameless whore, Whose ken rov'd loosely round her. At her side, As 't were that none might bear her off, I sawA giant stand; and ever, and anonThey mingled kisses. But, her lustful eyesChancing on me to wander, that fell minionScourg'd her from head to foot all o'er; then fullOf jealousy, and fierce with rage, unloos'dThe monster, and dragg'd on, so far acrossThe forest, that from me its shades aloneShielded the harlot and the new-form'd brute. 

CANTO XXXIII

"The heathen, Lord! are come!" responsive thus, The trinal now, and now the virgin bandQuaternion, their sweet psalmody began, Weeping; and Beatrice listen'd, sadAnd sighing, to the song', in such a mood, That Mary, as she stood beside the cross, Was scarce more chang'd. But when they gave her placeTo speak, then, risen upright on her feet, She, with a colour glowing bright as fire, Did answer: "Yet a little while, and yeShall see me not; and, my beloved sisters, Again a little while, and ye shall see me. "

Before her then she marshall'd all the seven, And, beck'ning only motion'd me, the dame, And that remaining sage, to follow her. 

So on she pass'd; and had not set, I ween, Her tenth step to the ground, when with mine eyesHer eyes encounter'd; and, with visage mild, "So mend thy pace, " she cried, "that if my wordsAddress thee, thou mayst still be aptly plac'dTo hear them. " Soon as duly to her sideI now had hasten'd: "Brother!" she began, "Why mak'st thou no attempt at questioning, As thus we walk together?" Like to thoseWho, speaking with too reverent an aweBefore their betters, draw not forth the voiceAlive unto their lips, befell me shellThat I in sounds imperfect thus began:"Lady! what I have need of, that thou know'st, And what will suit my need. " She answering thus:"Of fearfulness and shame, I will, that thouHenceforth do rid thee: that thou speak no more, As one who dreams. Thus far be taught of me:The vessel, which thou saw'st the serpent break, Was and is not: let him, who hath the blame, Hope not to scare God's vengeance with a sop. Without an heir for ever shall not beThat eagle, he, who left the chariot plum'd, Which monster made it first and next a prey. Plainly I view, and therefore speak, the starsE'en now approaching, whose conjunction, freeFrom all impediment and bar, brings onA season, in the which, one sent from God, (Five hundred, five, and ten, do mark him out)That foul one, and th' accomplice of her guilt, The giant, both shall slay. And if perchanceMy saying, dark as Themis or as Sphinx, Fail to persuade thee, (since like them it foilsThe intellect with blindness) yet ere longEvents shall be the Naiads, that will solveThis knotty riddle, and no damage lightOn flock or field. Take heed; and as these wordsBy me are utter'd, teach them even soTo those who live that life, which is a raceTo death: and when thou writ'st them, keep in mindNot to conceal how thou hast seen the plant, That twice hath now been spoil'd. This whoso robs, This whoso plucks, with blasphemy of deedSins against God, who for his use aloneCreating hallow'd it. For taste of this, In pain and in desire, five thousand yearsAnd upward, the first soul did yearn for him, Who punish'd in himself the fatal gust. 

"Thy reason slumbers, if it deem this heightAnd summit thus inverted of the plant, Without due cause: and were not vainer thoughts, As Elsa's numbing waters, to thy soul, And their fond pleasures had not dyed it darkAs Pyramus the mulberry, thou hadst seen, In such momentous circumstance alone, God's equal justice morally impliedIn the forbidden tree. But since I mark theeIn understanding harden'd into stone, And, to that hardness, spotted too and stain'd, So that thine eye is dazzled at my word, I will, that, if not written, yet at leastPainted thou take it in thee, for the cause, That one brings home his staff inwreath'd with palm. "

I thus: "As wax by seal, that changeth notIts impress, now is stamp'd my brain by thee. But wherefore soars thy wish'd-for speech so highBeyond my sight, that loses it the more, The more it strains to reach it?"--"To the endThat thou mayst know, " she answer'd straight, "the school, That thou hast follow'd; and how far behind, When following my discourse, its learning halts:And mayst behold your art, from the divineAs distant, as the disagreement is'Twixt earth and heaven's most high and rapturous orb. "

"I not remember, " I replied, "that e'erI was estrang'd from thee, nor for such faultDoth conscience chide me. " Smiling she return'd:"If thou canst, not remember, call to mindHow lately thou hast drunk of Lethe's wave;And, sure as smoke doth indicate a flame, In that forgetfulness itself concludeBlame from thy alienated will incurr'd. From henceforth verily my words shall beAs naked as will suit them to appearIn thy unpractis'd view. " More sparkling now, And with retarded course the sun possess'dThe circle of mid-day, that varies stillAs th' aspect varies of each several clime, When, as one, sent in vaward of a troopFor escort, pauses, if perchance he spyVestige of somewhat strange and rare: so paus'dThe sev'nfold band, arriving at the vergeOf a dun umbrage hoar, such as is seen, Beneath green leaves and gloomy branches, oftTo overbrow a bleak and alpine cliff. And, where they stood, before them, as it seem'd, Tigris and Euphrates both beheld, Forth from one fountain issue; and, like friends, Linger at parting. "O enlight'ning beam!O glory of our kind! beseech thee sayWhat water this, which from one source deriv'dItself removes to distance from itself?"

To such entreaty answer thus was made:"Entreat Matilda, that she teach thee this. "

And here, as one, who clears himself of blameImputed, the fair dame return'd: "Of meHe this and more hath learnt; and I am safeThat Lethe's water hath not hid it from him. "

And Beatrice: "Some more pressing careThat oft the memory 'reeves, perchance hath madeHis mind's eye dark. But lo! where Eunoe cows!Lead thither; and, as thou art wont, reviveHis fainting virtue. " As a courteous spirit, That proffers no excuses, but as soonAs he hath token of another's will, Makes it his own; when she had ta'en me, thusThe lovely maiden mov'd her on, and call'dTo Statius with an air most lady-like:"Come thou with him. " Were further space allow'd, Then, Reader, might I sing, though but in part, That beverage, with whose sweetness I had ne'erBeen sated. But, since all the leaves are full, Appointed for this second strain, mine artWith warning bridle checks me. I return'dFrom the most holy wave, regenerate, If 'en as new plants renew'd with foliage new, Pure and made apt for mounting to the stars.